AERONAUTICS: Space-Spurning Scion

Caracoling geldings in front of Fifth Avenue's sprucest barouche— distempered horseless carriages— sleek limousines—yachts, a succession of them, haughty and lithe, with these the Vanderbilts, in their generations, have spurned space. To this list of conveyances an addition was made last week—the fastest seaplane in the world. Harold Sterling, son of William K., had it built by Charles Kirkham, once of the Curtiss Company.

Of a different feather from mundane planes (which have wooden hulls, fabric wings, Liberty engines), this aristocratic bird has wings and body of duralumin—a new alloy, light as cork, strong as steel. It carries four passengers, has a special compartment for golf clubs and other week-end breakables. It will go 130 m. p. h., ten times as fast as the proudest, the tallest sailing yacht of bygone days.

To the scion of wealth, its owner, certain cinemalicious adjectives, reserved for scions—idle, gilded, etc.— do not apply. To avoid being idle, he became, after graduating from Harvard, in turn, a railroad-lawyer's clerk, a reporter for The Sun (New York), a lieutenant in the U. S. Naval Reserve. He is a director of the N. Y. Central R. R., and has an office in the Grand Central Terminal, Manhattan, where he often may be found. Never gilded, he was once scorched when his yacht, the Vagrant caught fire at sea, but survived to win the N. Y. Yacht Club cruise with this boat two weeks ago. Incidentally he is the Commodore of the New York Yacht Club.