Air Wonder Stories, July 1929 — page 68: what you’re looking at

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

66 AIR WONDER STORIES As he was speaking I was realizing that I ached severely in many quarters, I felt as though I had been through a meat grinder, I shuddered when he spoke of Norton and D’Arcy. They were good fellows, two of the best reporters on the News, and good sports too. I peered over at the quiet form lying stiffly without movement on the third bed. “Just what happened?” I asked, “and how did we get back here to Cuzco?” “One at a time , .. and not so much at once, please. Who said anything about Cuzco?” I looked about ... “Why this hospital... this...” “Yeh , . . this is a hospital, but not in Cuzco, my boy, You might as well know it now. You're a prisoner! At present you are in the underground hospital of the city of Number One of the nation of Mentor, old man, the headquarters of the people alated-homo ... or what have you! But anyway the service is pretty fair!” My pulse quickened. “So we did find them?” “No,” said Wormley, “They found us; we're invited guests!” “Invited, hum? That was a fine invitation card they presented us with. Did you learn what sort of a contraption they used to make us fall? Must be a devilish thing. Perhaps we can arrange to buy it for the United States of America!” “Not on your mug-print, feller. We're captives here and not somehow. Death to him who attempts escape! I asked about that woman we saw signal- ling us, but from what I judge she got...” and he passed his hand over his throat and uttered a colorful, “Quirk...” “Hum ... well, I'll have to get out to take the story back home... Walls do not a prison make... or iron bars a something-or-other. We shall. see... Howard Wormley .... we shall see. Well, tell me something more about this Number One city...” “Not so fast, not so fast ... You're just re- covering from a lot of what-not ...do you think I'm going to talk you into a fever. No sir, you keep your mouth shut. I’m calling a nurse now, and after that we'll see what’s what! And when you see the nurse... oh boy!” As he spoke Wormley was reaching up to the bead of his bed from which a bell cord hung. He pressed the button, “This isn’t such a bad billet at that, Jimmy. They aren’t a bad lot and are willing to treat us right if we do our part...” “And what is our part?” I demanded, “Simply to take upon ourselves a mate and help es the nation of Mentor!” Lois PCRieee conversation stopped with the sound of footsteps coming along the corridor outside our door, Somehow I had never thought of the possibility of there being winged women. The papers had been full of winged men, but none had ever mentioned women with wings. Nor could I have dreamed that she could be so like an angel! First I saw the gold of her close cropped hair, the. blue of deep far-seeing. eyes, a face such as Harris Fishel might seek in vain. Clothed in the tight fitting smock and snug trousers of Mentor she was a picture to behold and needed only the pair of beautiful rainbow-hued wings to make an angel of her, She carried her wings as angels should, the tips appearing just at the shoulder line, the end feathers, long and fine, dragging several inches on the ground behind her. (Such Mentorites as have gone a-kid- napping usually cut those long ends to prevent de- tection). Her hands were long and slender with the blue veins ottlined under the sun-browned skin. It always puzzled me (1 noted these last items at a later period) how the tall girl (she was five feet and nine inches tall without heels) managed to walk so easily and lightly on the tiny little feet she possessed which were so beautifully molded that they did not appear to have been constructed for use. Her shoes, incidently, were but flat soft pieces of tanned bird skins of about two dozen thicknesses, held on the bare foot by straps that crossed and re- crossed. She had come directly to the side of my bed and when she smiled brightly I thought I should cry out with the pain of it. (And me a case-hardened reporter). “Ah,” she said in an angel’s voice, “at last you have awakened. We feared for you, Jim Kennedy.” My tongue clove to the roof of my mouth, else I might have said some silly insane thing. But | could only grin foolishly. Wormley, however, did the honors for me. “Tt’s not easy to kill these reporter fellows, Miss Lois,” he said from behind his bandages. “No?” she queried. “Are reporters a breed dif- ferent then from other men?” Wormley burst out into a wild guffaw that ended abruptly in the middle. His bandages were not there for decoration; his face was pretty well shat- tered, and secretly I was tickled that he had hurt himself for his cussed remark. When he spoke again his voice came weakly. “It isn’t the breeding, but the training . . . they only take the hardest, toughest men they can find for reporters, mal-treat ’em, take away their hearts and graft on ’em a nose that smells out news ‘scoops’ ”, Miss Lois’ (heavenly name) eyes opened wide, then I saw that she had a good sense of humour for she laughed. “You are... what you say... kidding me again, Howard Wormley, You talk too much. Now both of you go to sleep while I go to tell Doctor Morris that Jim Kennedy has gained consciousness.” As she was speaking she put her hand on my forehead and then professionally took my pulse, thrust a thermometer into my mouth and then tucked the covers around my neck after reading it and writing the answer on her charts. She then tip-toed softly over to D’Arcy’s side, Wormley and I watched breathlessly as she bent over him. She put her fingets to his pulse, but as quickly took it away, then with a white face she turned to us. “He... oh dear... I believe he is dead!” and she turned and raced from the ward. In a minute she was back followed by a white coated doctor. He too bent over the still form, and we saw him draw the sheets over the face. Miss Lois brushed a tear from her eye. The Doctor now turned to me, comnliclooolks.com