Adventure Magazine Cover — page 142: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

132 in the number of flyers gone. After the reports were in, the general or whoever was doing the thing would rise and call on every- body to fill their glasses. Then every one rose and with his glass held high the general gave the toast—always the same: “*The little sands of the hour-glass Measure time as it flies; Here’s to the men gone West today And here’s to the next man who dies!’ “Silently the toast was drunk, every man wondering whether that toast would prove to be for him next day. Then the dinners came on, the sound of talk and laughter filled the café, and the little moment of sol- emnity was gone.” Something in the captain’s quiet, vivid words impressed the young officers, and for a moment no one spoke. Then MacDowell broke the silence as he drawled whimsically, “The Royal Air Force swelled their total a lot reporting me gone. I had forced land- ings on the way back from patrol so often it seemed like I never could get back in time to escape being bumped off in the Lie- giouse!”’ Through the rest of the meal and in the comfortable lounging-room afterward Cap- tain Kennard and the Texan swapped yarns of the old days overseas. The personality of MacDowell grew on his listeners. His dryly humorous speech, and the noticeable fact that in none of his stories did he men- tion himself, rapidly secured for him the liking of every one of his comrades-to-be. As Jimmy Jennings remarked, sotto voce, to Mills: ““He’s kept us listening for over an hour and never yet told us how he got his first seventy planes or how those decorations came to bloom on his blouse. Some change after Dumpy, eh?” Before long the conversation changed to the ubiquitous Mr. Robert Scarth and Mac- Dowell heard all about him. He had heard of Dumpy’s achievement in a general way, and was much interested in the details. “The boy was sure flying,” he said, as he expertly rolled a cigaret. ‘Too had he’s as good a barracks flyer as he is a real one, though.”’ “It’s funny—flying ‘is the only thing he’s conceited about,” put in Mallory, who was dummy hand in a bridge game over in the corner. ‘And he’s really a pretty good scout—good-natured, give you the shirt off Adventure his back if you needed it and all that, but when it comes to flying “He’s suffering with a mental freeze and a verbal thaw, eh?” suggested Tex. “He was kidding us today, asking why we didn’t pull off something down here to put McMullen on the map. He thinks be- cause he’s crazy that anybody who won’t gamble his life against his motor seventy times a day is no good!” MacDowell yawned, rose and stretched his long length sleepily. “Guess I'll be turning in—didn’t get much sleep in that two-by-four berth last night. Will it be possible for me to get a flight tomorrow, captain?”’ “Sure thing. You’ve flown De Havi- lands, I suppose?”’ “Ves, sir. I had a few flights at Donovan Field before I came down. Of course I'm not so experienced that I'll be rivaling Dumpy Scarth for a while——” And with his slow grin he lounged out, leaving his fellows to speculate somewhat on the precise significance of that state- ment. Ya NEXT morning the ship in which Z fe MacDowell was flying was casually Mes banking and wingturning over the airdrome as the pilot felt it out. Below, the other members of the flight were keeping an eye on it. Somehow or other they had a feeling that the new man “had the goods.” That is just what one was likely to think of MacDowell. round capability. Mills and Beaman were off on the eastward patrol to the Gulf of Mexico, and Binder with his observer, Wal- lace, had the westward course. The rest of the airmen were watching, ready to pass judgment. After a while the drone of the motor over- head gradually decreased until it could not be heard. The De Haviland, silhouetted against the flawless blue of the sky, looked as if it were absolutely motionless. It was, so far as forward speed went. It gradually grew in size, however, and to the men on the ground it was apparent that MacDowell was ‘stalling’ down. Stalling is a peculiarly skil- ful bit of flying. The ship, being without flying-speed, drops, and it requires the finest imaginable sense of balance to keep it Jevel, preventing it from going into a nose dive or dropping off into a spin. It is done by cut- ting the motor, pulling the nose up, and CoOMmicbook He gave an impression of all- C©