"The Boy Aviators’ Flight for a Fortune" from John Henry Goldfrap. North American journalist and author of boys' books (1879-1917). --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition. --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.

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When Gordon Merrick neared the corner of Troutman Street he slowed down his bicycle and finally drew in at the curb, putting out a foot to hold himself in the saddle while he deliberated. So deep in thought was he that when the yellow watering cart trundled up, the driver half asleep under the blue and white umbrella, he never knew of it until the sprinkler had drenched him from foot to knee. The driver awoke at that moment and, looking back, saw Gordon. “Hi, there!” he shouted. “Look out!” Gordon, aroused from his thoughts by the unexpected bath, smiled. “Why?” he asked. “Are you coming back?” The joke was lost on the driver of the watering cart, however. He only scowled and settled back to slumber again. Gordon chuckled, and glanced ruefully at his drenched trouser-leg. Except for the looks of that no harm had been done, for it was a hot morning in early July and the feeling of the cool water against his leg had been decidedly pleasant. Evidently the incident had brought a decision in the weighty problem which had confronted him, for with no more hesitation he turned his wheel to the left and peddled on down E Street.

Adelaide and I have come to the conclusion that if you can't believe anything at all, not even the things that are as plain as the nose on your face—if you can't enjoy what is put here to be enjoyed—if you are going to turn up your nose at everything we tell you, and deny things that we know to be truly-ann-true, just because we haven't given you the cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die sign—then it's your own fault if we don't reply when you try to give the wipple-wappling call. And more than that, if you know so much that you don't know anything, or less than anything, you will have to go somewhere else to be amused and entertained; you will have to find other play-fellows.

CHAPTER I. TERRIBLE ODDS. “Feels pretty good to be back in harness, doesn’t it, Hal?” asked Chester, as, accompanied by a small body of men, they rode slowly along. “Great!” replied his friend enthusiastically. “And it looks as if we were to see action soon.” “Yes, it does look that way.” The little body of British troopers, only forty-eight of them all told, with Hal Paine and Chester Crawford as their guides, were reconnoitering ten miles in advance of the main army along the river Marne in the great war between Germany and the allied armies. For several hours they had been riding slowly without encountering the enemy, when, suddenly, as the little squad topped a small hill and the two boys gained an unobstructed view of the little plain below, Hal pulled up his horse with an exclamation. Quickly he threw up his right hand and the little troop came to an abrupt halt. “Germans!” he said laconically. “And thousands of ’em,” said Chester. “They haven’t seen us yet. What is best to be done?” The answer to this question came from the enemy. Several flashes of fire broke out along the German front, and the boys involuntarily ducked their heads as bullets sped whizzing past them. “Well, they have seen us now,” said Hal; then turning to the men: “To the woods,” pointing with his sword to a dense forest on his right. Rapidly the little body of men disappeared among the trees. “Up in the trees,” ordered Hal, “and pick them off as they come!” Swiftly the troopers leaped from their horses and climbed up among the branches. Here all could easily command a view of the oncoming German horde. Rapidly the enemy advanced, firing volley after volley as they approached; then, at a word from Hal, the British poured forth their answer. And such an answer! Before the aim of these few British troopers, accounted among the best marksmen in the world, the Teuton cavalry went down in heaps. There was a perceptible slackening in the speed of the approaching horsemen. Then, as the English continued their work, firing with machine-like precision and deadly accuracy, the Germans came to a halt. “What are they stopping for?” cried Chester. “There are enough of them to overwhelm us!” “I believe they fear a trap,” replied Hal. “They are afraid we are trying to ambush them with a larger force. We must keep up the delusion if we expect to get away.” So saying, he ordered the men to the ground, and the little force advanced to the extreme edge of the woods. So far not a man had been even wounded, for the Germans, unable to see that their foe had climbed into the trees, had aimed too low. From the edge of the woods the British poured several volleys, and then, as the enemy finally began an advance, they retreated slowly, firing as they flitted from tree to tree. Apparently, Hal had rightly guessed the cause of the enemy’s indecision. They advanced slowly and warily; and when they finally gained the edge of the woods there was not a Briton in sight; but from further in among the trees the leaden messengers of death still struck the Germans, and man after man fell in his tracks. Now the man nearest Chester threw up his arms and with a cry fell to the ground. The lad made as if to go to his assistance, but Hal stayed him with a word, and the little body of English continued their retreat, firing as they went. Suddenly the pursued emerged from the woods into the open. A distance of half a mile lay between them and the next clump of trees. In this half a mile there was nothing that would afford shelter; and the Germans were approaching nearer every second. Hal did not hesitate. “We shall have to make a dash for it!” he cried. “One more volley, men, and then run!” One more death-dealing volley was delivered at close range, and then the little troop of English turned and fled....

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AT the time of which I write, the smoke of battle still filled the air. The freedom of men and nations, the heritage of the ages, hung in the balance, so that even brave men were often filled with doubt and despair. The German guns were thundering at the gates of Verdun, seeking a new pathway to Paris, for the ever-growing British army had barred the northern route to the capital of France and the shores of the English Channel. But even the attempt to hack a way through Verdun was doomed to failure, and the first rift of blue in a clouded sky was soon to appear.

This book is part of the TREDITION CLASSICS. It contains classical literature works from over two thousand years. Most of these titles have been out of print and off the bookstore shelves for decades. The book series is intended to preserve the cultural legacy and to promote the timeless works of classical literature. Readers of a TREDITION CLASSICS book support the mission to save many of the amazing works of world literature from oblivion. With this series, tredition intends to make thousands of international literature classics available in printed format again – worldwide. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

“Nora, Nora! Where are you?” called a clear, girlish voice, and Cara Burt dashed headlong into a pretty bedroom all draped in white, where a tall girl was standing by an open window. “Nora!” she cried, “what are you doing up in your room at this hour, when we are all busy in the garden preparing our tableaux? Mrs Hazlitt says that she herself will recite ‘A Dream of Fair Women,’ and by unanimous consent you are to be Helen of Troy. Did any one ever suit the part so well? ‘Divinely tall, and most divinely fair.’

"What I would like to know," said Frank Chadwick, "is just how long England intends to put up with the activities of the German submarines in the waters surrounding the British Isles." "How long?" echoed Jack Templeton. "Surely you know that England is already conducting a vigorous campaign against them." "I don't seem to have heard anything of such a campaign," returned Frank dryly; "but another big liner was torpedoed and sunk off the coast of Ireland yesterday. What are we going to do about it? That's what I want to know." "I'll tell you a little something you don't seem to know," said Jack. "In the last thirty days, in the neighborhood of a hundred German submarines have disappeared—sunk or captured—no one seems to know which. Nevertheless, it is a fact. Through diplomatic channels word has been received in London that a large number have failed to return to their bases. The German government is much disturbed." "Where have they gone?" asked Frank, with some surprise. "I don't know. Nobody knows—unless, perhaps, a few high government officials. They have just naturally disappeared—vanished." "How do you know all this?" "I happened to hear Lord Hastings discussing it with Mr. Churchill while you were out the other day." --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition. --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.

William Osborn Stoddard (Cortland County, 1835–1925) was an American author, inventor, and assistant secretary to Abraham Lincoln during his first term.

Charles Amory Beach was a pseudonym used by the Stratemeyer Syndicate as author of a series of children's books.