FLYING FOR A RECORD.

On the day set for the flight to the Manhattan, which had anchored two days before in the "Roads," Ned found that he was to be the only competitor. Herc had been anxious to take part, and so had several of the other naval aviators, but Lieutenant De Frees decided that the aeroplane which Ned was to fly was the only one really suited for the work.

This aeroplane, which had been equipped with pontoons, in order to test Ned's invention, presented a peculiar appearance. Under its substructure, long, galvanized metal tanks had been fitted, in much the same way as runners are attached to a sled. The tanks were cylindrical in shape, and provided with valves, by means of which they could be "ballasted." They had been already tested and found to be suited for the work for which they were designed. They were as light as was compatible with safety, and hung far enough above the ground so as not to interfere with the landing-wheels.

A holiday from routine practice had been declared about the aviation testing grounds on the day of the daring flight. The men hung about in little groups, discussing Ned's chances of winning out in the risky feat he meant to perform. It would be the first time such a thing had ever been attempted, and they were not slow to give him full measure of praise for his daring.

The flight was to be more or less of a secret. Few on board the battleship but the naval board invited to witness the attempt, knew of the test. As a consequence, there was nobody about the grounds but the regular quota of pupils and officers when, at 10:30 a. m. the Manhattan wirelessed to the "Field outfit" maintained on the grounds, that all was in readiness for the trial.

A steel landing platform, made collapsible, so that it could be instantly stowed away, had been erected on the after deck of the battleship. Ned knew its approximate position, but the time had been too brief to allow him to visit the vessel and make personal observations. But if Ned realized the risk he ran in thus undertaking a flight into the practically unknown, he did not show it. In fact, he was the coolest person on the field.

At length all was in readiness, and, drawing on a pair of gauntlets, and adjusting a life-preserver, Ned stepped up to the aeroplane and clambered into his seat.

A minute later the roar of the motor, as he set it going, drowned all other sounds. But the lad caught above the uproar of the engine Lieutenant De Frees' shouted farewell:

"Good luck, my boy!"

Ned responded with a wave and a shouted cry:

"Thank you, sir."

The next instant he waved his hand in token that he was ready to start. The men holding the struggling aeroplane released it, and it shot forward, taking the air within a few feet of the starting point. It rocketed skyward in a trail of blue smoke, leaving behind a reek of gasolene and burning lubricating oil.

Ned directed his course as high as possible, for he wished thoroughly to inspect the surroundings before he commenced his attempt. It was a bright, clear day, almost windless. As he rose higher, the glorious panorama of the open roadstead spread before his eyes. On its glistening surface lay a dark object, like a slumbering leviathan. Ned knew it in a flash for the anchored Manhattan—his goal.

Already a wireless had gone vibrating through the air announcing his departure, and a dozen glasses were aimed at the sky from the big fighting machine. Ned was watched for as eagerly as if he had been a real aerial enemy.

The lad circled about for a few minutes, making sure that his motor was working perfectly, and then he turned his prow toward the distant warship.

Straight toward her he flew, holding his course as true as a homing pigeon. The wind sang by his ears, and vibrated in the steel wire rigging of his sky-clipper as he raced along. The motor's drone behind him was as steady as a heart beat.

Ned's eyes shone with the desire of achievement. He was making a flight which might have a material effect upon the future armament of United States war vessels. He realized to the full the importance of his flight, and how much depended on it.

All at once his practiced eye detected, on the mirror-like surface of the stretch of water beneath him, a slight ruffle. It was some distance off. But Ned knew it spelled only one thing:

Wind!

"Bother it all," he thought, "just like the luck. However, it will only be a squall, I imagine."

He braced himself for a battle with the airman's greatest enemy. In a few seconds the squall was upon him. For an instant the aeroplane hesitated and thrilled like a live thing. Ned applied more power. Like a horse under the whip, his aeroplane shot forward. Every bolt and rivet in it strained and creaked under the tension. Ned was doing a daring thing in bucking the wind and fighting with it, instead of jockeying for some advantage.

But then Ned had a fighting nature in the best sense. An obstacle only aroused him to fresh effort. "Obstacles are things made to be conquered," he said, with another famous battler, whose name lives in history.

Zee-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e!

The wind screamed and tore about him, while below, the water was lashed into white-caps.

"Gee whiz!" exclaimed Ned to himself. "If anything parts, I'm due to test out the floating abilities of the pontoons sooner than I expected."

But, although sadly racked and strained, the aeroplane, under her operator's skilful handling, weathered the squall. Ned turned his head and watched it go whistling and howling shoreward, with deep satisfaction.

"A fine end to the test it would have been," he muttered, "if I'd been dumped in the sea by a squall at the outset."

A few minutes later he was maneuvering above the big Dreadnought. The vessel looked queer and dwarfed from the height at which he hovered. But Ned could not help thinking what a fine object she would offer for an aerial marksman. As the lad knew, there is a limit to the perpendicular aiming of a gun, and skimming directly above the vessel, as he was, it was doubtful if the most skilful gunner on board could have hit his aeroplane.

At the stern of the big ship, the young aviator now noticed a platform—evidently the one on which he was expected to land. His heart gave a thump, as he gazed down on it.

"It doesn't look much bigger than a checkerboard," he thought, "and if I don't hit it—wow! as Herc would say."

As carefully and coolly as if he were on a practice flight, Ned regulated his levers. Then, with a quick intake of his breath, he darted downward.

Down—down, he shot, the blood singing in his ears with the rapidity of his descent. It was thrilling, desperate—dangerous!

Suddenly, as Ned placed his foot on a pedal and applied a warping appliance, there was a sharp "crack!"

The aeroplane hesitated for an instant.

Then, without the slightest warning, it lurched in sickening fashion, almost unseating him.

The next instant Ned was hurtling downward through space like a plummet. Disaster, swift and certain, rushed up to meet him from the steel fighting machine beneath.