The Argosy, Vol. 90 No. 1 — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

20 THE ARGOSY. an impression of irrevocable divorce from his ambition—aviation. Everybody seemed to regard him already as a part of the line organization. And, what was more, there was a distinct air of congratulation about it; as though it let him into an honorable and superselect fraternity. He murmured an abstract instruction to send the reply to the quarters of Junior Lieutenant Mason, and went there to wait for it, dodging furtively behind the various yard buildings to avoid a possible message from the commandant before he should be able to produce the news of his rejoining as a measure of mitigation. Fifteen minutes drifted on to thirty. But Rankin hardly noticed. His mind was occupied with that queer idea about “his ship.” He saw the thing in vague pictures. Himself, in charge of a gun-crew directing practise; himself, officer of the deck; him- self, again, a brother officer in the comfort- able relaxation of the ward-room with some of the first gentlemen of the world. Always himself holding down some position of trust as a member of a great and proud organiza- tion—a United States fighting-ship! The thing obsessed him. There was an illusive stirring of his emotions, a vague thrill about it all. But, hang it all, what had he to do with ships at all? His ambi- tion was to be a flier. Into his abstraction broke two men en- gaged in speech. “Operator reports very sorry, sir, but he can’t get in touch with your ship, sir. Somethin’ must be wrong with her wireless for the present; or mebbe it’s static in the air. All messages are bad just now. He'll try again in a half an hour or so.” The retribution which dogs the steps of the wrong-doer! Before Rankin could commiserate himself on his ill-luck the other man saluted and spoke up. His belt and side arms proclaimed him an orderly at a glance. ‘““Commandant’s compliments, sir, and he’d like to see you immediately.” It had come! The inevitable! Ensign Rankin had to face his fate without a single extenuating circumstance in hand! He strode to the interview with something less of carelessness than had been his habit. For some reason the fact of having missed his ship troubled him more than he had ever thought possible. In the commandant’s office he waited for some minutes in silence. That stern, self-possessed autocrat let him stand un- heeded. He was nervously agitated over the papers which he held, official radio forms. He bit his pencil, frowning. At last he scribbled a message on a pad, fired it at an orderly, and looked up sharply at the delinquent officer. His tone was snap- pily brusk. ‘“H-m. Just arrived, I suppose. Well, my message was meant to reach you hours ago. Sorry. Can’t attend to your case just now. Urgent matters come to hand. You will consider yourself confined to the offi- cers’ mess till I can find time to send for you again.” - ITI. RANKIN tiptoed out, thankful as any schoolboy that his sentence should at least have been postponed. On his way to the mess he was determined to look in for a last chance about his message to “his ship.” He was thinking of it in those terms himself now; though his anxiety to get in touch with her was quite beyond his own analysis. In the little sending-room, heavy with ozone, there was an atmosphere of frenzied haste. The operator was working fran- tically at his sender and straining to listen for the answering whispers which came only in intermittent dashes or in blurred nothings. The man continued sitting at his instrument and shot broken sentences at the officer between the spasms of staccato raspings from his key. ‘‘ Sorry, sir—nothing yet—tried five min- utes ago—try her again later. Urgent code stuff comin’ in—awful jumble. Static is somethin’ fierce, ’count o’ this’ storm brewing.” In the intervals of hurried speech he worked his key with his right hand and scribbled simultaneously with his left. He tore the form from his pad and thrust it at his messenger. “Commandant! Jump to it! Yes, sir; somebody’s all excited up somewhere; cod- oO comicbooks CO