The Argosy, Vol. 90 No. 1 — page 30: what you’re looking at

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

24 ruminative monotone through lips that scarcely opened: ‘And Uncle Sam needs his ships mighty bad just now, eh?” Then suddenly: “Hell!” he shouted, and jumped to his feet. “ Damn our old uncle, anyway! Stick your head out of the flap and holler for my mechanics.” Rankin jumped at him with both hands outstretched. “Jim! I knew you’d do it! white all through!” You’re “ Aw, hell,” muttered Jim again with. gruff discomfort, pushing him off. ‘‘ Get busy and fill up that gas-tank to the last drop you can make her hold, while I get into my helmet and togs.” “Your togs! What d’you want your gear for?” Jim’s jaw was thrust out with belliger- ence. “Tf Uncle Sam needs you on this job,” he said doggedly, “‘ he needs me, too., This is a two-man stunt. Shut up now, and beat it.” The next few minutes were a whirlwind of strenuous effort, punctuated with snapped question and fired-back answer and swift directions to the sweating me- chanics. Under their practised handling the machine was ready for its great task in record time. “IT swiped a Sperry synchronized drift- set and compass from the yard, Jim,” panted Rankin. “You did!” shouted Jim, and his face lit. ‘‘ That’s the first slim chance I see, then, of our picking up your darned ship. Mighty like hunting the needle in the hay- stack anyway. How far’s she out?”’ “Commandant said two hundred miles.” “Good stuff! If any bus in the coun- try can do it, mine will. She makes just over the hundred per hour, and she’s fitted with every mechanical improvement there is.” There was a note of regretful farewell in the tone. He had been very proud of his machine; and she certainly was the acme of American aeronautic skill. Stagger, she had, and dihedral, and re- treat, mystic technicalities of wing construc- tion which came very near to realizing the THE ARGOSY. dreamer’s goal of automatic stability. Con- trol wires had a safety factor of eight. There was a dashboard before each of the dual control yokes dotted with a maze of glass-dialed instruments. The two seats were tandem, with tele- phonic communication so that the occu- pants could converse above the roar of the engine. Nothing, in fact, which might con- tribute to speed and safety and accuracy had been omitted. And now—she was go- ing out into the approaching night beyond her capacity of return, like a swimmer who swims out to sea beyond the limit of his strength. No wonder that the owner swore at his old Uncle Sam even while he made his gift. On the beach, where the great machine floated like some graceful, swift storm petrel, Jim suddenly pushed Rankin to the rear seat. ‘““What’s the matter?” asked Rankin hurriedly. ‘“ Aren’t you going to fly her?” ‘““ Nope,” said Jim with determination. “°S your job. You’re a better flier any- way. Me for the instruments. I’ve been boning up a lot on this new dope about wave crest length and wind ratio and bomb dropping and all. Kinder hoped to get a commission myself—once; but—hell! Hop in and make your tests. If I’m in on this funeral I’m going to phone good-by to the girl.” Then for the first time did Rankin re- member his girl, and her trust, and his promise, and what it meant between him and her. He hesitated a moment; he, too, would have liked to telephone. For he was very human and just then some mysterious providence or other which looks after those who strive with a great purpose flashed to him a vague realization of his own weak- ness. Telephoning, the voice on the wire, with its note of appeal from the purely per- sonal view-point of the woman who waited, might undermine that high resolve. He set his teeth and climbed into the seat ready for action. With lips hard pinched, he tested his controls to see that everything was running smoothly. He tested the Christensen self- Starter. With an explosive whir the pro- oO Comiclbooe S CO