Bill Barnes Air Adventurer, July 1935 — page 59: what you’re looking at

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

AIR ADVENTURER “Cloves,” Bill said, shortly. He was tired and he looked it. ‘What do you mean, cloves?” “Cloves you put in hams and pies. You ought to know all about that,’ Bill said. ‘“‘They have almost a world mo- nopoly on the clove trade.” But Sandy wasn’t interested in the clove trade. He was interested only in getting into a cold bath and then into bed. He didn’t even want any dinner, which made Bill look him over care- fully, fearing that it was a sure indica- tion he was ill. ANY ONE could have told the next morning that he wasn't ill. He was up and around with a beaming face that made the weary Shorty Hassfurther groan. “Do you know what they do on this island, Shorty?” Sandy asked him. “Applesauce!” Shorty said. “No,” Sandy explained. ‘Not apple- sauce. The stuff that goes in applesauce —cloves!” Just before Shorty went back to the Scarlet Stormer he drew Bill aside and spoke to him. “T meant to ask you last night,’ he said. “What was that note you had at Djibouti? I mean, did it have anything to do with this expedition?” “Nota, thine, Bill said. =He drew the letter from the pocket of his jacket and gave it to Shorty to read. Shorty read it with widening eyes. “Do you know who this bird is?” Shorty asked. “Vaguely,’ Bill said. “I can’t remem- ber the things I’ve seen in the papers about him recently. His name is fa- Mmiliar: “A strong European power is trying to gobble his kingdom,” Shorty said. “That will stand a little investigation.” “When we're through with this job,” Bill said, dismissing the matter. A half hour later the Scarlet Stormer streaked across the harbor of Zanzibar 57 and soared into the air, followed by Red’s Snorter and the huge transport. Three hours later they rounded Cape Amber, the most northerly point on Madagascar. Taking a course that cut above the city of Diego Suarez they fled down the coast of the large island to the spacious harbor of Tamatave. They circled above it and the city while Bill studied his maps. The exertions of the panting fillanzana carriers, naked except for scanty breech- clouts and finely woven straw hats, caused the gaping Sandy to wipe the perspiration from his own brow. The steaming city seemed to be baking be- neath the tropic sun. A native band played listlessly in a savanna near the pier of the Messageries Maritimes. Na- tive girls strolled along the cobblestone streets arm and arm with men clothed only in loin cloths and the native lamba. Sandy wrinkled his nose at the signs of heat and dirt and noise below him. He turned and spoke to Bill. “This looks like an awful hole,’ he said. “Hotter than a little red wagon.” Bill nodded and threw a switch on the radiophone panels. He waited for Red and Shorty to give the _all-clear signal, “There doesn’t seem to be any use in wasting a night in this place,’ he said. “The information we want will be at Tananarivo. It’s only about a hundred and fifty or seventy-five miles back from the coast—eighteen hundred meters above sea level. It will be cooler up there. An hour will do it. Shall we go on?” “Let’s go!” Shorty said. ‘‘This heat is terrific.” “@), ke. Bill said. IP tollow-the course of the railroad.” They took a course in a southerly di- rection along a narrow strip of land that was separated from the mainland by a series of lagoons. On the easterly side, giant combers of the Indian Ocean came oO Corl) clo@olx< (C©