Adventure Magazine Cover — page 164: what you’re looking at

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

158 “Good,” said Graves. “I guess we’ve covered everything, gentlemen. Hinkley and Broughton will attend to gathering the equipment, general, providing you furnish them proper authority. I will be back about nine A.M., day after tomorrow. I guess there is no need for me to emphasize the need for absolute secrecy—you all realize that. If any of you want to reach me, you can call the Monticello Hotel in Norfolk and ask for Room 220. Don’t ask for Graves. “Thank you for your help—I’ll see you day after tomorrow. Good-by until then.” With a smile and slight bow, he left. Nex “NOW I wonder just who in <<) he is?” inquired Hinkley as the two = flyers started to walk toward the bachelor quarters. “Search me, but he’s turning up two thousand a minute, looks like. I figure I might not mind having him behind me in a scrap of any nature whatsoever.” “He’s probably some big agent of the secret service. There’s a lot of those eggs that pull off big stuff and nobody ever knows it. Take that Zimmerman note, for instance, during the war. At least, that’s what my ex-pilot Dumpy Scarth says.” “Dumpy ought to know,” grinned Broughton. “What do you think of our coming soirée?” “Tf I thought, I’d probably never go!”’ Itt Bee “I WISH I was back in Texas. va This muggy heat makes me sweat ~ dike ——.”’ “Any amount of heat that can wring moisture out of your skin and bones de- serves respect, Larry,” returned Broughton, shifting his body a trifle so that he could lie more comfortably. The two men were lying in the shade of an S. E. 5 wing on the line in front of the Engineering Department hangars. ‘“‘Where’s Covington now? By the time he gets through testing that Martin it’ll have flown twice-as far as we’re going to fly it and be all ready to get out of whack again,” remarked Hinkley, rolling a stem of grass around in between his lips. “It'll be right when we get it though. Did he say it was fully equipped?” Hinkley nodded. _“Even our suitcases are in, and artillery Adventure enough to equip all the armies of the allies. That’s the ship now, isn’t it?” Both men watched the Martin which was gliding majestically over the hangars on the Western edge of the field. It was wide and squat-looking, the one motor on each wing with the nose of the observers cockpit be- tween giving it the impression of a monster with a face. Over seventy feet of wing- spread, two Liberty motors, weighing near- ly five tons with a full load—it seemed so massive that the idea of flying it would have been ridiculous to a landsman who had never seen one in the air. There was none of the lightness and trimness usually asso- ciated with airplanes. It squatted easily on the ground, the high landing gear thrusting the nose ten feet in the air as it landed. It came taxying slowly toward the waiting pilots. “Ready to go, I see.” Broughton sat up and Hinkley turned at the sound of Graves’ voice. He was already in coveralls. The open neck showed the stiff-standing collar of an army uniform with officers’ insignia on it. “Ves, sir. And you?” “Right now. Is there anything more to be done to the ship?” “Not unless Covington has discovered something in this flight,” replied Broughton. ‘““A little more gas and oil to make up for what Covey has just used and we'll be set.”’ Coversation became impossible as the ship rumbled up to the line. Using first one motor and then the other, depending on which way he wanted to turn, Covington brought the bomber squarely up to the wait- ing-blocks. The attentive ears of the flyers listened closely to the sweet idling of both motors while Covington waited in the cock- pit for the gas in the carburetors to be used - up before cutting his switches. “Listens well,” stated Hinkley. Broughton nodded. “While they’re filling it with gas let’s make sure we understand everything,” said Graves. ‘This will probably be our last opportunity to talk.” “TLet’s see what Covey says first,” sug- gested Broughton. The test pilot, a chunky young man with nearly three thousand hours in the air on over sixty types of ships, assured them briefly that everything was in apple-pie condition. And when Covington said a CORICLOO© S (E@