Quickly Johnny leaped into his skiff and was away to the spot where this miniature parachute would fall. The thing was heavy. Could he reach it before it dragged the parachute to the bottom of the lake? Straining every muscle, he sent the skiff flying over the surface of the water.
The parachute had fallen into the lake. Now he was a hundred feet from it, now fifty, now twenty-five, and now—now, his hand shot out and seized it just as, water-logged, it was beginning to sink.
As he dragged the cloth affair from the water, from his lips there escaped a glad shout. Attached to the parachute’s cord were three spark plugs.
Hardly had he made this discovery than there came again the shout:
He did watch, and did do his best, but in spite of his efforts the second parachute sank before he reached it.
But there were others. Twice more he succeeded and three times failed. But he now had nine new spark plugs. Surely there were enough.
Paddling hastily to the plane, he made the changes, dropped into his seat, and again touched his lever. This time there came a welcome burst of thunder and he was away.
He gazed for a second behind him to see Pant, his purpose fulfilled, speeding away toward home.
“That,” smiled Johnny, “was a clever trick. I’d never have thought of it. But trust good old Pant for that. Who’d have thought, though,” his brow wrinkled, “that old Slim Jim, the contortionist, was still on our trail?”
Strangely enough, during the days that followed the contortionist put in no second appearance.
Three weeks of testing proved to them that their engines were a complete success. Then began what proved to be their great adventure.
There came to them a short, bald-headed man of middle age, with a letter from Mr. McFarland, their employer.
The letter read: “This gentleman, Professor Paul Lasky, is a very close friend of mine. He may ask you to do something difficult and dangerous. Do it if you can, for his cause is worthy and his need imperative.”
The stranger was not slow in laying his needs before them. A tramp steamer had gone on the shoals of a coral island some two thousand miles from the Pacific coast of America. Some passengers and members of the crew had been drowned. The others had been rescued. The wreck was driven high on the sand in a sheltered bay, so she would not break up at once. Some hardy adventurers, claiming to have owned the steamer, had put off in another steamer four days previous with the purpose of salvaging her cargo. It was imperative that he, the professor, should reach the wreck before them. A seaplane was the only craft that could bring him to the island in time, and of all the air-craft then on the coast, none had the possibilities of such protracted flight save their own. He wished them to take him there. The reward would be ample and, should his mission be successfully accomplished, they would be real benefactors of mankind, since some tens of thousands of children would be benefited.