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TECHNOLOGY IN AC TION™
Beginning Sensor
Networks with
XBee, Raspberry Pi,
and Arduino
Sensing the World with Python
and MicroPython
—
Second Edition
—
Charles Bell
www.allitebooks.com
Beginning Sensor
Networks with XBee,
Raspberry Pi, and
Arduino
Sensing the World with Python
and MicroPython
Second Edition
Charles Bell
www.allitebooks.com
Beginning Sensor Networks with XBee, Raspberry Pi, and Arduino:
Sensing the World with Python and MicroPython
Charles Bell
Warsaw, VA, USA
www.allitebooks.com
I dedicate this book to the countless healthcare
professionals, first responders, and many unsung heroes of
this difficult time we face in the world during the COVID-19
crisis. It is my hope this book and others like it help the
millions of people pass the time during the crisis learning
more about science and technology.
www.allitebooks.com
Table of Contents
About the Author��������������������������������������������������������������������������������xv
www.allitebooks.com
Table of Contents
vi
Table of Contents
vii
Table of Contents
viii
Table of Contents
ix
Table of Contents
Arduino Tutorial�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������288
Learning Resources�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������289
The Arduino IDE�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������290
Project: Hardware “Hello, World!”����������������������������������������������������������������294
Hosting Sensors with Arduino���������������������������������������������������������������������������300
Project: Building an Arduino Temperature Sensor���������������������������������������������302
Hardware Setup�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������302
Software Setup��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������304
Writing the Sketch���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������306
Test Execution���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������310
Project: Using an Arduino As a Data Collector for XBee Sensor Nodes�������������312
XBee Sensor Node���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������312
Coordinator Node�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������313
Arduino with XBee Shield����������������������������������������������������������������������������314
Testing the Final Project������������������������������������������������������������������������������326
For More Fun�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������328
Component Shopping List���������������������������������������������������������������������������������328
Summary����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������331
x
Table of Contents
xi
Table of Contents
xii
Table of Contents
xiii
Table of Contents
Appendix�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������683
Consolidated Shopping Lists�����������������������������������������������������������������������������683
Alternative Connection Systems�����������������������������������������������������������������������691
Grove�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������691
Qwiic�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������695
STEMMA QT������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������700
Summary����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������701
Index�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������703
xiv
About the Author
Charles Bell conducts research in emerging
technologies. He is a principal software
developer of the Oracle MySQL Development
team. He lives in a small town in rural Virginia
with his loving wife. He received his Doctor
of Philosophy in Engineering from Virginia
Commonwealth University in 2005.
Dr. Bell is an expert in the database field
and has extensive knowledge and experience in
software development and systems engineering.
His research interests include microcontrollers, three-dimensional printing,
database systems, software engineering, and sensor networks. He spends his
limited free time as a practicing maker focusing on microcontroller projects
and refinement of three-dimensional printers.
xv
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
CHAPTER II
A DISCIPLE OF AVIATION
Orissa was tired next day and she blundered several times in
copying deeds and attending to the routine of the private office,
where she alone was closeted with the proprietor. But Mr. Burthon
would not have noticed had she set fire to the place, so intent was
he upon a bundle of papers he had brought in with him and to which
he devoted his exclusive attention.
The girl left him at his desk when she went to lunch and found
him there, still occupied with the papers, when she returned. Several
people wanted to see him personally, but he told Orissa to state he
was engaged and could admit no one. She gave the message to the
young man in charge of the outer office, where several clerks were
employed, and they knew better than to allow anyone to invade Mr.
Burthon’s private sanctum.
At about three o’clock, while she was busy at her desk, the
secretary heard her name spoken and looked up. From his chair Mr.
Burthon was eyeing her observantly. His gaze was clear and
intelligent; the abstracted mood had passed.
“Come here, please, Miss Kane,” he said.
She brought her writing pad and sat down beside his desk, as she
did when he dictated his letters; but he shook his head.
“We’ll not mind the mail to-day,” he said. “I want to talk with you;
to advise with you. Queerly enough, Miss Kane, there isn’t a soul on
earth in whom I can confide when occasion arises. In other words, I
haven’t an intimate friend I can trust, or one who is sincerely
interested in me.”
That embarrassed Orissa a little. Since she had been working at
the office this was the first time he had addressed a remark to her
not connected with the business. Indeed, the man was now
regarding her much as he would a curiosity, as if he had just
discovered her. She was amazed to hear him speak so confidentially
and made no reply because she had nothing to say.
After a pause he continued:
“You haven’t much business experience, my child, but you have a
keen intellect and decided opinions.” Orissa wondered how he knew
that. “Therefore I am going to ask your advice in a matter where
business is blended with sentiment. Will you be good enough to give
me your candid opinion?”
“If you wish me to, sir,” she said, after some hesitation.
“Thank you, Miss Kane. The case is this: With four others I
purchased some time ago a gold mine in Arizona known as the
‘Queen of Hearts.’ It cost me about all I am worth—some two
hundred thousand dollars.”
Orissa gasped. It seemed an enormous sum. But he continued,
speaking calmly and clearly:
“I thought at the time the mine was surely worth a million. I went
to see it and found the ore exceedingly rich. The others, who
purchased the Queen of Hearts with me, were equally deceived, for
just recently we have discovered that the rich vein was either very
narrow or was placed there by those we purchased from, with the
intention of defrauding us. In either case, please understand that
the mine is not worth a cotton hat. We are a stock company, and our
stock is listed on the exchange and commands a high premium, for
no one except the owners knows the truth about it. The general idea
is that the mine is still producing largely—and it is—for, to protect
ourselves until we can unload it on to others, we have secretly
purchased rich ore elsewhere, dumped it into the mine, and then
taken it out again.”
He paused, drumming absently on the desk with his fingers, and
Orissa asked:
“What is the object of that deception, sir?”
“To maintain the public delusion until we can sell out. And now I
come to the point of my story, Miss Kane. Gold mines, even as rich
as the Queen of Hearts is reputed to be, are not easy to sell. I have
exhausted all my resources in keeping up this deception and the
time has come when I must sell or become bankrupt. The other
stockholders have smaller interests and are wealthier men, but each
one is striving hard to secure a customer. I have found one.”
He looked up and smiled at her; then he frowned.
“The man is my brother-in-law,” he added.
Orissa was getting nervous, but waited for him to continue.
“This brother-in-law is a man I detest. He married my only sister
and did not treat her well. He is a notorious gambler and confidence
man, although perhaps he would not admit that is his profession. At
all events he had the assurance to sneer at me and abuse my sister,
and I was powerless at the time to interfere. Fortunately the poor
woman died several years ago. Since then I have not seen much of
Cumberford, for he lives in the East. He came out here last month
on some small business matter and has gone crazy over the Queen
of Hearts mine. He hunted me up and asked if I’d sell part of my
stock. I told him I would sell all or none. So he has been getting his
money together and has raised two hundred and fifty thousand
dollars—the sum I demanded.”
Orissa was looking at him wonderingly. The story seemed
incredible. Perhaps Mr. Burthon saw the dismay and reproach in her
eyes, for he asked:
“What do you think of this deal, Miss Kane? Am I not fortunate?”
“But—would you really sell a worthless property to this man—your
own brother-in-law—and—and steal a fortune from him?” she
inquired.
The man flushed and shifted uneasily in his seat.
“He abused my sister,” he said, as if defending himself.
“The property is worthless,” she persisted.
“He can hustle around and sell it again, as I am doing.”
“Suppose he fails? Suppose he refuses to do such a wicked thing?”
Mr. Burthon stared at her a moment. Then he laughed harshly.
“Cumberford would delight in such a ‘wicked’ game,” he replied.
“And, if he failed to sell, the scoundrel would be ruined, for I believe
this two hundred and fifty thousand is about all he’s worth.”
“It’s dreadful!” exclaimed the girl, really shocked.
“It is done every day in a business way,” he rejoined.
“Then why did you ask my advice?” demanded the girl, quickly.
Before answering he waited to drum on the desk with his fingers
again.
“Because,” said he, speaking slowly, “I dislike this man so
passionately that I have wondered if the hatred blinds my judgment.
He may be dangerous, too, yet I think he is too much of a fool to be
able to injure me in retaliation. I don’t know him very well. I’ve not
seen him before for years.” He paused, taking note of the horror
spreading over the girl’s face. Then he smiled and added in a gentler
voice: “Perhaps my chief reason, however, for seeking your advice is
that I find I have still a conscience. Yes, yes; a troublesome
conscience. I have been suppressing it for years, yet like Banquo’s
ghost it will not down. My business judgment determines me to
unload this worthless stock and save myself from the loss of my
entire fortune. I must do it. It is like a man taking unawares a
counterfeit coin, and then, discovering it is spurious, passing it on to
some innocent victim. You might do that yourself, Miss Kane.”
“I do not believe I would.”
“Well, most people would, and think it no crime. In this case I’m
merely passing a counterfeit, that I received innocently, on to
another innocent. If the fact is ever known my business friends will
applaud me. But that obstinate conscience of mine keeps asking the
question: ‘Is it safe?’ It asserts that I am filled with glee because I
am selling to a man I hate—a man who has indirectly injured me. I
am to get revenge as well as save my money. Safe? Of course it’s
safe. Yet my—er—conscience—the still small voice—keeps digging at
me to be careful. It doesn’t seem to like the idea of dealing with
Cumberford, and has been annoying me for several days. So I
thought I would put the case to a young, pure-minded girl who has
a clear head and is honest. I imagined you would tell me to go
ahead. Then I could afford to laugh at cautious Mr. Conscience.”
“No,” said Orissa, gravely, “the conscience is right. But you
misunderstand its warning. It doesn’t mean that the act is not safe
from a worldly point of view, but from a moral standpoint. You could
not respect yourself, Mr. Burthon, if you did this thing.”
He sighed and turned to his papers. Orissa hesitated. Then,
impulsively, she asked:
“You won’t do it, sir; will you?”
“Yes, Miss Kane; I think I shall.”
His tone had changed. It was now hard and cold.
“Mr. Cumberford will call here to-morrow morning at nine, to
consummate the deal,” he continued. “See that we are not
disturbed, Miss Kane.”
“But, sir—”
He turned upon her almost fiercely, but at sight of her distressed,
downcast face a kindlier look came to his eyes.
“Remember that the alternative would be ruin,” he said gently. “I
would be obliged to give up my business—these offices—and begin
life anew. You would lose your position, and—”
“Oh, I won’t mind that!” she exclaimed.
“Don’t you care for it, then?”
“Yes; for I need the money I earn. But to do right will not ruin
either of us, sir.”
“Perhaps not; but I’m not going to do right—as you see it. I shall
follow my business judgment.”
Orissa was indignant.
“I shall save you from yourself, then,” she cried, standing before
him like an accusing angel. “I warn you now, Mr. Burthon, that when
Mr. Cumberford calls I shall tell him the truth about your mine, and
then he will not buy it.”
He looked at her curiously, reflectively, for a long time, as if he
beheld for the first time some rare and admirable thing. The man
was not angered. He seemed not even annoyed by her threat. But
after that period of disconcerting study he turned again to his desk.
“Thank you, Miss Kane. That is all.”
She went back to her post, trembling nervously from the
excitement of the interview, and tried to put her mind on her work.
Mr. Burthon was wholly unemotional and seemed to have forgotten
her presence. But, a half hour later, when he thrust the papers into
his pocket, locked his desk and took his hat to go, he paused beside
his secretary, gazed earnestly into her face a moment and then
abruptly turned away.
“Good night, Miss Kane,” he said, and his voice seemed to dwell
tenderly on her name.
CHAPTER V
That night Orissa confided the whole story to Steve. Her brother
listened thoughtfully and then inquired:
“Will you really warn Mr. Cumberford, Ris?”
“I—I ought to,” she faltered.
“Then do,” he returned. “To my notion Burthon is playing a mean
trick on the fellow, and no good business man would either applaud
or respect him for it. Your employer is shifty, Orissa; I’m sure of it; if
I were you I’d put a stop to his game no matter what came of it.”
“Very well, Steve; I’ll do it. But I don’t believe Mr. Burthon means
to be a bad man. His plea about his conscience proves that. But—
but—”
“It’s worse for a man to realize he’s doing wrong, and then do it,
than if he were too hardened to have any conscience at all,”
asserted Steve oracularly.
“And if I let him do this wrong act I would be as guilty as he,” she
added.
“That’s true, Ris. You’ll lose your job, sure enough, but there will
be another somewhere just as good.”
So, when Mr. Burthon’s secretary went to the office next morning
she was keyed up to do the most heroic deed that had ever come to
her hand. Whatever the consequences might be, the girl was
determined to waylay Mr. Cumberford when he arrived and tell him
the truth about the Queen of Hearts.
But he did not come to the office at nine o’clock. Neither had Mr.
Burthon arrived at that time. Orissa, her heart beating with
trepidation but strong in resolve, watched the clock nearing the hour,
passing it, and steadily ticking on in the silence of the office. The
outer room was busy this morning, and in the broker’s absence his
secretary was called upon to perform many minor tasks; but her
mind was more upon the clock than upon her work.
Ten o’clock came. Eleven. At half past eleven the door swung open
and Mr. Burthon ushered in a strange gentleman whom Orissa at
once decided was Mr. Cumberford. He was extremely tall and thin
and stooped somewhat as he walked. He had a long, grizzled
mustache, wore gold-rimmed eyeglasses and carried a gold-headed
cane. From his patent leather shoes to his chamois gloves he was as
neat and sleek as if about to attend a reception.
Observing the presence of a young lady the stranger at once
removed his hat, showing his head to be perfectly bald.
“Sit down, Cumberford,” said Mr. Burthon, carelessly.
As he obeyed, Orissa, her face flaming red, advanced to a position
before him and exclaimed in a pleading voice:
“Oh, sir, do not buy Mr. Burthon’s mine, I beg of you!”
The man stared at her with faded gray eyes which were enlarged
by the lenses of his spectacles. Mr. Burthon smiled, seemed
interested, and watched the scene with evident amusement.
“Why not, my child?” asked Mr. Cumberford.
“Because it is worthless—absolutely worthless!” she declared.
He turned to the other man.
“Eh, Burthon?” he muttered, inquiringly.
“Miss Kane believes she is speaking the truth,” said the broker
jauntily.
“Oh, she does. And you, Burthon?”
“I? Why, I’m of the same opinion.”
Mr. Cumberford took out his handkerchief, removed his glasses
and polished the lenses with a thoughtful air. Orissa was trembling
with nervousness.
“Don’t buy the Queen of Hearts, sir; it would ruin you,” she
repeated earnestly.
He breathed upon the glasses and wiped them carefully.
“You interest me,” he remarked. “But, the fact is, I—er—I’ve
bought it.”
“Already!”
“At nine o’clock, according to agreement. Burthon sent word he’d
come to my hotel instead of meeting me at his office, as first
planned.”
“Oh, I see!” cried Orissa, much disappointed. “He knew I would
prevent the crime.”
“Crime, miss?”
“Is it not a crime to rob you of two hundred and fifty thousand
dollars?”
“It would be, of course. I should dislike to lose so much money.”
“You have lost it!” declared the girl. “That mine has no gold in it at
all—except what has been bought elsewhere and placed in it to
deceive a purchaser.”
Mr. Cumberford replaced his glasses, adjusting them carefully
upon his nose. Then he stared at Orissa again.
“You’re an honest young woman,” he said calmly. “I’m much
obliged. You interest me. But—ahem!—Burthon has my money, you
see.”
Mr. Burthon’s expression had changed. He was now regarding his
brother-in-law with a curious and puzzled gaze.
“You’re not angry, Cumberford?” he asked.
“No, Burthon.”
“You’re not even annoyed, I take it?” This with something of a
sneer.
“No, Burthon.”
Both Orissa and her employer were amazed. Looking from one to
another, Mr. Cumberford’s waxen features relaxed into a smile.
“I’ve placed my Queen of Hearts stock in a safety deposit vault,”
he remarked blandly.
“I have deposited your money in my bank,” retorted Mr. Burthon,
triumphantly.
“Excellent!” said the other. “The thing interests me—indeed it
does. You couldn’t purchase that stock from me at this moment,
Burthon, for twice the sum I paid you.”
“No? And why not?”
“I’ll tell you. I had not intended to refer to the matter just yet, but
this young woman’s exposé of your attempted trickery induces me to
explain matters. You have always taken me for a fool, Burthon.”
“I’ve tried to place a proper value on your intellect, Cumberford.”
“You have little talent in that line, believe me. Before I came out
here I had heard such glowing reports of the Queen of Hearts that I
stopped off in Arizona to see the wonderful mine. The manager was
very polite and showed me about, but somehow I got a notion that
all was not square and aboveboard. I’ve always been interested in
mines; they fascinate me; and if this mine was as rich as reported I
wanted some of the stock. But I imagined things looked a little
queer, so I sent a confidential agent—fellow named Brewster, who
has been with me for years—to hire out as a miner and keep his
eyes open. He soon discovered the truth—that the mine was being
‘salted’ or fed with outside gold ore in precisely the way this girl has
stated.”
He turned to Orissa with a profound bow, then looked toward
Burthon again. “The thing interested me. I wondered why, and wired
my man to stay on a little longer, till I had time to think it over. I—er
—think very slowly. Very. In a few days Brewster telegraphed me the
startling intelligence that the mine had actually struck a new lead,
with ore far richer than the first showing, although that had made
the Queen of Hearts famous. My man had been sent to the
telegraph office with messages from the manager to Mr. Burthon and
the four other stockholders; but poor Brewster’s memory is bad, and
he forgot to send a telegram to anyone but me. Of course the great
strike—er—interested me. I instructed Brewster over the telegraph
wire. At a cost of five thousand dollars we bribed the manager to
keep the valuable strike secret for ten days. He’s an honest man,
and I shall retain him in the office. The ten days expire to-night.
Meantime, I’ve purchased the stock.”
Mr. Burthon sprang to his feet, white with anger.
“You scoundrel!” he shouted.
“Don’t get excited, Burthon. This is a mere business incident,
between man and man—and a girl.” Another bow toward Orissa.
“You tried to rob me, sir, and sneered when you thought you had
succeeded. I haven’t robbed you, for I paid your price; but I’ve
made a very neat investment. My stock is worth a million at this
moment. Interesting, isn’t it?”
Mr. Burthon recovered himself with an effort and sat down again.
“Very well,” he said a little thickly. “As you say, it’s all in the way of
business. Good day, Cumberford.”
The other man arose and faced Orissa, who stood by wholly
bewildered by this unexpected development.
“Thank you again, my child. Your name? Orissa Kane. I’ll
remember it. You tried to do me a kindness. Interesting—very!”
Without another glance at Mr. Burthon he put on his hat, walked
out and closed the door softly behind him.
Orissa looked up and found the broker’s eyes regarding her
intently.
“I—I’m sorry, sir,” she stammered; “but I had to do it, to satisfy
my conscience. I suppose I am dismissed?”
“No, indeed, Miss Kane,” he returned in kindly tones. “An honest
secretary is too rare an acquisition to be dismissed without just
cause. Having told you what I did, I could expect you to act in no
other way.”
“And, after all, sir,” she said, brightening at the thought, “you did
not rob him! Yet you saved your fortune.”
He made a slight grimace, and then laughed frankly.
“Had I taken your advice,” he rejoined, “I should now be worth a
million.”
CHAPTER VI
A BUCKING BIPLANE
Stephen Kane had scarcely slept a wink for three nights. When
Orissa came home Thursday evening he met her at the car with the
news that his aëroplane was complete.
“I’ve been adjusting it and testing the working parts all the
afternoon,” he said, his voice tense with effort to restrain his
excitement, “and I’m ready for the trial whenever you say.”
“All right, Steve,” she replied briskly; “it begins to be daylight at
about half past four, this time of year; shall we make the trial at that
hour to-morrow morning?”
“I couldn’t wait longer than that,” he admitted, pressing her arm
as they walked along. “My idea is to take it into old Marston’s
pasture.”
“Isn’t the bull there?” she inquired.
“Not now. Marston has kept the bull shut up the past few days.
And it’s the best place for the trial, for there’s lots of room.”
“Let’s take a look at it, Steve!” she said, hastening her steps.
In the big, canvas covered shed reposed the aëroplane, its
spreading white sails filling the place almost to the very edges. It
was neither a monoplane nor a biplane, according to accepted ideas
of such machines, but was what Steve called “a story-and-a-half
flyer.”
“That is, I hope it’s a flyer,” he amended, while Orissa stared with
admiring eyes, although she already knew every stick and stitch by
heart.
“Of course it’s a flyer!” she exclaimed. “I wouldn’t be afraid to
mount to the moon in that airship.”
“All that witches need is a broomstick,” he said playfully. “But
perhaps you’re not that sort of a witch, little sister.”
“What shall we call it, Steve?” she asked, seriously. “Of course it’s
a biplane, because there are really two planes, one being above the
other; but it is not in the same class with other biplanes. We must
have a distinctive name for it.”
“I’ve thought of calling it the ‘Kane Aircraft,’” he answered. “How
does that strike you?”
“It has an original sound,” Orissa said. “Oh, Steve! couldn’t we try
it to-night? It’s moonlight.”
He shook his head quickly, smiling at her enthusiasm.
“I’m afraid not. You’re tired, and have the dinner to get and the
day’s dishes to wash and put away. As for me, I’m so dead for sleep
I can hardly keep my eyes open. I must rest, so as to have a clear
head for to-morrow’s flight.”
“Shall we say anything to mother about it?”
“Why need we? It would only worry the dear woman
unnecessarily. Whether I succeed or fail in this trial, it will be time
enough to break the news to her afterward.”
Orissa agreed with this. Mrs. Kane knew the airship was nearing
completion but was not especially interested in the venture. It
seemed wonderful to her that mankind had at last learned how to
fly, and still more wonderful that her own son was inventing and
building an improved appliance for this purpose; but so many
marvelous things had happened since she became blind that her
mind was to an extent inured to astonishment and she had learned
to accept with calm complacency anything she could not
comprehend.
Brother and sister at last tore themselves away from the
fascinating creation and returned to the house, where Steve,
thoroughly exhausted, fell asleep in his chair while Orissa was
preparing dinner. He went to bed almost immediately after he had
eaten and his sister also retired when her mother did, which was at
an early hour.
But Orissa could not sleep. She lay and dreamed of the great
triumph before them; of the plaudits of enraptured spectators; of
Stephen’s name on every tongue in the civilized world; and, not least
by any means, of the money that would come to them. No longer
would the Kanes have to worry over debts and duebills; the good
things of the world would be theirs, all won by her brother’s
cleverness.
If she slept at all before the gray dawn stole into the sky the girl
was not aware of it. By half past four she had smoking hot coffee
ready for Steve and herself and after hastily drinking it they rushed
to the hangar.
Steve was bright and alert this morning and declared he had
“slept like a log.” He slid the curtains away from the front of the
shed and solemnly the boy and girl wheeled the big aëroplane out
into the garden. By careful manipulation they steered it between the
trees and away to the fence of Marston’s pasture, which adjoined
their own premises at the rear. To get it past the fence had been
Steve’s problem, and he had arranged to take out a section of the
fencing big enough to admit his machine. This was now but a few
minutes’ work, and presently the aëroplane was on the smooth turf
of the pasture.
They were all alone. There were no near neighbors, and it was
early for any to be astir.
“One of the most important improvements I have made is my
starting device,” said Steve, as he began a last careful examination
of his aircraft. “All others have a lot of trouble in getting started. The
Wright people erect a tower and windlass, and nearly every other
machine uses a track.”
“I know,” replied Orissa. “I have seen several men holding the
thing back until the motors got well started and the propellers were
whirling at full speed.”
“That always struck me as a crude arrangement,” observed her
brother. “Now, in this machine I start the motor whirling an eccentric
of the same resisting power as the propeller, yet it doesn’t affect the
stability of the aëroplane. When I’m ready to start I throw in a clutch
that instantly transfers the power from the eccentric to the propeller
—and away I go like a rocket.”
As he spoke he kissed his sister and climbed to the seat.
“Are you afraid, Steve?” she whispered, her beautiful face flushed
and her eyes bright with excitement.
“Afraid! Of my own machine? Of course not.”
“Don’t go very high, dear.”
“We’ll see. I want to give it a thorough test. All right, Ris; I’m off!”
The motors whirred, steadily accelerating speed while the
aëroplane trembled as if eager to dart away. Steve threw in the
clutch; the machine leaped forward and ran on its wheels across the
pasture like a deer, but did not rise.
He managed to stop at the opposite fence and when Orissa came
running up, panting, her brother sat in his place staring stupidly
ahead.
“What’s wrong, Steve?”
He rubbed his head and woke up.
“The forward elevator, I guess. But I’m sure I had it adjusted
properly.”
He got down and examined the rudder, giving it another upward
tilt.
“Now I’ll try again,” he said cheerfully.
They turned the aircraft around and he made another start. This
time Orissa was really terrified, for the thing acted just like a bucking
broncho. It rose to a height of six feet, dove to the ground, rose
again to plunge its nose into the turf and performed such absurd,
unexpected antics that Steve had to cling on for dear life. When he