[
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1934, "culture": " English\n", "content": "THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE\nPLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK\nTo protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free\ndistribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work\n(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase \"Project\nGutenberg\"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project\nGutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at\n  www.gutenberg.org/license.\nSection 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm\nelectronic works\n1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm\nelectronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to\nand accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property\n(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all\nthe terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy\nall copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.\nIf you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project\nGutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the\nterms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or\nentity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.\n1.B.  \"Project Gutenberg\" is a registered trademark.  It may only be\nused on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who\nagree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few\nthings that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works\neven without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See\nparagraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project\nGutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement\nand help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic\nworks.  See paragraph 1.E below.\n1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (\"the Foundation\"\nor PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project\nGutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the\ncollection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an\nindividual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are\nlocated in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from\ncopying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative\nworks based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg\nare removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project\nGutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by\nfreely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of\nthis agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with\nthe work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by\nkeeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project\nGutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.\n1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern\nwhat you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in\na constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check\nthe laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement\nbefore downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or\ncreating derivative works based on this work or any other Project\nGutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning\nthe copyright status of any work in any country outside the United\nStates.\n1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:\n1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate\naccess to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently\nwhenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the\nphrase \"Project Gutenberg\" appears, or with which the phrase \"Project\nGutenberg\" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,\ncopied or distributed:\nThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with\nalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or\nre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included\nwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org\n1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived\nfrom the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is\nposted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied\nand distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees\nor charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work\nwith the phrase \"Project Gutenberg\" associated with or appearing on the\nwork, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1\nthrough 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the\nProject Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or\n1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted\nwith the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution\nmust comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional\nterms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked\nto the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the\npermission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.\n1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm\nLicense terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this\nwork or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.\n1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this\nelectronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without\nprominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with\nactive links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project\nGutenberg-tm License.\n1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,\ncompressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any\nword processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or\ndistribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than\n\"Plain Vanilla ASCII\" or other format used in the official version\nposted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),\nyou must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a\ncopy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon\nrequest, of the work in its original \"Plain Vanilla ASCII\" or other\nform.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm\nLicense as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.\n1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,\nperforming, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works\nunless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.\n1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing\naccess to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided\nthat\n- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from\n     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method\n     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is\n     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he\n     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the\n     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments\n     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you\n     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax\n     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and\n     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the\n     address specified in Section 4, \"Information about donations to\n     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.\"\n- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies\n     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he\n     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm\n     License.  You must require such a user to return or\n     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium\n     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of\n     Project Gutenberg-tm works.\n- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any\n     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the\n     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days\n     of receipt of the work.\n- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free\n     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.\n1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm\nelectronic work or group of works on different terms than are set\nforth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from\nboth the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael\nHart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the\nFoundation as set forth in Section 3 below.\n1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable\neffort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread\npublic domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm\ncollection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic\nworks, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain\n\"Defects,\" such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or\ncorrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual\nproperty infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a\ncomputer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by\nyour equipment.\n1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the \"Right\nof Replacement or Refund\" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project\nGutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project\nGutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project\nGutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all\nliability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal\nfees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT\nLIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE\nPROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE\nTRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE\nLIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR\nINCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH\nDAMAGE.\n1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a\ndefect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can\nreceive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a\nwritten explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you\nreceived the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with\nyour written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with\nthe defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a\nrefund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity\nproviding it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to\nreceive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy\nis also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further\nopportunities to fix the problem.\n1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth\nin paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER\nWARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO\nWARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.\n1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied\nwarranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.\nIf any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the\nlaw of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be\ninterpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by\nthe applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any\nprovision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.\n1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the\ntrademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone\nproviding copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance\nwith this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,\npromotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,\nharmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,\nthat arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do\nor cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm\nwork, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any\nProject Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.\nSection  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm\nProject Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of\nelectronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers\nincluding obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists\nbecause of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from\npeople in all walks of life.\nVolunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the\nassistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's\ngoals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will\nremain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project\nGutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure\nand permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.\nTo learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation\nand how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4\nand the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org\nSection 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive\nFoundation\nThe Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit\n501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the\nstate of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal\nRevenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification\nnumber is 64-6221541.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg\nLiterary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent\npermitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.\nThe Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.\nFairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered\nthroughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at 809\nNorth 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887.  Email\ncontact links and up to date contact information can be found at the\nFoundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact\nFor additional contact information:\n     Dr. Gregory B. Newby\n     Chief Executive and Director\n     gbnewby@pglaf.org\nSection 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg\nLiterary Archive Foundation\nProject Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide\nspread public support and donations to carry out its mission of\nincreasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be\nfreely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest\narray of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations\n($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt\nstatus with the IRS.\nThe Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating\ncharities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United\nStates.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a\nconsiderable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up\nwith these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations\nwhere we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To\nSEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any\nparticular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate\nWhile we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we\nhave not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition\nagainst accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who\napproach us with offers to donate.\nInternational donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make\nany statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from\noutside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.\nPlease check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation\nmethods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other\nways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.\nTo donate, please visit:  www.gutenberg.org/donate\nSection 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic\nworks.\nProfessor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm\nconcept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared\nwith anyone.  For forty years, he produced and distributed Project\nGutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.\nProject Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed\neditions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.\nunless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily\nkeep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.\nMost people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:\n     www.gutenberg.org\nThis Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,\nincluding how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary\nArchive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to\nsubscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  Slim Evans and his Horse Lightning\n"},
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1934, "culture": " English\n", "content": "Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan\nand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\n                     _A Story of Thrilling Exploits\n                      Goldsmith Publishing Company\n                   The Goldsmith Publishing Company_\n             _Manufactured in the United States of America_\n                       AN EMBARRASSING SITUATION\nBob Houston, the youngest agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation,\nstepped out of the Department of Justice Building and turned toward home,\nhis heart beating faster than it had in months. It hardly seemed real but\nhe was now a full-fledged agent in the greatest man hunting division in\nthe Federal Government.\nBob paused a moment at the curb. Another man who had emerged from the\njustice building joined him. It was his uncle, Merritt Hughes, one of the\nmost famous detectives in the department. He put his arm around Bob\u2019s\nshoulders and shook him in a rough but friendly embrace.\n\u201cWell, Bob, how does it feel to be a real federal agent?\u201d he asked.\nIt was a moment before Bob replied, and when he finally spoke the words\ncame slowly.\n\u201cI hardly know,\u201d he confessed, \u201cas yet it doesn\u2019t seem real, but there is\none thing I do know\u2014I\u2019m going to work night and day to make a success of\nthis new job.\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t worry about making a success,\u201d advised his uncle. \u201cYou\u2019ve got the\nstuff to make good or you wouldn\u2019t have been taken into the department.\u201d\n\u201cWhen do you think I\u2019ll get my first assignment on a new case?\u201d asked\nBob.\n\u201cThat\u2019s hard to say,\u201d replied the famous detective, \u201cbut if I were you\nI\u2019d go home now and get a good night\u2019s sleep. In this kind of a game\nyou\u2019d better sleep when you can.\u201d\n\u201cThen I\u2019m headed for home now,\u201d said Bob. \u201cGood night, and thanks for all\nyou\u2019ve done for me.\u201d\nWith that the young federal agent strode off down the avenue, his lungs\ndrinking in great gulps of the cool air of the fall night.\nMerritt Hughes stood on the curb of the justice building watching his\nnephew until Bob turned the corner a block away. Anyone noticing the\nfederal agent would have seen a slight smile of pleasure on his lips and\nhe might have guessed that Merritt Hughes was greatly pleased by the\nevents which had happened in the preceding hours.\nAs a matter of fact, Bob Houston, a plain clerk in the archives division\nof the War Department, temporarily a provisional federal agent, had been\nthe key figure in preventing the theft of some of Uncle Sam\u2019s most\nvaluable radio secrets.\nThrough Bob\u2019s efforts a daring plot had been thwarted and the men\nresponsible taken into custody. As a reward for this brilliant work, Bob\nhad been made a full-fledged agent of the famous bureau of investigation\nof the Department of Justice.\nThere were many thoughts in Bob\u2019s mind as he strode toward home that\nnight. Only that afternoon he had led the raid on the east shore of\nMaryland which had resulted in the apprehension of the gang which had\nbeen attempting to steal the radio secrets. Then, after the return to\nWashington, had come eventful hours.\nBob would never forget the scene in the office of Waldo Edgar, chief of\nthe bureau of investigation, when Mr. Edgar had informed Bob that he was\na regular federal agent and had presented his credentials to him.\nJust to make sure that he wasn\u2019t dreaming, Bob pulled a small leather\nwallet from an inside coat pocket and paused under a street light to look\nat its contents. There was no mistake. There in the wallet was a small\ngold badge which denoted his office and the finely engraved card which\nmarked his identification. Bob replaced the wallet with a particular glow\nof satisfaction and continued toward home.\nThe night air was raw and Bob increased his pace as he neared the\nbuilding where he made his home. He turned in at the entrance and made\nhis way up to the third floor where he had a comfortable room in a rear\napartment.\nBob unlocked the door and snapped on the light. It was a typical man\u2019s\nroom with a large chiffonier and a deep clothes closet in one wall. There\nwas a reading light near the head of the bed and beside this a large easy\nchair with a book rack. A number of books and magazines were scattered on\nthis rack, and usually Bob sat down to read for a time before going to\nbed; but tonight he was too tired to read and he undressed rapidly.\nTired though he was, sleep was slow in coming to him as his mind went\nover the events of recent hours. Bob wondered just what Tully Ross was\nthinking and doing, for Tully had been his rival in seeking a solution to\nthe mystery of the radio secrets.\nTully, also a clerk in the archives division of the War Department, had\nan uncle, Condon Adams, who, like Merritt Hughes, was a federal agent.\nBoth Tully and his uncle had worked on the radio case, but by dint of\nBob\u2019s good fortune and sharp detective work Bob and his uncle had solved\nthe case before Tully and _his_ uncle could find the solution. In spite\nof this, Tully had been made an agent in the bureau of investigation and\nthere was every indication that the rivalry which had started when they\nwere clerks in the War Department would continue in their new work.\nBob was just dropping asleep when the telephone beside his bed rang\nsharply. He turned on the light and picked up the instrument, all thought\nof sleep now gone from his mind. Could it be his first assignment?\n\u201cHello? Hello?\u201d said Bob anxiously.\nBut there was no reply over the wire and Bob clicked the receiver hook\nseveral times, finally deciding that the call must have been the wrong\nnumber.\nWhen Bob finally did get to sleep he slept with the heaviness of complete\nnervous and physical exhaustion. It was mid-forenoon and the sun was\nstreaming in his windows when he finally awakened. There had been no\ninstructions to him on when to report for his new work and he took a\nshower and dressed leisurely.\nBob stepped out of the apartment building and took a deep breath of the\ncrisp air of the mid-fall morning. Then he walked down the street to a\nsmall shop where he usually had his breakfast.\nAfter ordering his breakfast he picked up a morning paper on his table\nand his eyes instantly focused on the headlines in the center of the\nfront page:\n             \u201cFEDERAL AGENTS CAPTURE GANG OF RADIO THIEVES\u201d\nBob read the story with avid attention. Here in detail was related on the\nfront page of one of the nation\u2019s great newspapers the complete story of\nthe part he had played in rounding up the gang of radio thieves. Bob\nlooked up from the paper. His face felt flushed and he knew he appeared\nhighly self-conscious, but no one seemed to be noticing him and he\nresumed his reading of the story.\nIt was evident that the reporter who had written the story must have\nobtained his information from a federal agent, but Bob knew that there\nwas a rule in the department that all information of this type must come\nfrom the head of the department. He was quite sure that Waldo Edgar had\nnot given out the story. As Bob read further the conviction grew that\nTully Ross must have supplied the facts for the newspaper story, for a\ngreat deal of credit had been given to Tully for things which he had not\ndone.\nBob dropped the paper in disgust. That was just like Tully to attempt to\nclaim credit for something which someone else had done.\nBob finished his breakfast, paid his bill and started walking toward the\nDepartment of Justice Building. He had gone a little more than a block\nwhen a car pulled along the curb and the driver stuck his head out the\nwindow.\n\u201cWant a lift, Bob?\u201d asked a pleasant voice and Bob turned to face\nLieutenant Gibbons, War Department intelligence officer, who had helped\nhim in the solution of the radio mystery.\nBob climbed into the coup\u00e9 and Lieutenant Gibbons sent the car shooting\ndown the avenue, dodging in and out of the heavy mid-forenoon stream of\ntraffic.\n\u201cQuite a story in the morning papers,\u201d smiled the lieutenant.\nBob nodded.\n\u201cLooks like Tully Ross has been doing a little personal press agenting,\u201d\nhe said. \u201cPersonally, I\u2019m not very strong for that sort of thing.\u201d\n\u201cNeither am I,\u201d said the lieutenant, \u201cbut some people seem to live on a\ndiet of publicity and I guess Tully is one of that kind.\u201d\nThe lieutenant wheeled his coup\u00e9 up in front of the Department of Justice\nBuilding and Bob stepped out.\n\u201cThanks a lot for the lift,\u201d he said.\n\u201cOh, that\u2019s all right, Bob. I wonder when we\u2019ll be working on a case\nagain?\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s hard to say,\u201d grinned Bob. \u201cHope it will be soon.\u201d\nWith that he turned and entered the building while Lieutenant Gibbons\nresumed his journey.\nBob took an elevator to the top floor where the head of the bureau of\ninvestigation had his offices. A clerk in the anteroom took his name and\nlooked up sharply as he consulted an appointment chart on his desk.\n\u201cI think Mr. Edgar is expecting you,\u201d he said, \u201cfor your name is on his\ncall list this morning.\u201d\nBob looked eagerly at the clerk.\n\u201cDoes this mean I\u2019m going to be assigned to a case?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cI can\u2019t say,\u201d replied the clerk, \u201cbut I shouldn\u2019t be surprised. I\u2019ll\nsend in your name at once. Just have a seat and wait for a few minutes.\u201d\nBob was the only one in the anteroom and he sat down on a padded bench\nbeside the clerk\u2019s desk, with a growing feeling that within a few minutes\nhe would be called in and assigned on his first case as a full time\nfederal agent.\nBob had been waiting in the anteroom less than five minutes when the door\nbanged open and Tully Ross almost catapulted into the room. Tully was\nabout the last person in the world that Bob wanted to see just then but\nhe grinned and made the best of it.\n\u201cHello, Tully. What\u2019s all the hurry?\u201d he asked.\nTully stopped abruptly and stared at Bob. There was no friendliness in\nthe glance that swept Bob from head to foot.\n\u201cI didn\u2019t expect to see you here,\u201d he blurted out.\n\u201cThat goes for me, too,\u201d replied Bob. \u201cThat was quite a story you gave\nthe reporters last night.\u201d\nA deep flush swept over Tully\u2019s face but he was quick to deny the\nimplications in Bob\u2019s words.\n\u201cWhat story do you mean?\u201d he asked sharply.\n\u201cI guess you know what I mean,\u201d said Bob evenly. \u201cI thought it was a rule\nof this department not to give out news stories.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re on the wrong track,\u201d Tully insisted; but Bob knew by the\nexpression on Tully\u2019s face that Tully had given out the news story,\nthereby violating one of the rules of the department.\nTully sat down on a bench on the other side of the room facing Bob. He\nwas silent for less than a minute for he could not check his curiosity.\n\u201cHave you been assigned to a case yet?\u201d he asked. There was an envious\nnote in his voice.\n\u201cNot yet, but I expect to get an assignment soon,\u201d said Bob. \u201cHave you a\nnew assignment?\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m expecting one this morning,\u201d replied Tully confidently. \u201cIn fact,\nthat\u2019s why I\u2019m here.\u201d\nThe clerk in charge of the room returned and asked Tully\u2019s name and\nbusiness.\n\u201cMr. Edgar will be ready to see both of you in a minute or two,\u201d the\nclerk advised them.\nA buzzer on the clerk\u2019s desk whirred and the official stepped to the\ndoor, opened it and motioned for Bob and Tully to enter the private\noffice.\nWaldo Edgar, the slender, wiry head of the bureau of investigation looked\nup from behind the pile of papers on his desk. Bob saw a copy of one of\nthe morning papers spread out in front of the federal chief and he knew\nthat both he and Tully were quite likely to be in for some unpleasant\nmoments.\n\u201cGood morning, boys,\u201d said Mr. Edgar, but there was little warmth in his\nvoice and he left them standing in front of his desk as he pointed to the\nstory in the paper in front of him. His gaze centered on Bob.\n\u201cAre you responsible for this story, Bob?\u201d he asked.\nThe young federal agent\u2019s denial was quick and confident.\n\u201cI didn\u2019t know a thing about the story until I read it at breakfast this\nmorning,\u201d he said.\n\u201cThis seems to be a pretty accurate account of what actually took place\nin the roundup of the gang responsible for the theft of the radio\nsecrets,\u201d said the federal chief. \u201cThe information could have been\nsupplied only by someone in our own department and you know there is a\nrule against giving out such information.\u201d\n\u201cI know there is such a rule,\u201d said Bob, \u201cand I can assure you that I\nhave talked to no one.\u201d\nBob\u2019s straightforward words seemed to satisfy the federal chief and he\nshifted his gaze to Tully, who was standing uneasily on first one foot\nand then the other.\n\u201cWhat have you to say for yourself, Tully?\u201d\nThe question was short and pointed and Bob saw Tully\u2019s eyes shift away\nfrom those of Waldo Edgar.\n\u201cI guess I\u2019m to blame for the story,\u201d confessed Tully. \u201cYou see it was\nthis way\u2014\u201d\nBut Tully\u2019s explanation was cut short.\n\u201cI\u2019m not interested in how you happened to talk,\u201d said the federal chief.\n\u201cHowever, I am glad that you have admitted your indiscretion so readily.\nIn the future be sure to keep this rule in mind. It is your job to solve\nthe cases assigned to you and to keep out of the headlines and off the\nfront pages of the newspapers. The less publicity we have the more\neffective can be our work.\u201d\nAfter delivering that short but pointed lecture Waldo Edgar picked up a\nfile of papers on his desk and skimmed through them hurriedly.\n\u201cI called both of you in at this time,\u201d he explained, \u201cbecause I am\nassigning you on the same case.\u201d\nBob glanced sharply at Tully and there was a deep scowl on his rival\u2019s\nface. The exchange of glances was not lost to Waldo Edgar for he was\naware of the rivalry between his youngest agents.\n\u201cI realize quite well that both of you are intensely interested in\nwinning advancement in this department,\u201d he went on. \u201cFor that very\nreason I know that when I assign you to a case you will leave nothing\nundone until you find the solution. You may step on one another\u2019s toes in\nreaching your goal but you get results and that is what I want.\u201d\nThe federal chief once more consulted the file on his desk.\n\u201cThe mission I am going to send you on is one which has baffled some of\nthe best men in the customs service. In other words, I am counting on you\ntwo youngsters, with your enthusiasm and determination, to get to the\nbottom of one of the most difficult cases that has been assigned to this\ndepartment in recent years.\u201d\nBob, looking down at the desk in front of him, saw a number of letters\nwhich bore the insignia of the customs service. Several of them were\npost-marked from cities in Florida. In addition, there were several\nletters from Paris and London.\n\u201cWhen I tell you that I am assigning you to this case, don\u2019t think I\u2019m\naltogether foolish, for both Merritt Hughes and Condon Adams will be\nworking with you,\u201d said the federal chief.\nBob knew what that meant. There would be the same rivalry which had\nmarked the radio mystery with Condon Adams and Tully Ross attempting to\nsolve the case before Bob and his uncle could find the solution.\n\u201cI have already had Adams and Hughes in here this morning and have\nexplained in detail this case. They have departed on their own\nassignments and I shall expect both of you to be on your way to Florida\nearly in the afternoon.\n\u201cBriefly it will be your task to help bring to justice one of the most\ndaring band of jewel smugglers that has ever operated between Europe and\nthe United States. They are so clever and daring that they have defied\nthe efforts of the best detectives in the customs service and we have\nbeen appealed to for aid in solving the case. Actually, we have very\nlittle to go upon.\n\u201cApparently this is a small but very versatile band of men. Just how they\nget the jewels into this country is one of the mysteries which you must\nsolve. One of the few things that we do know is that they apparently are\noperating off the Florida coast, reaching this country by the means of\nsmall, fast boats. It is going to be your task to attempt to find the\nbase along the Florida coast where they center their operations.\u201d\nWaldo Edgar swung around in his chair and turned to a large map of the\nUnited States which covered the entire wall behind his desk. He picked up\na pointer and touched several spots on the Florida section on the map.\n\u201cBob,\u201d he instructed, \u201cyou are to proceed as rapidly as possible to\nAtalissa, a small town on the coast. That is to be your headquarters for\nwe know that somewhere in the territory adjacent to Atalissa these\nsmugglers have been operating. I must warn you now that you must use\nevery precaution to keep your identity secret for this particular section\nof the Florida coast is not friendly toward federal men.\u201d\nThe pointer in the hand of the federal chief moved further along the map\nuntil it paused once more at a coastal town.\n\u201cYou are to go to Nira,\u201d he instructed Tully. \u201cI consider that this is as\nfar south as the smugglers are operating while Atalissa is the northern\npoint. Somewhere between these two bases I am sure you will be able to\nuncover information which will be of real value to us.\u201d\nWaldo Edgar turned back from the map and faced his young agents. There\nwas just a trace of a smile on his lips.\n\u201cThink you can handle this assignment?\u201d he asked.\nBob was the first to reply.\n\u201cI\u2019ll handle it if I have to swim along the whole coast of Florida,\u201d he\nsaid.\nWaldo Edgar chuckled. \u201cI don\u2019t think that will be necessary.\u201d\n\u201cHow about my uncle and Merritt Hughes?\u201d asked Tully. \u201cWill they be\nworking in the same territory?\u201d\n\u201cYes, they are working on the Florida angle of the case and I expect you\nto keep them advised of any developments which you are able to uncover.\nYou can reach them in Jacksonville and their telephone number will be\ngiven to you before you leave Washington this afternoon. If you call here\nat one o\u2019clock, your complete transportation and expense money will be\nready for you as well as a written file of all the information which we\nnow have about the jewel smugglers. Can you be ready by one o\u2019clock?\u201d\n\u201cI can go now,\u201d said Bob.\n\u201cBetter go home and throw an extra shirt or two and some socks into a\ntraveling bag,\u201d advised the federal chief. \u201cI like to see plenty of\nenthusiasm, but you may be gone a good many weeks and you should be\nthoroughly prepared for a strenuous trip. If you have boots and some good\nheavy clothes, be sure to put them in your bag and by all means do not go\nunarmed.\u201d\nWaldo Edgar stood up and shook hands with each of them.\n\u201cI will not see you again before you go, but I expect great things from\nboth of you. I shall watch your reports with interest.\u201d\nBob and Tully left the office of the federal chief together and descended\nin the same elevator to the first floor. Both of them were stirred by a\nstrong feeling of elation for this was their first assignment since\nbecoming federal agents.\nBob would have liked to talk the case over with his uncle, but he knew\nnow that Merritt Hughes was already on his way to Florida and whatever\nBob was to do on the case he would have to do alone.\n\u201cSeems to me you get all the best of these assignments,\u201d grumbled Tully.\n\u201cI know something about Florida and Nira is just about the last place in\nthe world I want to go to.\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t see why you should complain,\u201d said Bob, \u201ceven though Nira may\nnot be a very pleasant place, for you have a distinct advantage over me\nsince I have never been to Florida.\u201d\nThey parted as they walked out of the building, and Bob, hailing a\ntaxicab, sped toward the apartment building where he made his home.\nPacking was a comparatively simple thing for Bob. He pulled a serviceable\nbut battered Gladstone bag out of the closet and opened it upon the bed.\nFortunately he had a large supply of freshly laundered clothes and he\npacked one side of the bag solid with shirts, socks and underwear. That\ndone he went back to the closet and rummaged around until he found an old\nhunting outfit of corduroy trousers and coat.\nFrom one corner of the closet he pulled a pair of heavy boots which were\nsoft and pliable. The woolen socks which he pulled from the boots had\nbeen almost consumed by moths and Bob threw the socks away, making a\nmental note that he would have to buy more either in Washington or when\nhe arrived in Florida.\nOn the third trip to the closet Bob returned with a well-worn gun case in\nhis hands. He opened the brown leather case and drew forth a special\nhunting rifle which had been given to him by his uncle several years\nbefore.\nThe gun had received excellent care as the gleaming barrel indicated, and\nBob, sitting down on the edge of the bed, caressed it with hands that\nwere almost affectionate. He had nicknamed the gun \u201cEzekiel\u201d after an\neccentric old hunter he had known in his home town in Iowa.\nBob, although not a remarkable shot with a rifle, could be classed as\nbetter than average, for his eyesight was good and his finger was steady\nin its pull on the trigger.\nThe young federal agent examined the gun carefully. There was more than a\ngood chance that it might be called into use if his Florida trip\ndeveloped all of the possibilities Waldo Edgar had indicated. Bob sighted\nthrough the barrel of the gun and smiled to himself as he noted the\ncleanness of the bore, for he prided himself on the care which he had\ngiven the weapon.\nThere was a small box of ammunition in the gun case and Bob examined the\nshells. They had been in the case for three months but there was no\nreason to believe that they had deteriorated for the gun case had been\nkept in a warm, dry place.\nBob slipped the rifle back into the case, which was just long enough to\nfit into his Gladstone bag. He folded up his corduroy outfit and placed\nthis on top of the rifle. Then the boots went in and on top of them he\njammed several soft flannel shirts that could be worn a reasonable time\nwithout laundering. It was impossible to foretell just what he would\nencounter in Florida and he wanted to be prepared for every possible\nemergency.\nThe packing had taken longer than Bob had expected and when he looked at\nhis watch he realized that there was little time to lose if he expected\nto reach the justice department building for his one o\u2019clock appointment.\nBob jammed his shaving outfit in on top of his clothes and closed the\nbag. It fairly bulged with the articles he had packed away and the big\ncase was both clumsy and heavy to carry.\nBob looked around his room as he paused at the door. It might be weeks\nbefore he would return and he would miss the orderly pleasantness of the\nroom with his comfortable chair and his excellent books.\nThen he closed and locked the door and walked down the hallway as rapidly\nas he could with his heavy bag. He summoned a taxi and started for the\nDepartment of Justice Building where detailed instructions were awaiting\nhim.\nThe ride down town took less than ten minutes and Bob reached the\nbuilding at five minutes to one, just in time to see Tully Ross precede\nhim through the main entrance.\nBob paid his taxi fare and then left his heavy bag at the information\ndesk on the main floor while he was whirled upward in an elevator. The\nsame clerk who had greeted him that morning was on duty in the outer\noffice and Tully, seated on a bench, was opening a large Manila envelope.\n\u201cYour instructions, train tickets, expense money and data on the case are\nall in this envelope,\u201d said the clerk, handing a similar container to\nBob. \u201cYour train leaves at 1:30 so I suggest that you get to the station\nat once and then go into the details of this case after you are on your\nway south.\u201d\n\u201cThanks a lot,\u201d nodded Bob. \u201cI\u2019m on my way.\u201d\n\u201cGood luck,\u201d said the clerk, who looked enviously after Bob, for after\nall there were not very many thrills in clerical work.\nTully Ross followed Bob into the elevator and they dropped toward the\nfirst floor.\n\u201cI guess we\u2019re taking the same train as far as Jacksonville,\u201d said Tully.\n\u201cWhat a pleasure that\u2019s going to be!\u201d\nTully\u2019s last words were sneering and vindictive, and a little of Bob\u2019s\npent-up resentment burst out. Fortunately no one else was in the elevator\nat the time.\n\u201cYou\u2019d better take inventory of yourself, Tully,\u201d advised Bob, \u201cor you\u2019re\ngoing to run head-on into trouble. I haven\u2019t got it in for you and you\ncan take full credit for anything that you do. Don\u2019t be so blamed\nsuspicious of everything. You do your work and I\u2019ll do mine. The main\nthing is going to be to solve this case and I don\u2019t care who does it just\nas long as we are successful. If you\u2019d only warm up a little we could go\nover this case on the way south this afternoon and we might have some\nideas that we could both benefit by.\u201d\nTully looked suspicious.\n\u201cWhat are you getting at?\u201d he asked.\nThey were on the main floor again and passengers bound for the upper\nfloors swept into the elevator.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll take a taxi together to the station and I\u2019ll tell you on the way\nthere,\u201d said Bob.\nTully had two smaller bags while Bob had only the large gladstone and\nthey loaded the bags and themselves into a taxi and started for the union\nstation.\n\u201cI\u2019m just trying to get at this,\u201d said Bob. \u201cBoth of us have chances for\nbrilliant futures in this service if we don\u2019t let personal rivalry warp\nour better judgment. That was a shabby trick of yours in giving that\nstory to the newspapers and I rather think you hoped that I would be\nblamed.\u201d\nTully was silent and Bob went on.\n\u201cI\u2019m willing to let that pass and some other things that have happened if\nyou feel that you\u2019re willing to work along with me on this case. The old\nsaying that two heads are better than one is certainly true in this kind\nof work and we can both benefit by it. What do you say?\u201d\nBob\u2019s clear, blue eyes bored deep into Tully\u2019s brown ones and he held out\nhis hand.\nTully held Bob\u2019s gaze for a moment and then his eyes shifted uneasily. He\nmade no motion to take Bob\u2019s proffered hand.\n\u201cWell, if that\u2019s the way you feel about it, I\u2019m glad that we have had a\ndefinite understanding,\u201d said Bob.\n\u201cI guess that\u2019s the way it\u2019s got to be,\u201d said Tully slowly. \u201cI don\u2019t like\nyou, Bob, and there\u2019s no use in making any bones about it. I\u2019m going to\nsolve this case even if I have to step all over you in doing it.\u201d\n\u201cWell, Tully, you just run along and do your best; but I\u2019m serving fair\nwarning on you right now that if you try to step on any of my toes,\nyou\u2019ll wish you hadn\u2019t. There\u2019s only one way to play this game and that\u2019s\nto play it fair and square. I\u2019m going to play it that way and I\u2019m going\nto win and nothing that you can do will stop me. If it is humanly\npossible that case will be solved within the next few weeks.\u201d\nTully looked squarely at Bob.\n\u201cIs that a challenge?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cCall it anything you like.\u201d\n\u201cThen I say that you won\u2019t solve it in two months if you solve it at\nall.\u201d\n\u201cTwo months it is,\u201d retorted Bob, \u201cand by that I mean that every angle of\nthis case will be cleaned up and either all of the men connected with it\nin federal custody or beyond our reach and you can put that down in\nwriting if you want to.\u201d\n\u201cI won\u2019t do that,\u201d sneered Tully, \u201cfor it might be too embarrassing to\nhave to have it recalled when you fail.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m not going to fail,\u201d said Bob firmly, and although Tully wouldn\u2019t\nhave admitted it at the time, he had a premonition that Bob was\nright\u2014that he would not fail.\n                        ON THE SOUTHERN LIMITED\nThe taxi pulled up in front of the union station and Bob and Tully,\nspurning the offers of red caps, carried their luggage into the huge\nstructure.\nThe great terminal was alive with activity and through the loud speaker\nsystem the departures of half a dozen famous trains were being announced.\nBob\u2019s Gladstone was too heavy to carry very far without shifting it from\nhand to hand. When he reached the train shed he put the bag down beside\nhim and opened the envelope in which his tickets had been placed. His\nPullman reservation called for lower five in car 43 on train number 7,\nthe Southern Limited. Tully paused beside Bob.\n\u201cAre you in car 43?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cLower five,\u201d said Bob.\n\u201cHumph,\u201d grunted Tully. \u201cWhat luck I have. There must have been some\nmistake. I\u2019m in upper five.\u201d\n\u201cNo, I don\u2019t think there was any mistake,\u201d grinned Bob as he visualized\nhow Tully, who was inclined to stoutness, would look scrambling in and\nout of upper five that night. \u201cPerhaps the clerk who made out these\ntickets thought you needed a little exercise.\u201d\nPicking up their bags they walked to the nearest train gate where the\nticket inspector checked their tickets and waved them toward the Southern\nLimited, which was standing on track number three.\nCar 43, in which they were to make their journey southward, was near the\ncenter of the train and by the time Bob and Tully were comfortably seated\nin the car, the porters were making their final calls of \u201c\u2019bo-o-oard.\u201d\nThe Southern Limited started slowly but easily picked up speed as the\ntrucks clicked over the joints.\nTravel that day was light and there was only one other passenger on the\ncar, a man who appeared to be about forty, short, dark, but marked with a\ndistinguishing streak of grey in the center of his head. He was the type\nof man who, though he attracted attention, did not invite\nacquaintanceship.\nTully continued to grumble at intervals, complaining that it was grossly\nunfair for Bob to have a lower berth while he was compelled to climb into\nan upper.\nBut Bob ignored Tully\u2019s complaints. The train was soon speeding into\nVirginia and with the capital behind Bob took out the envelope with the\nhistory of the case they were working on. Since they were practically\nalone on the car it would be an ideal time to go over this material and\nmemorize in detail all of the essential information contained in it.\nTully likewise pulled out the heavy manila envelope which contained a\ncopy of the same report Bob had in his hands but instead of reading it\nthere Tully went forward into the smoking compartment. Bob knew that\nTully did not smoke so it was obvious that Tully had gone forward simply\nto get away from him.\nThere were a dozen closely typed sheets in the report and they reviewed\nin detail all of the activities of the jewel smugglers which were known\nto the federal officials. As he read, Bob was astounded at the daring\nwith which the smuggling was conducted.\nThe reports indicated clearly that the headquarters for the smuggling\noperations must lie somewhere along the east coast of Florida and the\nnames of both Nira and Atalissa appeared frequently in the typed reports.\nIt was evident that at least half a dozen federal men, most of them in\nthe customs service, had been working on the case at various times.\nThere was one paragraph in their report that struck Bob with unusual\nforce. It read:\n\u201cA conservative estimate of the amount of jewels which the gang has\nsmuggled into this country in the last six months would be at least half\na million dollars. There is no way of knowing just how extensive are\ntheir operations. Agents are especially warned to use great care in any\napproach to any members of this gang. Agents working on this case should\ngo armed at all times. It is imperative that the men responsible for\nthese operations be taken into custody at the earliest possible time.\u201d\nBob read this paragraph several times and it brought home to him the\npossible dangers which he might face in the coming weeks.\nThe other passenger in the car whose seat was behind Bob got up and went\nforward into the smoking compartment where Tully had gone previously.\nBob looked up as the man went past him. The stranger was powerfully built\nand Bob especially noticed the breadth and strength of his hands.\nBob thought little of the incident but hoped that Tully would have the\ngood sense to put away the secret papers when the stranger entered the\nsmoking compartment. As the train sped through the fertile Virginia farm\nlands the young federal agent continued his perusal of the report.\nThe concluding paragraph was such that he read it three or four times.\n\u201cFrom all information at hand, it appears obvious that not more than five\nmen are involved in this smuggling enterprise. So far we have been unable\nto identify positively any member of the gang so all agents are doubly\nwarned against any incautious remarks which might indicate the reason for\ntheir visit to Florida. In case of any unusual emergency notify\nheadquarters by long distance telephone at once.\u201d\nBob went back over the report again in detail and, when he had finished,\nplaced it in the sturdy envelope, sealed it, and put it in his Gladstone\nbag. He felt now that he knew as much about the case as it was possible\nto learn until he actually reached Atalissa.\nAfter a time Bob walked forward and stepped into the smoking compartment\nwhere Tully and the stranger were engaged in animated conversation.\nTully looked up but there was little warmth in his glance. That, however,\ndid not deter Bob from sitting down on one of the comfortable leather\nupholstered benches. The stranger looked at Bob and a rather pleasant\nsmile framed his lips.\n\u201cGoing to Florida?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cJacksonville,\u201d said Bob laconically.\n\u201cThat\u2019s fine, I\u2019m going there too. Hamsa, Joe Hamsa, is the name,\u201d said\nthe stranger reaching over and extending his hand in greeting.\nBob grasped the extended hand but he winced slightly at the strength of\nthe other\u2019s grip.\n\u201cI\u2019m Bob Houston of Washington,\u201d replied Bob by way of introducing\nhimself.\n\u201cGoing south on business or just taking a vacation?\u201d asked Joe Hamsa and\nBob thought there was a peculiar flicker in the other\u2019s eyes.\n\u201cWell, it\u2019s a combination of both,\u201d replied Bob.\n\u201cWish I could say as much,\u201d went on Hamsa, \u201cbut it\u2019s all business with\nme. I\u2019m glad you boys are on the car today. I don\u2019t like to travel alone\nand especially at night.\u201d\nBob wondered just why Mr. Hamsa, who appeared perfectly capable of taking\ncare of himself, did not care to travel alone. He was not in doubt long\nfor Hamsa suddenly developed a voluble streak.\n\u201cDiamonds are my specialty,\u201d he said, \u201cand I\u2019ve been held up once or\ntwice. Believe me, there\u2019s no fun in that.\u201d\nMr. Hamsa did not look particularly like the type of man who would submit\nto a holdup peacefully, and there was something about him that aroused\nsuspicions in Bob\u2019s mind.\nThe young federal agent glanced across the compartment to where Tully was\nseated and he was surprised to note that the papers in the confidential\nreport on the smuggling ring were scattered on the seat beside Tully.\nWhat was even more astounding was the pallor of Tully\u2019s face, and the\nglassy stare in his eyes.\n\u201cTully,\u201d cried Bob, \u201cwhat\u2019s the matter?\u201d\nBut there was no response from Tully except a slight twitching of his\nlips which indicated that he might be trying to answer.\n\u201cTully,\u201d repeated Bob, \u201cwhat\u2019s the matter?\u201d\nThe sharp questions voiced by the young federal agent caused Hamsa also\nto turn and stare at Tully.\nBob was less than six feet away from Tully, yet the other failed to\nanswer his questions or to give any sign of recognition. He sat there\nlike a man under a hypnotic spell.\nBob leaped to his feet and in one long stride was beside Tully. With firm\nhands he grasped Tully\u2019s shoulders and shook him vigorously.\nTully\u2019s head dropped forward on his chest and he seemed suddenly to\ncollapse, sliding forward off the leather bench and falling to the floor.\nTully\u2019s collapse came so suddenly that Bob was unable to check his fall\nto the floor, but he leaned down almost instantly and lifted Tully back\non one of the benches.\nBob\u2019s face was close to Tully\u2019s and he caught a whiff of an acrid smell\non Tully\u2019s breath. His companion\u2019s breathing was slow and distinctly\nlabored.\nBob grasped one of Tully\u2019s wrists and checked the pulse beat. His\nknowledge of first aid was somewhat limited, but the steadiness of the\npulse count reassured him and he decided that Tully had probably fallen\nvictim to a sudden fainting attack.\nJoe Hamsa leaned over Bob and attempted to aid him in ministering to\nTully.\n\u201cAnything I can do?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cGet a cup of water,\u201d said Bob, and Hamsa hastened away to do his\nbidding. He was back soon with the paper cup brimming full of water. Bob\nmoistened his handkerchief in this and bathed Tully\u2019s cheeks and forehead\nwhile Hamsa loosened his tie and collar, and massaged his wrists.\nJust then the Pullman conductor came into the compartment.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s doing here?\u201d he asked.\nBob answered without looking up.\n\u201cI think my companion suffered a fainting attack. Have you any smelling\nsalts?\u201d\n\u201cI have some in my first aid kit up ahead,\u201d replied the conductor,\ndeparting to obtain it.\nHe returned in less than a minute with the smelling salts and Bob gave\nTully several deep sniffs from the pungent smelling bottle. The\npenetrating qualities of the salts seemed to reach Tully\u2019s subconscious\nmind and draw away the curtain which had clouded his consciousness. He\nmade an effort to rouse himself but Bob speaking in a low voice forced\nhim back on the leather bench.\n\u201cTake it easy, Tully,\u201d he advised. \u201cYou\u2019ll feel stronger in a short\ntime.\u201d\nTully opened his eyes and stared at them. It was evident that he had no\nidea what had happened to him.\nBob, who had been somewhat concerned when he saw the sheets of Tully\u2019s\nconfidential report laying out in the open, now took time to look for\nthem. They were still scattered on one of the leather benches and as far\nas Bob could determine they had not been disturbed. He reached out and\nwith the sweep of one hand brushed them into a pile at one corner of the\nbench. Fortunately they had been turned face down, and Bob felt sure that\nthere had been no opportunity for either Hamsa or the Pullman conductor\nto read the contents.\nTully attempted to sit up and Bob\u2019s attention returned to his unfortunate\ntraveling companion. Tully still appeared shaken but his eyes were\nclearer and once more there was a touch of color in his cheeks.\nTully signalled that he would like a drink of water and Hamsa hurried\naway to fill another paper cup from the tank in the vestibule. When he\nreturned Tully took several deep draughts of the water and he appeared\ngreatly refreshed.\n\u201cI don\u2019t know what happened,\u201d he mumbled, shaking his head slowly. \u201cMy\nmind seems so heavy. I can\u2019t think.\u201d\n\u201cBetter take it easy for a while,\u201d advised Bob. \u201cHere, stretch out on\nthis couch. I\u2019ll get the porter to bring you a blanket.\u201d\nBob stepped out and called the porter who was in the other end of the\ncar, and, thus far, unaware that anything unusual had taken place in the\nsmoking compartment. At Bob\u2019s instructions he brought a blanket and\nplaced it over Tully. Then he brought in a pillow and the federal agent\nwas made as comfortable as possible.\n\u201cWant me to make up a berth?\u201d asked the porter, but Tully shook his head.\n\u201cNot now. I\u2019ll be all right here. Just let me rest.\u201d\nBob\u2019s keen eyes roved around the smoking compartment. The papers which\nhad been in Tully\u2019s confidential envelope had been placed on the opposite\ncouch, evidently by Hamsa or the Pullman conductor. Bob caught a quick\nglance from Tully and sensed that the other wanted the papers put away at\nonce.\nThe young federal agent stepped over to the leather couch, scooped up the\nsheets of typewritten paper, and placed them in the envelope.\n\u201cThanks,\u201d said Tully, when Bob handed the package to him. He slipped the\ndocuments into an inner pocket of his coat, closed his eyes, and was soon\nin a deep sleep.\nThis might have been alarming had not Tully\u2019s breathing been deep and\nnatural and the color in his cheeks more normal.\n\u201cI think he\u2019s coming around all right,\u201d said Hamsa, who had remained in\nthe smoking compartment. \u201cLooks to me like it might have been an attack\nof acute indigestion.\u201d\n\u201cPerhaps,\u201d agreed Bob, but for his own satisfaction he would have\npreferred to have a doctor examine Tully. He stepped outside into the\ncorridor to speak to the Pullman conductor.\n\u201cDo you know if there is a doctor on the train?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe so. We\u2019re running light today but I\u2019ll find out; your\nfriend any worse?\u201d\n\u201cNo. He\u2019s better, but I\u2019d like to find out just what happened to him.\u201d\n\u201cI can wire ahead and have an ambulance meet us at the next division\npoint,\u201d suggested the conductor.\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe that will be necessary,\u201d replied Bob. \u201cWe\u2019re anxious to\nget to Jacksonville on this train. However, I wish you would ascertain if\nthere is a doctor aboard.\u201d\nAs the trainman hurried away, Bob stepped back into the smoking\ncompartment. There was something definitely puzzling and disturbing about\nthe sudden illness which had overtaken Tully, for the latter was usually\nin the best of health.\nBob thought back over the days of their association in the archives\ndivision of the War Department, trying to remember if Tully had ever been\nthe subject of sudden fainting spells. As far as he could recall, nothing\nlike this had occurred before, which did not make his mind rest any\neasier.\nHamsa wandered out of the smoking compartment and Bob and Tully were\nalone. Half an hour slipped by and Tully remained in the deep sleep.\nThe train had stopped once, a long halt for coal and water, and it was\nafter it resumed motion that the Pullman conductor returned to the\ncompartment.\n\u201cI\u2019ve been all over the train, even into the day coaches ahead, and there\nisn\u2019t even a veterinarian aboard. Sure you don\u2019t want us to wire for an\nambulance to meet you? We\u2019ll be in at the next division point in an hour\nand a half.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll let you know definitely a little later. If he doesn\u2019t rouse from\nthis sleep, it may be necessary to do just that.\u201d\n\u201cAnything more I can do?\u201d asked the conductor, but Bob shook his head.\n\u201cI\u2019ll stay here and watch him. If I need any help, I\u2019ll signal for the\nporter.\u201d\nThe curtains at the doorway swished down behind the departing figure of\nthe conductor, leaving Bob and Tully alone once more.\nThe afternoon was waning as the train sped southward, the steady clicking\nof the trucks underneath indicating that the Limited was doing at least a\nmile a minute. The roadbed was smooth and the high speed did not make the\ncar ride uncomfortably.\nWhile Tully was asleep, Bob studied his companion\u2019s face. Tully\u2019s\nfeatures were really remarkably strong and if he made an effort to look\npleasant he would have been a handsome young man. But his lips were\ninclined to a perpetual downward curve that made it appear that a steady\nscowl was on his face.\nBob would have enjoyed liking Tully, for there were many qualities in the\nother that were outstanding. For instance, Tully was sturdy and he had\nthe power to drive steadily toward a goal once he set his ambition to\nthat end. It was too bad that he let personal feelings creep into his\nwork and sway his better judgment, such as challenging Bob to beat him to\na solution of the jewel smuggling case.\nBob was a better than average judge of character and he knew that Tully\nwould worry so much about what he was doing that Tully\u2019s own keen mind\nwould be somewhat dulled on the case. For that reason Bob had not\nhesitated to take up the challenge.\nThe Limited plunged into a short but heavy rain storm and drops of water\nstreamed down the windows. It was not an especially auspicious beginning\nto their manhunt.\nTully moved restlessly and Bob thought for a time that his companion was\nabout to wake up, but Tully\u2019s breathing deepened once more and his eyes\nremained closed.\nJoe Hamsa stuck his head into the compartment.\n\u201cAny change?\u201d he asked, and Bob thought he appeared a little too\nsolicitous for a passing acquaintance.\n\u201cI think he\u2019s resting easier,\u201d replied Bob.\n\u201cAre you going to take him to a hospital?\u201d asked Hamsa, pressing Bob for\nfurther information on his plans.\n\u201cI haven\u2019t decided yet.\u201d\n\u201cLet me know if there is anything I can do,\u201d volunteered the other. It\nwas apparent that he would have liked an invitation to stay in the room,\nbut Bob turned toward the rain-washed windows and after a brief pause\nHamsa dropped the curtain at the doorway and walked back into the\nPullman.\n                        THE MAN ON THE PLATFORM\nTully remained in the deep sleep for another fifteen minutes. Then he\nstirred restlessly and Bob went over to his side. As he looked down Tully\nopened his eyes. They appeared clear and perfectly normal.\nTully attempted to sit up, but Bob put his hands on his shoulders and\ngently pushed him back on the couch.\n\u201cTake it easy for a while, Tully,\u201d he said.\n\u201cWhat happened?\u201d the other demanded, and Bob noted that the words were\nslow and his speech thick.\nThen before he could answer, Tully grunted and made a face.\n\u201cGet me some water, quick.\u201d\nBob hastened out into the corridor where he filled a paper cup to the\nbrim. Tully drank every drop and signaled for another cup, which Bob\nprocured immediately.\nWhen that was done, Tully appeared greatly refreshed.\n\u201cHelp me prop this pillow up so I can sit up a little,\u201d he urged Bob, and\nhe was soon in a more comfortable position.\nThe rain still washed the windows of the car, and the porter, entering\nthe compartment, turned on the top lights, for it was nearly dark.\nBefore he spoke again Tully felt inside his coat and, reassured that the\ndocuments on the jewel smuggling case were there, he looked at Bob.\n\u201cI don\u2019t remember very much,\u201d he said slowly, \u201cbut all of a sudden\neverything went dark. I felt that I was going to fall but I couldn\u2019t\nmove. I couldn\u2019t even reach out my hands and neither could I say a word.\u201d\nHe paused and Bob felt that it would be well for him to explain what he\nhad seen.\n\u201cYou looked like you were hypnotized,\u201d he explained. \u201cI came over and\ncaught you, but you were out cold. Believe me, you had us worried for a\nwhile.\u201d\nJust then the Pullman conductor looked in.\n\u201cMade up your mind about calling an ambulance at the division point?\u201d he\nasked. Then he saw Tully propped into a half-way sitting position and his\nface brightened.\n\u201cComing around now?\u201d\n\u201cHe\u2019s feeling better. We\u2019ll go right on through to Jacksonville,\u201d said\nBob and the conductor went on about his duties.\n\u201cDidn\u2019t you think I\u2019d come around?\u201d asked Tully, a look of worry on his\nforehead.\n\u201cWe didn\u2019t know just what was happening for a while,\u201d explained Bob. \u201cYou\nhad us pretty badly scared.\u201d\nTully looked thoughtful.\n\u201cI honestly don\u2019t know what took place,\u201d he said, slowly shaking his\nhead. \u201cIt seemed as though blackness simply exploded in my face. Actually\nI believe there was some kind of a shock or blow on my face.\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t know what it could have been,\u201d replied Bob. \u201cHamsa and I were\nthe only ones with you and you had been visiting with Hamsa for some time\nbefore I came in.\u201d\n\u201cHe\u2019s a queer duck,\u201d muttered Tully. \u201cI don\u2019t know whether I could like\nor trust him.\u201d\nBob had exactly the same feeling and he was interested to know Tully\u2019s\nreaction to their traveling companion.\n\u201cI\u2019m still kind of sleepy. Guess I\u2019ll take another nap. You might tell\nthe porter to make up my berth.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll have him fix up lower five for you,\u201d replied Bob. \u201cI\u2019ll take the\nupper for you probably won\u2019t feel much like climbing in and out of a\nberth for the next few hours. Think you\u2019ll want anything to eat tonight?\u201d\n\u201cPerhaps a little soup later,\u201d nodded Tully as he closed his eyes.\nBob remained in the compartment for several minutes until he was sure\nthat Tully was in a deep and comfortable sleep. Then he returned to the\nmain section of the Pullman.\nAs he turned in the corridor and could look down the full length of the\ncar he thought he caught just a glimpse of Hamsa dodging out the other\nend of the car.\nOnly a few lights were on and Bob could not be sure that his eyes were\nnot playing tricks on him. In any event he hastened his pace and when he\nreached the section which he and Tully occupied he drew his big Gladstone\nbag out from under one of the seats.\nBob breathed easier when he saw the envelope which contained the\nconfidential information on the smuggling was just where he had left it.\nIt had been more than a little careless of him to leave such valuable\ndata unprotected for so long a time.\nIt was fully dark and Bob snapped on the individual lights in the berth\nand rang the buzzer for the porter, who appeared almost immediately.\nBob instructed him to make up both the lower and upper berth.\n\u201cI\u2019m going ahead into the diner. Let me know when you\u2019ve finished,\u201d he\nsaid, \u201cand also keep an eye on my friend in the smoking compartment. If\nhe should wake up, inform me at once.\u201d\nThe rush to reach the train plus the exciting events of the afternoon had\nmade Bob ravenously hungry and when he entered the dining car he splurged\nby ordering a large porterhouse steak and an extra order of French fried\npotatoes.\nThe conductor had been right when he described travel on the Southern\nthat night as light for there were only five others in the diner in\naddition to Bob. All of them were strangers, three of them being women\nand the other two rather elderly men who were engaged in an animated\nconversation on the economic problems of the day.\nBob summoned the steward, explained that a companion was ill, and asked\nthat a nourishing soup be prepared for him to take back to the Pullman\nwhen he returned.\nThe steak, when it was brought in, was both thick and tender, and the\npotatoes were done just to the right crispness. It was a meal that Bob\ncould thoroughly enjoy and he ate it in comparative leisure, relying on\nthe Pullman porter to call him if Tully awakened.\nThe train slowed to a smooth halt in a North Carolina mill town and Bob\nlooked out on the well lighted station platform. The rain was descending\nin torrents now and Bob knew that it might be hard to keep the Limited on\nthe fast schedule which its time card demanded.\nIt was evidently a service stop for the train remained at the station for\nat least ten minutes. Bob, watching from the windows, could see anyone on\nthe platform and he was startled to catch a glimpse of a man hurrying\nalong beside the train. He had just a glimpse, but the man, short and\nrather bulky, was making what appeared to Bob to be an obvious effort to\navoid attracting attention for he was hugging the side of the train. He\nwas clad in a dark oilskin and a soft hat, pulled well down, shielded his\nface.\nBob pressed his own face against the glass and peered along the platform.\nUp ahead a brightly illuminated sign marked the telegraph office, and Bob\nsaw the man hurry inside, but the distance was too great for him to see\nthe other\u2019s face. In less than a minute the man reappeared, but he did\nnot come back along the train.\nThen the Limited plunged southward again, beating its way into the teeth\nof the storm, and Bob wondered if Joe Hamsa could have been the man on\nthe platform.\nBob finished his meal and after paying his bill went back into car 43 to\nsee how Tully was getting along. He found him awake and ready for\nsomething to eat.\n\u201cSoup would taste good,\u201d nodded Tully when Bob suggested it and the young\nfederal agent returned to the diner at once. When he re-entered the car\nhe saw Joe Hamsa seated at the far end of the diner and he was sure that\nhe had not passed Hamsa either going or coming from car 43. That meant\nthat Hamsa had been up ahead some place.\nBob thought the diamond salesman made a deliberate effort to avoid his\neyes by staring intently through the storm-bathed windows of the car. The\nsoup was ready and Bob followed a waiter who carried it back to the\nPullman.\nThe train was traveling at a wild pace now and Bob almost lost his\nbalance as he walked between the cars. As the anger of the storm\ndeepened, he became more convinced than before that Joe Hamsa was the man\nhe had seen on the station platform and there was something about the\nwildness of the night and Tully\u2019s sudden illness that caused grave\napprehension in Bob\u2019s mind.\nWhen Bob returned to the Pullman, Tully was obviously much refreshed from\nhis deep sleep and he ate the soup with real relish. After he was through\nand the waiter had gone, Tully spoke to him.\n\u201cI\u2019ll appreciate it if you\u2019ll give me a hand down to the berth,\u201d he said.\n\u201cMy legs are still a little shaky, but I guess I\u2019m all right otherwise. A\ngood night\u2019s sleep will put me back to normal.\u201d\nBob supported Tully and together they walked down to the berth which had\nbeen made up. Joe Hamsa was not in the car.\n\u201cI still can\u2019t figure out what happened to me,\u201d said Tully, shaking his\nhead.\n\u201cYou are sure I wasn\u2019t struck over the head?\u201d he looked at Bob so sharply\nthat Bob was inclined to laugh.\n\u201cDon\u2019t accuse me of doing a thing like that,\u201d he retorted, but there was\nno anger in his words.\n\u201cBut I tell you it felt like something struck my face. Then there was a\nblanket of darkness that settled over me and I couldn\u2019t move or say a\nword. It was a mighty helpless sort of feeling.\u201d\nBob agreed that there had been nothing pleasant about the experience and\nhe helped Tully in getting undressed. Tully drew the letter with its\nconfidential report on the smuggling ring out of an inner pocket.\n\u201cThis goes under my pillow,\u201d he said.\n\u201cI thought it was kind of foolish for you to read it while Hamsa was in\nthe smoking compartment with you,\u201d said Bob, and a flicker of anger\nglowed in Tully\u2019s eyes.\n\u201cHamsa\u2019s all right,\u201d he replied. \u201cYou take care of your copy and I\u2019ll\ntake care of mine.\u201d\nWith that Tully pulled out the flap of the envelope and drew forth the\nclosely typewritten pages which comprised the report.\nBob saw a sudden, startled change in Tully\u2019s face, and he leaned closer.\n\u201cBob,\u201d whispered the other. \u201cLook at these pages. Am I seeing things?\u201d\nBob picked up the handful of data and scanned the typewritten words. Even\nbefore he read the printing on the page he knew that something was wrong\nfor the paper was thicker than that upon which his report had been\nwritten.\nBut the real shock was when he read the first page. It was a recipe for\nmaking dill pickles.\n\u201cIt\u2019s a pickle recipe,\u201d gasped Bob.\nTully nodded grimly.\n\u201cLook at the rest of them!\u201d\nBob skimmed through the pages, bending down to examine each one closely.\nInstead of the confidential data the pages were mimeographed recipes and\nBob and Tully stared at each other in amazement.\n\u201cMy report\u2019s been stolen!\u201d\nIt was Tully speaking and he sounded like a stricken man. Then he grasped\nBob\u2019s shoulders.\n\u201cThis isn\u2019t a trick you\u2019re playing on me?\u201d he demanded.\n\u201cDon\u2019t be silly,\u201d said Bob firmly. \u201cThat isn\u2019t my idea of a joke. We\u2019ve\ngot to get busy now.\u201d\nBob pressed the buzzer for the porter, who put in an almost immediate\nappearance.\n\u201cGet the Pullman conductor here at once,\u201d he commanded.\n\u201cSorry, boss, but he\u2019s eating supper up ahead.\u201d\n\u201cGet him,\u201d retorted Bob, and the manner in which he gave the order sent\nthe porter scurrying up the aisle.\n\u201cHow could this have happened?\u201d asked Tully, and from the heaviness of\nhis voice Bob knew that his companion had not fully thrown off the\neffects of the attack which had overcome him that afternoon.\n\u201cThe secret of this is somewhere on the Limited,\u201d replied Bob. \u201cOnly\nthree people, in addition to myself, were in the compartment with you.\nOne was the Pullman conductor, the other was Hamsa, and the third was the\nporter. I think we can rule out the porter for he was in there only once\nor twice. There\u2019s just a chance the conductor might have come back in\nwhile I was in the diner.\u201d\n\u201cWhat motive would he have in taking such a report?\u201d Tully wanted to know\nand Bob confessed that there apparently was none.\nThe conductor, evidently irritated at being called from his dinner,\nentered the car and hurried down to the section.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter?\u201d he asked crisply.\nBob did not like the tone of his voice and he drew forth the little badge\nwhich identified him. The conductor\u2019s eyes widened in astonishment and\nthere was an instant change in his attitude. He looked toward Tully\nsignificantly.\n\u201cPrisoner?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cNo. He\u2019s a federal agent like myself. Sometime after he was stricken\nthis afternoon an envelope containing valuable information was taken from\nhim and worthless papers substituted.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re not suspecting me of this, are you?\u201d asked the conductor and\nthere was such pathetic anxiety in his voice that Bob felt that the man\nwas innocent of any wrong doing.\n\u201cI\u2019m not suspecting or accusing anyone at present,\u201d replied Bob. \u201cI\nsimply want to know if you saw anything unusual going on in this car at\nany time while I was in the diner and while my companion was asleep on\nthe couch in the compartment ahead.\u201d\nThe conductor shook his head.\n\u201cI was through the car twice,\u201d he said, \u201cand the only one here was the\nman who had lower nine. The first time he was in his seat and the second\ntime he was near the rear vestibule. He had on a slicker and had the\nupper part of the door open.\u201d\n\u201cWhen was that?\u201d The question shot eagerly from Bob\u2019s lips.\n\u201cJust before our last stop at Atkinson where we took on coal and water,\u201d\nreplied the conductor. \u201cI didn\u2019t notice him again until up in the diner a\nfew minutes ago.\u201d\n\u201cThe vestibule door was opened by someone while we were in Atkinson,\u201d put\nin the porter.\n\u201cThen lower nine\u2019s passenger must have taken a walk. Fine night for a\nthing like that,\u201d said the conductor. \u201cCome to think of it, I did see his\nslicker on another chair in the diner.\u201d\nThere was no question now but that Joe Hamsa had been the man Bob had\nseen on the station platform, and the suspicious feeling Bob had held\ntoward him from the beginning was strengthened.\n\u201cI\u2019m going forward to talk with Hamsa,\u201d he told Tully, and he started\nahead through the train as fast as he could walk.\nWhen he reached the diner the steward was turning down the lights.\n\u201cI\u2019m looking for a dark, heavy-set fellow who was wearing a black\nslicker,\u201d said Bob. \u201cHe belongs in car 43.\u201d\n\u201cHe left not more than two or three minutes ago,\u201d replied the steward.\n\u201cYou should have met him, for he started back into the Pullmans.\u201d\nBob shook his head.\n\u201cI just came from car 43 and he couldn\u2019t have passed me.\u201d\n\u201cHe might have turned around and gone up into the coaches,\u201d said the\nsteward. \u201cI\u2019ve been busy in the kitchen checking with the chef. You might\nlook up ahead.\u201d\nBob went up into the day coaches and found the train conductor in the\nforward car. There were three day coaches on the train and the conductor\nwas busy making out his reports.\nThe young federal agent wasted no time in identifying himself.\n\u201cThere\u2019s a man aboard I want to question,\u201d he explained. \u201cHe was in the\ndiner a few minutes ago and after finishing his meal started back for the\nPullmans. He belongs in lower nine of car 43, but I\u2019m sure he didn\u2019t\nreach there. Get your brakeman out and search this train.\u201d\nThe small gold badge Bob displayed worked magic with the trainman and he\nsummoned his brakeman. Bob gave them a brief description of Hamsa and\nthey started back through the train.\nEvery vestibule and every compartment was checked as the three worked\nmethodically. They even looked into the kitchen on the dining car while\nthe chef, a jolly negro, grinned at them.\nBack in car 43 they found the Pullman conductor standing watch beside\nTully.\n\u201cThere\u2019s no sign of Hamsa up ahead,\u201d said Bob. \u201cHe didn\u2019t come this way?\u201d\n\u201cNo one\u2019s been through this car,\u201d replied the Pullman official firmly.\nBob shook his head.\n\u201cA man can\u2019t vanish on a train and we\u2019ve been running too fast for him to\njump off. That would have been sheer suicide.\u201d\nThere were two more Pullmans and an observation lounge car behind car 43\nand with the trainmen at his heels, Bob resumed the search.\nThe next two cars were practically deserted and even in the observation\nlounge there were only five passengers in addition to the porter. They\nlooked up with evident interest at the wholesale invasion of the trainmen\nand the grim intentness of the expression on Bob\u2019s face.\nBut the observation car failed to yield any sign of Hamsa and Bob stepped\nout on the rain-lashed platform. The Limited whistled sharply and seconds\nlater rumbled through a small village. Then the train was rushing through\nthe desolate night once more.\nThe young federal agent turned and re-entered the car and the feeling of\nunrest which had gripped him ever since meeting Joe Hamsa deepened. There\nwas something about the diamond salesman that sent shivers up and down\nBob\u2019s spine.\n\u201cThat fellow\u2019s got to be on the train some place for we haven\u2019t even\nslowed up since we left Atkinson,\u201d said the train conductor. \u201cWe\u2019d better\nlook again.\u201d\nThey started forward, once more examining every compartment aboard the\ntrain, and this time they even went into the baggage car, but the\nbaggageman insisted that no one had been through his car.\nBack in the first day coach they stopped to take council.\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid he\u2019s fallen off the train in some manner,\u201d said the train\nconductor. \u201cWe\u2019re stopping in ten minutes at a junction and I\u2019ll send a\nwire back to division headquarters. They\u2019ll warn all trains over the road\nto watch for him.\u201d\nBob, however, doubted that Hamsa had fallen from the train for he felt\nthat the diamond salesman was far too clever and cautious to be the\nvictim of such an accident.\nThe young federal agent returned to car 43 and related in detail to Tully\nthe result of the search of the train.\n\u201cIt doesn\u2019t seem possible that Hamsa could be on the train, yet I am sure\nthat he did not fall off,\u201d concluded Bob.\n\u201cI\u2019ve the same feeling,\u201d said Tully. \u201cYou\u2019re sure you didn\u2019t miss any\nplace?\u201d\n\u201cWe looked in every closet and compartment aboard the Limited,\u201d insisted\nBob. \u201cWe\u2019d have found even a fly if one had been aboard.\u201d\nTully was visibly downcast for he felt the loss of his confidential\ninstructions keenly.\n\u201cHamsa is the only one who could have taken them,\u201d he said, half to\nhimself.\nBob felt like telling Tully that he should have known better than to have\nopened and read them in the presence of anyone else, but he checked the\nimpulse, and was glad that he had had the foresight to protect his own\npapers by placing them in his Gladstone bag.\nThe train slowed to a stop at a lonely junction and Bob went to the\nvestibule where the porter opened the upper half of the door for him.\nThe federal agent, peering ahead through the rain, saw the train\nconductor make a dash for the station where a night operator was on duty.\nThe conductor ran back to the train just before the engineer \u201cwhistled\nin\u201d the flagman and Bob knew that already a message was humming over the\nwires telling of the disappearance of Joe Hamsa, the diamond salesman.\nThe porter closed the upper half of the door and Bob returned to the\nPullman. The lights had been turned low and he looked in at Tully, who\nwas dozing.\nBob was too wide awake to think of sleep just then, and he went ahead to\nthe smoking compartment, where the porter had left an evening paper.\nBob picked up the paper and scanned the headlines on the first page, but\nthere was nothing recorded in the news there that drew his attention and\nhe turned to the sports page, where football dope stories could be found\nplentifully, for Bob liked nothing better in the sports world than a good\nfootball game.\nThe train conductor came in and sat down.\n\u201cIt\u2019s a bad night,\u201d he said, looking at the curtain of rain which swept\nthe windows. \u201cWe\u2019ll be late getting into Jacksonville. A message at the\njunction back there gave us a lot of slow orders where the track is going\nbad ahead of us.\u201d\n\u201cThe rain must be worse farther south,\u201d said Bob.\n\u201cIt\u2019s nearly a cloudburst in some places. I wouldn\u2019t be surprised if we\nfind a bridge washed out and get hung up for hours.\u201d\nThe conductor was silent for a minute. Then he added, \u201cI can\u2019t figure out\nwhere that fellow in lower nine went. Seems impossible that he could have\nfallen off the train, yet he isn\u2019t here.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m just as puzzled as you are,\u201d admitted Bob, \u201cbut I have a feeling\nthat no harm has come to him. I sized him up as a fellow pretty well able\nto take care of himself.\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t recall seeing him,\u201d said the train conductor, \u201cfor the Pullman\nconductor handles this end of the Limited. Well, I\u2019ve more reports to get\nready.\u201d\nHe got to his feet and started for the door. The Limited lurched heavily\nand the conductor was thrown back against Bob.\n\u201cThere we go!\u201d he cried. \u201cThe track\u2019s gone out from under us.\u201d\nThe car was weaving and lurching as the wheels screamed in the grip of\npowerful air brakes, but the rhythmic clack of the trucks told them they\nwere still on the rails.\nThe conductor hoisted himself to his feet and Bob followed him in a dash\nfor the vestibule.\n\u201cThat blamed engineer almost shook us to pieces,\u201d groaned the conductor\nas he threw open the top half of the vestibule door and peered out.\nBob, looking over his shoulder, could see a red glare that penetrated\neven the brilliance of the locomotive\u2019s headlight.\n\u201cSomeone\u2019s swinging a fuse against us,\u201d said the conductor, buttoning up\nhis slicker. \u201cI\u2019m going ahead.\u201d\nBob ran back into the Pullman and got his own coat. Tully, who was awake\nnow, wanted to know what it was all about.\n\u201cAn emergency stop of some kind,\u201d said Bob. \u201cI\u2019ll be back soon.\u201d\nBy the time he was back in the vestibule the Limited was grinding to a\nstop and Bob swung down behind the conductor, the two running ahead\nalongside the train as rapidly as they could in the darkness.\nThe Southern had been flagged at a lonely way station where it seldom if\never made a stop, and the engineer, who was leaning from his cab, bawled\nlustily at them.\n\u201cFind out what that hick agent means by flagging us down,\u201d he shouted.\n\u201cWe\u2019ve got to get rolling again. We\u2019re 23 minutes late.\u201d\nThe agent, the red fuse still in his hands, came toward them and Bob\ncaught a glimpse of a telegram in one hand.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the idea of flagging us down?\u201d demanded the conductor. \u201cI\u2019m going\nto report you if you haven\u2019t a mighty good reason.\u201d\nThe agent\u2019s retort was sharp.\n\u201cOh, quit your howling. I waved a fuse at you because I had orders from\nthe super to stop this train and deliver a message to one of your\npassengers.\u201d\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d bellowed the conductor. \u201cYou had the nerve to stop the\nSouthern just to deliver a telegram?\u201d\nThe agent shrugged. \u201cYou heard me. Now I\u2019ve got to find this passenger\nand deliver the message.\u201d\n\u201cGive it to me. I\u2019ll deliver it.\u201d The conductor reached for the telegram,\nbut the agent backed away.\n\u201cOh, no you don\u2019t. I\u2019m going to deliver this in person and get the\nsignature of the man I deliver it to.\u201d\n\u201cHurry up there!\u201d It was the engineer, shouting at them above the noise\nof the storm and the air pumps on the locomotive.\n\u201cWho\u2019s the telegram for?\u201d asked the conductor.\n\u201cBob Houston in lower five, car 43,\u201d replied the agent. \u201cLet\u2019s get\ngoing.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s all right, I\u2019ll sign for the telegram,\u201d said Bob. \u201cMy name is\nHouston and I\u2019m in lower five, car 43.\u201d\nThe agent looked suspiciously at him as though he had not expected anyone\nas youthful looking as Bob.\n\u201cI\u2019ve got instructions to see a certain badge before I turn over this\nmessage,\u201d he said.\nBob reached into his inner coat pocket, drew forth his billfold, and\nproduced the badge.\n\u201cThat\u2019s right,\u201d nodded the agent. \u201cSign this slip.\u201d\nHe produced a pencil and Bob, writing in the light from the headlight,\nsigned his name.\n\u201cThanks,\u201d said the agent. Then he turned to the conductor. \u201cAll right.\nNow you can tell that hoghead up there to pick up his wheels and get the\nstring of varnished gondolas out of here. I want to go to sleep.\u201d\nThe conductor snorted, but he was too anxious to get back to his train to\nmake a reply.\nThe vestibule of the forward coach had been opened by the brakeman. They\nclimbed aboard and the engineer whistled off the moment they were on the\ntrain.\nBob looked at the damp envelope in his hands and suddenly he felt himself\nshaking slightly. For some reason the Southern Limited had been stopped\nat a lonely railroad outpost to deliver this message to him. That it was\nimportant there could be no doubt for he had been forced to identify\nhimself before he could obtain the message.\nThe coach was less than half full and Bob dropped down in the nearest\nseat and ripped open the telegram, looking first at the signature. It was\nfrom Waldo Edgar, chief of the division of investigation.\nBob read the message quickly and thoroughly:\n\u201cThis is to warn you that a man known as Joe Hamsa, traveling south with\nyou on Limited, is now believed linked with gang we want. Watch Hamsa\nclosely and take no chances with him as his record is a ruthless one. In\nview of this, contact Merritt Hughes and Condon Adams when you reach\nJacksonville.\u201d\nBob read the telegram again, folded it carefully and placed it in an\ninside pocket with the feeling that even though Joe Hamsa had disappeared\nfrom the train, they would meet and that their meeting would not be far\nin the future.\nBob walked back through the Southern Limited with many things running\nthrough his mind. His suspicions concerning Joe Hamsa had been confirmed\nby the telegram in his pocket.\nThe r\u00f4le of diamond salesman was an ideal one for Hamsa to assume. In\nthat capacity he would be able to go around the country selling the\nsmuggled diamonds and if he appeared to be working for a legitimate firm\nof wholesale diamond merchants there was little doubt that he would go\nunmolested by the federal agents.\nBob wondered just how the department had obtained the information on\nHamsa which had led to the telegram to him. Perhaps his uncle would be\nable to enlighten him when he arrived in Jacksonville the next morning.\nThe young federal agent entered car 43 and stopped at lower five. He\nparted the curtains and looked down at Tully, who was sound asleep. Tully\nwas breathing so deeply that Bob hesitated to awaken him and tell him\nabout the message. If Tully was still asleep when Bob went to bed, there\nwould still be time to awaken him.\nBob went on back to lower nine, which Hamsa was to have occupied. There\nwas nothing on the seats, but Bob caught a glimpse of a bag sticking from\nunder the forward seat and he leaned down and pulled a small bag out.\nThe case was of well worn brown leather securely fastened with two small\nbut sturdy padlocks. There was something soft inside, but the leather was\ntoo thick for his fingers to ascertain just what the contents might be.\nThe porter came through the car and stopped.\n\u201cHaven\u2019t seen anything more of the man in lower nine?\u201d asked Bob.\nThe Pullman employe shook his gray head.\n\u201cNo sir, and I don\u2019t know whether to make up his berth.\u201d\n\u201cYou might as well save yourself work. I don\u2019t believe I\u2019d make it up,\u201d\nadvised Bob, and the porter, deciding to accept the counsel, went on up\nthe aisle.\nBob walked back to the observation and lounge car. There was only one\npassenger who had not retired to his berth in the forward Pullmans. He\nwas an elderly man, thin, but with an expression on his face which gave\none a feeling of tremendous vitality. He was deeply engrossed in reading\nand Bob picked up a newspaper which had been brought aboard the train at\none of the Carolina towns.\nBut he found reading a difficult task. His mind was centered on the\ndisappearance of Hamsa. It seemed absolutely incredible that a man could\nhave vanished from a fast train while it was speeding through the night\nbetween stations. Yet apparently that was just what had taken place.\nBob knew there was an answer to the problem, and it was probably\nsomething ridiculously simple, but it evaded his every mental effort and\nhe finally turned to the comic page of the newspaper for a chuckle or two\nat the antics of the comic characters.\nThe other passenger in the car put down the magazine he had been reading\nand went forward to his berth in another car. Bob was alone in the\nobservation lounge without even a trainman in the car.\nFrom up ahead the dismal hoot of the locomotive whistle drifted back and\nseconds later the car lurched as the trucks crashed over the frogs of a\nsiding and the dimmed lights of a village drifted by in the storm. Then\nthe train was in the heart of the desolate night once more.\nAfter the events of the afternoon, with Tully\u2019s sudden collapse and the\ndisappearance of Hamsa, it was not a scene to inspire confidence in the\nheart of any young federal agent and Bob felt a queer chill running up\nand down his spine. Once or twice before, when sudden danger impended, he\nhad had the same feeling.\nSome premonition caused Bob to turn quickly toward the forward end of the\nobservation car and his eyes riveted on a hand, extended around the edge\nof the corridor, which was groping for the switches controlling the\nlights inside the car.\nBob was motionless, but for only a second. Then he leaped forward, his\npowerful legs driving him ahead as the groping hand finally found the\nswitch and he saw the fingers tense as they started to move the lever\ndownward which would plunge the car into darkness.\nA blanket of darkness engulfed the interior of the observation car and\nBob heard the faint click of the switch. His body was hurtling forward\nwith a momentum impossible to stop and he crashed almost headlong into\nthe steel partition at the end of the car.\nBob was dazed by the shock of the impact and he dropped to the floor, too\nbruised to move for a moment.\nThen a finger of light sought him out. The tiny ray was almost blinding\nin its brilliance and the beam swept Bob\u2019s face as he struggled to get\nup. He was on his knees and facing the mysterious beam when there was a\nsharp blow on his face. The impact was not hard, but there was no\nmistaking that he had been struck.\nA sudden nausea swept Bob and he felt his power of control ebbing\nrapidly. He tried to cry out, but his tongue seemed to swell and stick in\nhis mouth. His arms dropped at his sides and he felt his knees wobbling.\nIn spite of everything he could do he collapsed on the floor of the\nobservation car.\nThe last thing Bob remembered was the thin beam of light which still\nsought him out with relentless steadiness and then a mocking laugh, heavy\nand daring, that might easily have come from the lips of Joe Hamsa had he\nbeen on the Southern Limited.\nBob never knew just how long he was unconscious, but it must have been at\nleast half an hour before his mind started to clear and he felt some one\nshaking his shoulders.\nHis head pounded painfully and it was difficult for him to lift his\nheavy-lidded eyes. Some one moistened his lips and his tongue felt\nbetter. He tried to talk, but some one cut him short.\n\u201cHe\u2019s coming around now. Lift him into a chair.\u201d\nThe command was obeyed and Bob felt himself being carried into a chair.\nFaintly he heard the steady clack of train trucks and he knew that he was\nstill on the Southern Limited.\nWhen his eyes finally focused and his blurred vision cleared he saw the\ntrain conductor leaning over him. A Pullman porter was just behind and in\nthe background another trainman could be seen.\n\u201cWhat happened?\u201d It was the voice of the train conductor.\nBob shook his head. He was still too weak to answer that question, but\nhis eyes shot toward the end of the car as though he half expected to see\na hand move around the corner and grope for the light switch. In his ears\nthe mocking laugh he had heard still echoed.\n\u201cWhere are we?\u201d asked the young federal agent, and when the conductor\nanswered Bob knew that the Limited was far behind its usual fast schedule\ninto the southland.\nBob looked sharply at the trainmen.\n\u201cHave you seen anything of the man in lower nine in the last hour?\u201d The\nquestion was sharp and he saw the look of surprise that passed over their\nfaces.\nDenials were quick and emphatic. Quite definitely they had not seen Joe\nHamsa on the Limited.\nBob shook his head. That was strange for he was sure that it was Hamsa\u2019s\nvoice he had heard in the car just before he lost consciousness.\n\u201cTell us what happened,\u201d urged the train conductor, who was more than a\nlittle disturbed at the misfortunes which were befalling the passengers\non the Limited that night. One federal agent had been taken suddenly ill,\nanother passenger had disappeared, the train had been flagged down at a\nlonely station for a telegram, and now the second federal agent had been\nfound unconscious in the observation car. It was, admitted the trainman,\ntoo much for him to untangle.\nBob felt more like talking now, and he told his story briefly.\n\u201cI turned toward the forward end of the car just in time to see some\none\u2019s hand groping around the corner for the light switch. I jumped for\nthe switch, but the lights were snapped out before I could reach it.\u201d\nBob paused for a moment, then went on.\n\u201cI crashed into the steel partition at the end of the lounge section of\nthe car and fell down. Before I could get to my feet whoever had turned\noff the lights snapped on a small but very brilliant flash light and\nfocused it on my eyes. Before I could get to my feet there was a sharp\nimpact on my face. It was just as though some one had struck me a sharp\nblow. After that a wave of nausea swept over me and that was the last\nthing I remember until a few minutes ago.\u201d\nThe conductor\u2019s worry was reflected on his frank face.\n\u201cThe flagman, coming back from the head end, found the car in darkness\nand when he turned on the lights he almost fell over you. I was pretty\nworried, but the porter told me that you acted like your friend this\nafternoon and I knew he was coming around all right so it wasn\u2019t as bad\nas it might have been.\u201d\n\u201cJust before I lost consciousness,\u201d went on Bob, \u201cI heard some one laugh\nand I would have sworn it was the voice of Hamsa, the man who has\ndisappeared from lower nine.\u201d\n\u201cCouldn\u2019t have been,\u201d declared the conductor. \u201cI\u2019ve been all over the\ntrain and know he isn\u2019t aboard.\u201d\n\u201cThen who could have turned off the lights in this car?\u201d demanded Bob and\nthe conductor shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment.\n\u201cI\u2019ll be glad when we\u2019re at the end of the division,\u201d he said. \u201cThis\nthing is getting my nerves. Next thing I\u2019ll be seeing ghosts. You fellows\nmust have eaten some tainted food.\u201d\n\u201cNo, that\u2019s out. Neither my companion nor I had a meal together before we\ngot on this train this afternoon and he was taken ill before the evening\nmeal was served in the diner.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s right,\u201d agreed the conductor. \u201cWell, you puzzle it out. I guess\nthat\u2019s your profession.\u201d\nBob got to his feet. His legs were still a little shaky and the porter\nhurried away for more coffee. When it was brought Bob drank two more cups\nof the hot liquid, then he walked up and down the car several times.\n\u201cIf you can rustle up a sandwich out of the diner, I\u2019ll feel better when\nI get some more food in my stomach,\u201d said Bob, and the porter went out to\nfill his request.\nThe conductor turned to the flagman.\n\u201cDon\u2019t leave this car again, except when you have to get off to protect\nthe back end at flag stops,\u201d he ordered. \u201cI don\u2019t want any more\nmysterious attacks on this train while I\u2019m in charge of it.\u201d\nThen he looked at Bob, who was still white around the lips.\n\u201cBetter get to bed and enjoy a few hours sleep, young man. You\u2019re\nstarting to look like a fish that\u2019s been out of water too long.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m coming along all right,\u201d declared Bob. \u201cAs soon as I have a sandwich\nI\u2019ll feel better. I\u2019m convinced that Hamsa is on this train some place\nand I\u2019m going to find him.\u201d\nThe conductor stared at Bob as though he thought the young federal agent\nwas mentally unbalanced. Then, shaking his head and muttering to himself,\nhe started forward to continue his greatly interrupted work on his\nreports.\nThe porter came back with a tray on which were two large, thick, meat\nsandwiches and a glass of milk and Bob sat down in the observation car to\nenjoy the late lunch.\nThe flagman, at the back end of the car, was inclined to be more\ntalkative than the conductor.\n\u201cEveryone on the train\u2019s shaky tonight,\u201d he confided. \u201cWe got a message\nwe picked up on the run a few minutes ago and a fast freight that\u2019s been\ncoming along right after us wasn\u2019t able to find any trace of Hamsa along\nthe stretch of road where we know he disappeared.\u201d\n\u201cHow fast were we running along that section?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cNever under fifty, and most of the time between fifty-five and\nsixty-five.\u201d\n\u201cThen a man wouldn\u2019t have much chance of jumping from the train without\nsuch serious injury that he would be unable to get away?\u201d pressed Bob.\n\u201cI should say he wouldn\u2019t. At the very least he would get a broken leg\nand he wouldn\u2019t be able to get far from the right-of-way in that\ncondition. And remember that it\u2019s been storming hard ever since yesterday\nafternoon.\u201d\nBob knew that the trainman was right. It would have been almost sure\nsuicide to have leaped from the speeding Limited and he was more\nconvinced than ever that Hamsa was somewhere aboard the train.\n\u201cWe\u2019ve been over every car from head to rear and back again,\u201d said Bob.\n\u201cHave you any idea where he could hide?\u201d\nThe flagman removed his cap and scratched his head.\n\u201cHe didn\u2019t go through the baggage car?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cNo,\u201d replied Bob.\n\u201cHow about under the steps in the vestibules? Did you lift all of the\ntraps?\u201d\nBob\u2019s startled expression was sufficient answer to the flagman, who got\nhastily to his feet.\n\u201cNo, we didn\u2019t look under the traps,\u201d admitted Bob.\n\u201cThen we\u2019d better get busy. We can do it alone, working ahead through\neach car.\u201d\nThe flagman started for the back end of the train, evidently intent on\nchecking the trap doors on the observation platform when a sharp call\nfrom Bob stopped him.\n\u201cHamsa isn\u2019t going to be an easy man to take if he\u2019s hiding under one of\nthe traps. Wait until I can go forward and get a gun out of my bag.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll wait,\u201d agreed the flagman, who obviously had not thought that they\nmight encounter armed resistance.\nBob, running lightly, sped through the two forward Pullmans and into car\nforty-three. His own Gladstone was still under the berth in which Tully\nwas sleeping so heavily.\nThe young federal agent bent down and dragged it out. He knew just where\nhe had put the gun and his hands sought it after he had opened the bag.\nBut the weapon was not where Bob had placed it and a new feeling of\nanxiety gripped him.\nWith desperate hands he rummaged through the bag. The gun and box of\ncartridges he had placed there were gone!\nBob picked up the big bag and carried it to a berth further down the\naisle where he snapped on the seat lights. Once more his hands ran\nthrough the clothing which filled the bag.\nThe revolver was gone, but the rifle he was taking south with him was\nintact, although the ammunition for it was missing. Some one had looted\nthe bag and in doing so had left Bob defenseless against any armed\nattack.\nThe discovery that his own bag had been searched so disturbed Bob that\nfor a moment he forgot the important confidential papers on the smuggling\ncase which he had placed there.\nWhen he recalled them, he started another search of the bag, turning\nclothes topsy-turvy in his search for the envelope and the precious\ninformation which it contained.\nBob searched both sides of the Gladstone with a heart that grew heavier\nwith apprehension as each second passed. There was no question now\u2014his\nown confidential papers had been stolen.\nHis hands went to the inner coat pocket where he had tucked the telegram\nwarning them against Hamsa. When he drew them out his hands were empty.\nEven that message had disappeared and Bob knew then, without question,\nthat Hamsa was somewhere on the train.\nWith the telegram from Washington in his possession and the knowledge\nthat the federal agents were closing in on him, Hamsa would be doubly\ndangerous and Bob was unarmed.\nBob sat in the berth for a time, thinking what to do next. He was certain\nthat Hamsa was on the train and he knew that the other was capably armed,\nfor he had Bob\u2019s own revolver and there was no question but that he would\nuse the weapon if his hand was forced too far.\nBob got up and walked back to lower five where Tully was in a deep sleep.\nHis traveling companion\u2019s bag was in the rack above his berth and Bob\nreached in and pulled it out into the aisle, letting the heavy curtains\nfall back into place.\nHe went through the bag methodically, for Tully\u2019s gun should have been\nthere. Bob searched every article in the bag twice, but the hunt was\nfruitless. There was no weapon there. Hamsa had done a thorough job of\ndisarming the federal agents.\nBob replaced Tully\u2019s bag and then returned to the observation car where\nthe flagman was waiting for him. He spread his empty hands in an\nexpressive gesture.\n\u201cSome one\u2019s been through my bag and my gun\u2019s gone,\u201d said Bob. \u201cWhoever it\nwas also went through the other agent\u2019s bag for he\u2019s been disarmed.\u201d\nThe flagman\u2019s eyes narrowed.\n\u201cI\u2019m not so keen about going on with this search unless we\u2019re armed,\u201d he\ndeclared.\n\u201cAny guns of any kind on the train?\u201d\n\u201cThe baggage man up ahead has one, but I don\u2019t suppose he would loan it\nto anyone.\u201d\n\u201cThere\u2019s no harm in trying,\u201d decided Bob, and he started forward through\nthe train once more.\nThe conductor was in the last coach forward and Bob quickly explained\nwhat had happened. The trainman went ahead and tapped on the door of the\nbaggage car.\nIt was opened cautiously and the baggage man stuck his head out.\n\u201cWhat do you want?\u201d he demanded gruffly.\n\u201cLet us in,\u201d cried the conductor and they stepped into the baggage car as\na curtain of rain swept down off the roof of the train.\nBob displayed his badge and then told what he needed.\n\u201cI can\u2019t let you have my service gun,\u201d replied the baggage man, \u201cbut I\u2019ve\ngot a .22 target pistol I always carry along in my bag. You can have that\nif it will do you any good.\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s pretty light. But it will be better than nothing,\u201d decided Bob as\nthe baggage man obtained the weapon and handed it to him.\n\u201cThe only clip of cartridges I have for it are in the gun,\u201d he explained,\n\u201cso be careful on the ammunition if you get in a tight place.\u201d\nBob and the conductor returned to the forward coach.\n\u201cWhich end of the train are you going to start from?\u201d asked the\nconductor.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll go back to the observation car and work forward,\u201d said Bob. \u201cThe\nflagman is back there waiting for me.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll go with you. I want him to stay on the back end and protect us if\nwe have to make a sudden stop. The track is getting soft and there\u2019s a\nfast freight that\u2019s pounding along after us too close for comfort. I\ndon\u2019t want them piling into the back end of the Limited on a night like\nthis.\u201d\nIt was late as they started back once more and most of the passengers in\nthe day coaches, curled into grotesque attitudes on the seats, were\nasleep. In the Pullmans the solid rows of green curtains swung to and fro\nas the train sped southward.\nBob thought of the possibility that Joe Hamsa might be hiding in one of\nthe unoccupied berths, but he knew that the train crew had made a\nthorough search of each berth.\nStanding a lonely vigil in the observation car had done little to help\nthe jumpy nerves of the flagman and he was obviously relieved when he\nfound that the conductor had decided to help Bob in the search of the\nvestibule steps.\n\u201cBetter turn down the lights in this car,\u201d advised the conductor. \u201cAll of\nthe passengers on the Pullmans are in bed.\u201d\n\u201cNothing doing,\u201d insisted the flagman. \u201cThis is one night when I want\nplenty of light in this car and I\u2019d just as soon have plenty of company\nof the right kind. I thought I heard some one moving around several\ntimes.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019ve been reading too many mystery stories,\u201d jeered the conductor.\nBob led the way to the rear platform of the train and they stepped out\ninto the raw bluster of the night.\nThe young federal agent took the target pistol out of his coat pocket and\nslipped the catch off the safety while the conductor focused the beam\nfrom his flash light on one of the traps in the floor of the vestibule.\nThe flagman, his foot poised to kick the catch, saw Bob nod and the next\nsecond the trap door swung upward as unseen springs provided the\nmomentum. They stared down at the empty steps and the rays of the flash\nlight, penetrating even beyond, showed the ends of the ties as they\nprojected beyond the rain-swept ballast.\nDown went the trap door and the flagman turned to the other side of the\nplatform. Bob felt his heart beating harder. Actually he hardly knew what\nhe would do if the trap, flying upward, were to reveal the hunched figure\nof Joe Hamsa.\nThe flagman kicked the release lever and the door sprung upward. Once\nmore they stared at vacant steps and an endless row of marching ties.\nThey returned to the observation car.\n\u201cHope you have a nice party,\u201d grinned the flagman as Bob and the\nconductor started forward to continue the search of the vestibule steps.\n\u201cSeems like kind of a foolish thing to do,\u201d grumbled the conductor.\n\u201cThat may be, but I\u2019m convinced that Hamsa is still aboard this train and\nthe vestibule steps are the last place I can think of,\u201d retorted Bob.\nFour more traps were opened without success and they walked through\nanother Pullman. Finally they came to car 43, where Tully was sleeping\nsoundly. Their search at one end of the car was without result and they\nwalked down to lower five.\nOne curtain in the berth seemed to be caught and pulled back inward. It\nwas this which attracted Bob\u2019s attention and made him pause. He leaned\nover to adjust the curtain and just then the train lurched sharply and he\nwas thrown into the berth.\nBob attempted to brace himself and keep from falling on the sleeping\nTully, but his efforts were without avail and he dropped rather heavily\ninto the berth.\nBob expected Tully to cry out, but there was no answer from the other\nyoung federal agent and Bob, struggling to his feet, parted the curtains\nand with the conductor peering over his shoulder, looked in.\nThe bedding had been thrown carelessly to the back of the berth and Tully\nwas missing!\nBob turned and stared at the conductor with unbelieving eyes.\n\u201cHe\u2019s gone!\u201d said Bob mechanically.\nBut it couldn\u2019t be possible for only a few minutes before he had looked\nin at Tully when he had examined the contents of his bag in the search\nfor a weapon. Tully had been sleeping deeply but peacefully then.\n\u201cMaybe he walked up ahead to get a drink,\u201d suggested the conductor. But\nthere was little actual hope in his voice that this had happened.\n\u201cGet ahead and see if he\u2019s there,\u201d ordered Bob and the conductor hurried\naway.\nBob threw back the curtains in the berth and looked for some evidence of\na struggle for he was convinced in his own mind that Tully had never left\nthe berth of his own free will. For one thing Tully had been too ill to\nget up and do any walking on the train.\nThe conductor returned promptly. There was no sign of Tully in the head\nend of the Pullman.\nBob rummaged through the sheets and blankets on the bed and his hands\nsuddenly came on something firm. He drew the object out of the bedding\nand gazed at it under the rays of the berth light which he had turned on.\nIt was a leather covered blackjack.\n\u201cThis spells trouble in capital letters,\u201d said Bob as he drew out a clean\nhandkerchief and turned the blackjack over. \u201cSome one slugged Tully and\nthen carried him out of his berth. This train is haunted.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m beginning to believe so myself,\u201d agreed the conductor. \u201cWho could\nhave carried him away?\u201d\n\u201cThere\u2019s only one answer to that\u2014Hamsa,\u201d asserted Bob. \u201cWhat I want to\nknow is what happened to Tully?\u201d\nThe conductor shook his head in glum perplexity. Events were happening\ntoo swiftly for him to comprehend. First valuable papers had been stolen,\nthen a gun, and a federal agent had disappeared from his berth. The\ntrainman would welcome the end of the division and his run.\nThe brakeman, coming back from the head end on his rounds, stopped in the\nPullman.\n\u201cOne of you fellows leave the vestibule door up ahead open?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cNo,\u201d replied Bob sharply.\n\u201cWell, some one did. I closed it when I came along.\u201d\nA look of apprehension flitted across Bob\u2019s face.\n\u201cWhich vestibule was open?\u201d he demanded.\n\u201cLeft hand one on the car just ahead,\u201d replied the brakeman.\nWithout further questioning, Bob dashed ahead, a mounting fear tugging at\nhis heart.\nThe conductor and brakeman followed him through the car and out into the\nvestibule where the steady clacking of the trucks beneath the Pullmans\nfilled the air.\nBob stepped across the gap into the car ahead. There was a splotch of\nwater on the steel floor of the vestibule where the wind had lashed the\nrain in while the door was open.\n\u201cThis the door that was open?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cRight. I closed it less than a minute ago,\u201d replied the brakeman.\nBob dropped down to his knees and examined the floor of the vestibule. At\nfirst there appeared to be nothing unusual there, but his sharp eyes\nfinally caught sight of a small, dark spot. It was soft and fresh and he\ntouched it with his fingers.\nBob drew his hand back where the light was better and examined the dark\nmarks on the tips of his fingers. From behind came an involuntary gasp\nfrom the brakeman.\nThe dark spots on Bob\u2019s fingers were blood and the young federal agent\nlooked up at the trainmen with eyes that were hard and piercing.\n\u201cStop this train!\u201d he ordered. \u201cTully Ross has been thrown from the\ntrain. We\u2019ve got to go back.\u201d\nThe conductor was silent for a moment, staring at the dark stains on\nBob\u2019s fingers. Then he shook his head.\n\u201cWe can\u2019t stop and go back. There\u2019s a fast freight following right behind\nus and they might ram us. We\u2019ll have to run to the nearest station with a\nnight operator. Then we can get word back to division headquarters.\u201d\n\u201cBut we\u2019ve got to stop. He may be seriously injured.\u201d\nThe conductor looked at his watch. Just then the air brakes went on and\nstreams of sparks flew from the wet trucks underneath.\n\u201cWe\u2019re slowing down now for Robertson where we take on water. There\u2019s a\nnight operator there. We can send a message back and get new orders.\u201d\nThe brakeman threw open the vestibule door on the right side and almost\nbefore the train came to a stop Bob and the conductor were running\nforward.\nWhen they reached the small station Bob dictated the message and the\nconductor told the operator to rush it through.\n\u201cThat freight\u2019s only ten miles up the line. It\u2019s at Quasqueton now. Maybe\nwe can catch it,\u201d said the operator.\nBob nodded and the operator pounded his key hard with a desperate call\nfor the night man at Quasqueton. It seemed ages before there was an\nanswer. Actually the Quesqueton operator answered in less than a minute.\n\u201cHold the freight,\u201d snapped back the operator beside Bob, and just then\nthe dispatcher at division headquarters chimed in and wanted to know what\nit was all about.\nThe story was snapped over the wires as the bent fingers of the operator\nat Robertson tapped out the facts. The answer from the dispatcher came\nsharply, first a message to the freight.\n\u201cTo enginemen and trainmen of extra X703 South. Use all precautions in\nmoving from Quasqueton to Robertson to find federal agent believed thrown\nfrom Southern Limited. Report immediately upon arrival at Robertson.\u201d\nThat message was followed by one to the Limited to proceed. The night\noperator copied this quickly and handed the thin tissues to the\nconductor, who was buttoning up his coat before going back into the\ndesolation of that wild night.\n\u201cGoing on with us, or will you stay here and wait for the freight to come\nthrough and report?\u201d\nBob hesitated. If he remained at the lonely station he would have first\nhand information if Tully was found by the freight crew. On the other\nhand, he was convinced that Joe Hamsa was still aboard the Southern\nLimited and that he had on his person the confidential documents on the\nsmuggling ring which had been stolen from Tully and Bob.\nThe decision was made quickly.\n\u201cI\u2019m going on the Limited. What\u2019s our next stop?\u201d\nThe conductor named a junction thirty miles down the line.\n\u201cWill the freight be in here by the time we reach the junction?\u201d Bob\nasked the night operator.\n\u201cIt will at the rate the Limited is running tonight,\u201d replied the\noperator. \u201cQuasqueton is reporting the freight out right now.\u201d\n\u201cLet\u2019s go,\u201d called the conductor.\nThe trainman hurried outside and Bob banged the door after him. The\nfederal agent went back to the Pullmans while the conductor ran forward\nwith the orders for the engineer. A minute later the Limited hooted\nshrilly and once more started southward.\nBack in the Pullman from which Tully had vanished Bob took off the coat\nwhich had protected him from the storm. He sat down opposite the berth\nand carefully examined the target revolver. An eerie feeling ran along\nhis spine. He felt as though some one was watching him and he turned and\nscanned the windows of the Pullman. But that was impossible for the\nLimited was already running better than thirty miles an hour and no one\ncould possibly have clung to the side of the train.\nThe conductor came back through.\n\u201cI\u2019m going to finish that search,\u201d declared Bob, and the trainman,\nwithout further comment, joined him.\nWorking together and moving cautiously, they raised up the trap door on\nevery vestibule clear up to the baggage car. There was no one hidden on\nthe steps.\n\u201cIf there was ever anyone there, he got off at Robertson,\u201d said the\nconductor.\nBut Bob shook his head.\n\u201cI don\u2019t think so,\u201d he said firmly. \u201cWhat would a man stop there for?\nIt\u2019s miles from any other town, and there are no good highways nearby to\nmake a get-away in a car.\u201d\n\u201cMaybe you\u2019re right, but there\u2019s no one on this train.\u201d\nBob wasn\u2019t so sure. A crafty man such as Hamsa had shown himself to be\ncould have moved to the shelter of one of the rear vestibules while the\nLimited was standing at Robertson for Bob had checked these vestibules\nbefore the train stopped there.\n\u201cI\u2019m going to work from the front to the back,\u201d declared Bob, and the\nconductor looked at him suspiciously as though thinking that the strain\nof the night might have unbalanced Bob. But he went along without\ncomplaint when the federal agent started the hunt again.\nCar by car they inspected the train. The small dark spot they had found\nin one vestibule had dried and Bob didn\u2019t dare think what might have\nhappened to Tully. While there was no love lost between them, Bob had no\ndesire to see any harm come to the other.\nAs they entered the observation car, the Limited started slowing down.\nThe conductor, pressing his face against one of the rain-washed panes of\nglass, peered ahead.\n\u201cJunction showing now,\u201d he said as Bob stepped in after inspecting the\ntrap doors on the observation platform.\nA red lantern was being swung at the junction platform and the minute the\nLimited drew to a halt beside the cinder platform Bob and the trainman\nstarted running forward.\nA night operator, swathed in a heavy storm coat, greeted them.\n\u201cMessage from Robertson for Bob Houston,\u201d he told the conductor. \u201cFine\nthing to make a man deliver telegrams at this time of night.\u201d\nThe conductor didn\u2019t bother to answer the operator\u2019s complaint but handed\nthe message to Bob, who tore open the envelope and read the brief message\ninside.\n\u201cMan you reported missing found by freight crew. Has cut on head and is\nbruised. Otherwise appears okay. Proceeding on to junction aboard\nfreight.\u201d\nBob breathed a sigh of relief for he was honestly glad to know that no\nserious harm had befallen Tully.\n\u201cAre you going on with us or will you stay here?\u201d asked the conductor.\nBob hesitated for only a moment.\n\u201cI\u2019m going on,\u201d he decided, for he knew that Tully would be placed in\ngood hands by the railroad people and could proceed on alone to his\nassignment as soon as he felt well enough. In the meantime, Bob was still\nconvinced that Joe Hamsa was somewhere aboard the Limited for he knew\nthat Hamsa\u2019s destination, like his own, was somewhere along the east\ncoast of Florida and he felt sure that Hamsa would lose no time in\nattempting to reach it. In view of that, Bob felt the gangster would\ncontinue on the Limited.\nTwo short, impatient blasts sounded up ahead and the Limited jerked into\nmotion as Bob and the conductor swung back onto the train.\nBob had the borrowed revolver in one hand and as he swung up after the\nconductor one hand slipped on the wet handrail and he nearly fell. To\nsave himself he grasped the railing with the other hand and dropped the\ngun just as the Limited rolled over a small culvert. It was impossible to\nstop and retrieve the gun and Bob was unarmed for a second time that\nnight.\n\u201cI guess the fellow you\u2019re hunting has disappeared for good,\u201d said the\nconductor as he lowered the trap in the vestibule.\nBob, shaking the rain off his coat, nodded absent-mindedly and the\ntrainman went forward while Bob returned to the Pullman. A queer feeling\nwent through his body as he walked down the silent car. It was from this\ncar that their confidential documents had disappeared and it was from the\nvery berth that Bob had intended occupying that Tully had vanished.\nThe porter was evidently keeping as far away from the car as possible for\nhe failed to answer Bob\u2019s summons. However, a berth farther down the car\nhad been made up and Bob decided to slip off his shoes and lie down there\nto rest.\nWith a little relaxation he might be able to think better; perhaps even\nto unravel all of the strange events which had taken place on the train\nsince it had left Washington.\nThe Limited sped southward steadily and the clicking of the trucks soon\nlulled Bob to sleep in spite of his efforts to keep awake.\nThe young federal agent had no idea how long he had been asleep when he\nawoke suddenly with the breathless blackness of the car all around him.\nHe rallied his thoughts.\nThe lights in the car had been on the last he could remember, for he had\nnot drawn the curtains of his berth.\nBob sat upright in the berth and waited. The trucks were still echoing\nthe pace of the train and Bob thought that the porter might have snapped\nthe wrong switch.\nThen he heard a movement down the aisle and knew instantly that some one\nwas in the car.\nCould it be Hamsa? That was the first question that flashed through Bob\u2019s\nmind.\nThe federal agent gathered his feet beneath him. There wasn\u2019t even time\nfor him to grope under the berth in quest of his shoes for he could hear\nthe stealthy approach of the intruder.\nBob strained his eyes in an effort to detect the movement of the marauder\nbut the darkness of the car was too dense. He could only wait, but he\nfelt that he had an advantage now, for he would be able to take the other\nby surprise.\nThe Limited heeled sharply as it struck a curve and the whistle moaned a\nwarning through the wetness of the night. A street light flickered by and\nin the flash of light that penetrated the car Bob caught a fleeting\nglimpse of a man in the aisle. The figure of the intruder was heavy and\nhe was hunched forward. There had been no chance to recognize the face,\nbut Bob was sure now that the other man in the car was Hamsa.\nAnother street light shot a beam through the windows and it played\nsquarely on the face of the man in the aisle. It was Hamsa!\nBob felt in his coat pockets for something to defend himself and his\ngroping hands came on the blackjack which Hamsa had used on Tully. There\nwas the grim hint of a smile on Bob\u2019s lips as he slipped his right hand\nthrough the leather thong on the leaden slug. He now had both an\neffective and dangerous weapon and he knew he would be justified in using\nit.\nOnce more there came the streak of light in the car as the Limited roared\nover another crossing and Bob saw that Hamsa was nearer, almost at the\nhead of the berth.\nWith his muscles tense and his whole body balanced, Bob waited for\nanother flash of light from the street which would give him an\nopportunity to strike down the intruder. Then the clatter of the trucks\nover switch points told him the train was out of the village. Whatever\nhappened from that point on would probably be in utter darkness unless\nthe porter happened to come back into the car and turn on the lights.\nThe Limited settled down to its steady stride again and Bob, tense and\ncrouching waited. His breath was coming in short jerks and he was afraid\nthat his heart was pounding so hard its beats would be audible to the\nother who was intent on catching him by surprise in the darkened berth.\nBy straining his eyes Bob finally made out the approaching shadow that\nwas Hamsa. He drew back his right arm and waited.\nHamsa came nearer, treading cautiously lest he alarm the youth he\nbelieved was sleeping soundly in the berth.\nSuddenly a beam of light shot out from Hamsa\u2019s hand as he turned on a\nflash light, but the rays fell only on the rumpled bedclothes.\nBob heard a smothered exclamation from the other and before Hamsa could\nswing the beam of the flash light around in search of him he struck forth\nwith the blackjack.\nJust as Bob swung the weapon the trucks hit a sag in the track and the\nyoung federal agent was thrown partially off balance. He had aimed at\nHamsa\u2019s head, and although his blow missed that the weapon crashed down\non his shoulder and Bob heard a sharp cry of pain.\nHe jerked back the weapon and struck again and again. Each time he heard\na cry of pain and then the flash light thudded to the floor and its beam\nwent out.\nThey went at it hand to hand then, Hamsa wresting the blackjack away from\nBob and hurling it to the far end of the car. The other man was much\nolder and twice as heavy as Bob, but he was not as lithe and his fists\ncould not move as rapidly.\nIt was a bitter struggle there in the narrow, darkened aisle of the\nPullman. Hamsa kicked out viciously and the blow caught Bob in the\nstomach. He felt sick all over and dropped into the aisle, crouching\nthere and seeking temporary shelter until he felt able to resume the\nbattle.\nHamsa bent down and searched for the flash light and Bob lashed out at\nhim with one foot. The blow caught the other in the face and was answered\nby a startled exclamation of pain and rage.\nThen Bob\u2019s own hands came upon the flash light. He picked it up and his\nfingers sought the little button which controlled its beam of light. Bob\nturned on the light and the rays swept down the aisle, coming to rest on\nthe battered face of Hamsa.\nIt was not until then that Bob realized how powerful had been his own\nblows for it was obvious that his assailant was in distress. Now if he\ncould land a real knockout he would be able to leave Hamsa long enough to\nsummon assistance from the trainmen.\nBob started down the aisle, but pulled up short when Hamsa drew a gun\nfrom his coat pocket. The young federal agent, unarmed, was in no\nposition to face a man with a gun and he tried to duck behind a seat. But\nHamsa fired a snap shot and the flash light, shattered by the bullet,\ndropped out of Bob\u2019s numbed hand.\nThe tables had been turned. Where Bob had held the advantage a moment\nbefore with the flash light, Hamsa, aided by the darkness and his gun,\nwas in a position to win.\nBut he had evidently had enough of hand to hand encounters for one night\nand Bob heard him running toward the rear of the car. A moment later the\ndoor of the Pullman slammed shut.\nBob stepped out into the aisle and massaged his right hand. It prickled\nsharply as the blood flowed back into the fingers which had been bruised\nby the flash light as the bullet had torn it out of his hands.\nThen Bob took up the chase, for he felt sure that Hamsa must be seeking\nhis hideout on the train. If he could trace him to it, he would summon\nthe trainmen to assist in the capture.\nBob stepped cautiously into the rear vestibule of the car. There was no\none there and the door to the next Pullman was open. He hastened inside\nand met a startled porter in the aisle.\n\u201cDid a man just go down the aisle?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cYes, sir, Boss, and he looked like he\u2019d been in a fight.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s the fellow I\u2019m after,\u201d said Bob. \u201cRun up ahead and get the\nconductor and any other trainmen you can. Tell them to get back here as\nfast as they can.\u201d\nThen Bob hastened down the aisle and the porter, willing enough to leave\nthe car, went forward to carry out Bob\u2019s instructions.\nThe young federal agent hastened through a second Pullman where the\nlights were low and finally stepped into the observation car. So far\nthere had been no trace of Hamsa and no indication that he had sought\nshelter under one of the trap doors in the vestibules.\nBob entered the observation car cautiously. The lights had been turned\ndown and he stopped at the head end of the car and snapped on all of the\nswitches, a torrent of light illuminating the interior of the car. Even\nthe observation platform at the back end leaped into view as a special\nlight out there came on under the magic touch of the switches.\nBob stared hard at the back of the car. The door to the observation\nplatform was open but beyond that he could see a man\u2019s legs dangling,\napparently in midair. Bob threw caution aside then and raced toward the\nhalf open door at the rear of the car. The legs were being drawn upward,\ntwisting and kicking as the man attempted to pull himself onto the roof\nof the observation car. This then was Hamsa\u2019s hiding place\u2014on the roof of\nthe rear car of the train!\nBob leaped through the door and grabbed at Hamsa\u2019s legs. The other man\nkicked viciously, but Bob wrapped his arms around the legs and hung on.\nOnce he had a good grip, he started pulling the other man down.\nHamsa was big and he was powerful, but the steady pull from below\nweakened his grip on the steep rungs of the ladder which led to the top\nof the car and Bob could feel himself gaining. In less than a minute the\nother man would be down on the platform beside him and by that time the\ntrainmen should be on hand to help him subdue Hamsa.\nThere was a strange exultation in Bob\u2019s heart for he felt sure now that\nhe was about to make the first capture in what he felt was to be the\nclean-up of the international gang of smugglers. It made little\ndifference whether Hamsa had been trailing them south or whether they had\nencountered each other by accident. The message from Washington had\nindicated that Hamsa was deeply involved and Bob was determined to make\nthe capture.\nThe steady pull Bob put on Hamsa\u2019s legs and the tightness of his grasp\nwas relentless. Slowly the other man was weakening and Bob braced himself\nand prepared to release Hamsa\u2019s legs and cut loose with a half dozen hard\npunches when the other man finally dropped to the observation platform.\nThere was a commotion at the head end of the car and Bob shifted his head\njust enough to see the train conductor and brakeman, followed by a\nwide-eyed Pullman porter, hurry in.\nHamsa kicked convulsively with his legs, but Bob tightened his grasp.\nThen, without warning, without giving Bob a chance to get set, Hamsa\nsuddenly released his hold and dropped. It all happened so quickly that\nBob later found it a little hard to remember just what took place.\nOn the split second while he was dropping to the observation platform,\nHamsa must have seen the trainmen charging down the aisle of the car, for\nwhen he landed, he was a bundle of tremendous energy that seemed to\nexplode in Bob\u2019s face.\nGreat, bear-like arms wrapped themselves around Bob and the young federal\nagent felt himself being lifted upward. For a moment he was helpless, too\nsurprised even to attempt to struggle, but a sharp cry from behind him\ncaused him to try to strike out with his feet for beneath came the sudden\nrumble of the trucks on a trestle and he knew that Hamsa, in a last\ndesperate effort, was attempting to hurl him from the rear platform of\nthe train.\nThe young federal agent wrapped his own arms around Hamsa and clung to\nhim desperately. If Bob went, Hamsa would go with him. Of that he was\ncertain. The rail of the platform struck Bob\u2019s hips and he felt himself\nbeing forced backward. It was sickening to hear the rumble of the trestle\nbeneath and a flood of rain beat down on his face, drenching the upper\nhalf of his body.\nThen Hamsa gave one last, tremendous shove and Bob knew that he was going\nover the edge of the railing, but Hamsa was going with him. The speed of\nthe Limited had slackened, but it was still doing at least twenty miles\nan hour when Bob and Hamsa, locked arm in arm, went over the rear\nplatform. Bob closed his eyes for the shock of striking the trestle would\nbe terrific. If he could only remain on the bridge there would be some\nchance of rescue for the trainmen had seen them go over the back end and\nwould hurry back in a searching party.\nAs they left the train, Bob managed to get one last twist with his toes\nand as they fell, he was on top. The drop from the train to the trestle\nseemed endless. The clatter of the train trucks had dimmed, but a whistle\nup ahead was blaring an alarm.\nThen they struck the trestle\u2014struck it hard and rolled over once. The\nfall dazed Bob, but through his foggy mind he could hear the rush of\nwater somewhere below.\nHamsa had rolled away from him but it was too dark to see just where and\nBob clung to the wet steel of one of the rails. He was too weak and\nshaken to think of attempting to get to his feet and back of him he could\nhear the shriek of the air brakes as they clamped down on the wheels of\nthe Limited and brought the Southern to an emergency stop just beyond the\nedge of the long trestle.\nBob ached in every muscle and he wondered, as he lay there on the trestle\nwith the rain beating down on him, if the dangers of being a federal\nagent were worth the rewards. Then he swept that thought aside. Of course\nit was worth it, for he was on the side of right and honor\u2014a side for\nwhich many a sacrifice could be willingly made.\nAs he lay on the bridge, trying to rally his senses and waiting for\nenough strength to flow back through his body to enable him to sit up,\nBob\u2019s eyes became more accustomed to the rain and the night. He tried to\npick out the form of Hamsa, who must be close to him, for the other man\nhad been underneath when they fell. The shock had been severe enough for\nBob and he wondered if the other had been seriously injured.\nFinally Bob\u2019s straining eyes picked out the form of the other man. He was\nsome feet away and beyond the outside rail of the trestle\u2014on the very\nedge of the bridge where a false move would plunge him into the rushing\nwaters below.\nBob tried to move, but he was still too weak and Hamsa was a dozen feet\naway. He wanted to reach him and pull him away from the edge.\nSomeone at the end of the bridge was shouting and Bob turned his head to\nsee a group of trainmen, lanterns in their hands, making their way out on\nthe long trestle. They were coming cautiously for the long rain had made\nthe timbers slippery and treacherous.\nAs the trainmen moved out on the bridge, Bob\u2019s eyes went back to Hamsa.\nTo his surprise the other man was moving, struggling to sit up, and Bob\ncalled out a warning.\n\u201cDon\u2019t move, Hamsa!\u201d he ordered. \u201cYou\u2019re under arrest. Stay where you are\nor you\u2019ll fall off the bridge.\u201d\nThere was no reply from the other, but he continued his struggle to sit\nup and Bob tried to drag himself closer to the man he had placed under\narrest. There was no strength left in his own arms or legs and he could\ngo only a foot or two.\nThe glow from the lanterns of the approaching trainmen now penetrated the\nblackness and Bob could see Hamsa\u2019s face turned toward him.\n\u201cYou\u2019re clever, Kid,\u201d growled the other, \u201cbut you\u2019re not going to arrest\nme this time. I\u2019ll see you later and when I do, watch out!\u201d\nThen the other turned and deliberately rolled to the edge of the trestle.\n\u201cHamsa, you\u2019re under arrest!\u201d cried Bob. But he knew the words were\nfutile for the only reply was a mocking laugh. Then Hamsa disappeared\nover the edge and seconds later there was the dull splash of a heavy body\nstriking the water. Bob thought he heard the mocking laugh once more, but\nhe couldn\u2019t be sure.\nThen the trainmen, led by the conductor, reached the scene.\n\u201cWhere\u2019s the other fellow?\u201d demanded the conductor.\nBob pointed to the darkness below.\n\u201cHe just rolled over the edge,\u201d he said.\nThe startled conductor went to the edge of the trestle and swung his\nlantern over the side, but only the rush of dark waters could be seen.\n\u201cThat\u2019s the last you\u2019ll see of him,\u201d he said. \u201cThis stream is on a\nrampage and only a powerful man could get to shore.\u201d\nBob nodded, but he was not sure about the conductor\u2019s surmise that he had\nseen the last of Hamsa for he was both a powerful and resourceful man.\nThe trainmen helped Bob to his feet and assisted him back to the Limited.\n\u201cI guess now you\u2019ll be content to go to bed and give us a little rest,\u201d\nsaid the conductor when Bob reached his own berth.\n\u201cI\u2019ve got to get off a telegram first,\u201d replied Bob. \u201cGive me the name of\nthat stream and the correct time.\u201d\nThe conductor supplied the information and Bob wrote a brief report of\nthe night\u2019s events and addressed it to Waldo Edgar, the chief of the\ndivision of investigation back in Washington.\n\u201cSee that this message is dispatched at the first stop,\u201d said Bob. Then\nhe turned, crawled between the crisp, cool sheets, and dropped into a\ndeep sleep of exhaustion.\nWhen he awoke the Limited was pulling into the train shed at Jacksonville\nand his uncle, Merritt Hughes, was waiting for him on the platform.\nThe older federal agent jumped aboard the Limited before it came to a\nfull stop and hastened down the aisle to the berth where Bob, still the\nonly occupant of the car, was partially dressed.\n\u201cHow are you, Bob?\u201d There was real anxiety in the question as Merritt\nHughes looked down on his capable young nephew.\n\u201cI\u2019m a little stiff, but otherwise all right,\u201d grinned Bob. \u201cMy bag is\nunder the berth. See if you can find a clean shirt for me.\u201d\n\u201cNever mind the shirt now. I want to know what happened last night. We\ngot only the briefest word from Washington over the wires and Condon\nAdams left before dawn for the hospital up the line where they took\nTully.\u201d\n\u201cIs he all right?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cI understand he\u2019ll have to stay in bed for a couple of days.\u201d\n\u201cWhat about the man we knew as Joe Hamsa?\u201d\nMerritt Hughes shook his head.\n\u201cThere are no reports on him. There\u2019s a large searching party out looking\nalong the banks of the stream where he disappeared, but it looks like\nwe\u2019ve seen the last of him.\u201d\nBob wished that he could have had the confidence his uncle displayed in\nbelieving that Joe Hamsa was gone forever.\nAt his uncle\u2019s urging, Bob recounted in detail everything that had taken\nplace after the Limited left Washington.\n\u201cSo Hamsa hid out on top of the observation car?\u201d mused the federal\nagent. \u201cWell, that\u2019s a new one for me. No wonder you failed to find him\neven though you went through the train several times.\u201d\nBob motioned toward his bag beneath the berth, \u201cNow how about my shirt?\nThen some breakfast, and I\u2019ll be ready to go along on my assignment.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019ll do nothing of the kind. You\u2019re going to spend the rest of the day\nin bed in my room at the hotel. Tomorrow we\u2019ll talk about your going on\nto Atalissa. I\u2019m not sure that I want you to go there alone. It\u2019s a tough\nlittle town. People know too much there, but they won\u2019t talk. Either\nscared or in league with some illegal racket.\u201d\n\u201cAnd you figure the racket is the jewel smuggling?\u201d\nMerritt Hughes nodded gravely.\n\u201cThis thing is big, Bob,\u201d he went on. \u201cAs you know from the confidential\nreport you got, we feel sure that only a few men are actually involved in\nthe ring, but they must be men of great daring and resourcefulness, for\nthey have managed to elude some of the best detectives.\u201d\n\u201cThen it seems kind of foolish for me to tackle it,\u201d said Bob, half to\nhimself and half to his uncle.\n\u201cNot at all. A new, younger man may have some ideas that older men in the\nservice would not have. You\u2019ve had one break in getting Hamsa out of the\nway and we\u2019re sure that he was linked with the gang.\u201d\n\u201cI guess there\u2019s no question about that for he stole the confidential\nreports Tully and I had.\u201d\n\u201cThen what does that mean to you?\u201d asked Bob\u2019s uncle.\nThe younger agent, struggling to button a shirt collar that was too\ntight, stopped and sat down on the edge of the berth.\n\u201cIn the first place it means that he wanted to find out just what the\nfederal people knew about the operations of the gang. Then it appears\npretty obvious that he didn\u2019t want any more federal men nosing around\nAtalissa and Nira.\u201d\n\u201cRight in both cases,\u201d agreed Merritt Hughes. \u201cNow what?\u201d\n\u201cWell, it follows that there must be some good reason for this interest\nin federal operations, and all I can figure out is that the gang is\ngetting ready to smuggle in a large amount of gems.\u201d\n\u201cGo to the head of the class; you\u2019ve had a perfect score. The question\nnow follows, what shall we do?\u201d\n\u201cAre you going to try to demote me now?\u201d grinned Bob.\n\u201cNo, I\u2019m just trying to find out how far along the way you\u2019ll get by\nsound deduction and logic.\u201d\n\u201cThen I\u2019d say that we ought to go through with our original plans and\nthat Tully and I proceed on to our assignments at once with additional\nagents held ready to back us up if we get in a jam or things break wide\nopen and we need help.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re not worrying about Hamsa having escaped from the river and\ngetting word to the others in the gang?\u201d\n\u201cOf course I\u2019m thinking about that angle, but that\u2019s a chance we\u2019ll have\nto take,\u201d replied Bob.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll make the decision tomorrow. There may be some further advices from\nWashington by that time.\u201d\nBob finished dressing and his uncle picked up his bag and together they\nwalked out into the train shed.\n\u201cBreakfast is going to taste good to me,\u201d said Bob. \u201cDon\u2019t waste any time\nin getting there.\u201d\n\u201cThen we\u2019ll eat at the restaurant in the station,\u201d decided his uncle.\nBreakfast was served quickly after they placed their orders and Bob ate\nthe meal with real relish. Corn cakes with a thick coating of maple syrup\nespecially pleased him and he had a second order.\nAfter the meal was finished, they walked through the main waiting room of\nthe station and to the taxi stand just beyond where Merritt Hughes\nsignalled for a vehicle, and they were soon speeding toward the hotel.\nBob, still stiff and sore from his encounter the night before with Joe\nHamsa, leaned back against the cushions and enjoyed the trip, for this\nwas his first visit to Florida. The streets were broad, the homes\nhospitable and life seemed to move at a more leisurely pace than it did\nin the northern cities with which he was familiar.\nThe hotel, a modest sized structure, was done in Spanish architecture and\nhis uncle had two rooms on the fourth floor looking down on an inner\ncourt where there was a spacious swimming pool flanked by stubby palm\ntrees.\n\u201cNow for a shower bath and I\u2019ll feel like I really wanted to live again,\u201d\nsaid Bob.\n\u201cI\u2019ve got several reports to make out and mail to the bureau in\nWashington,\u201d said his uncle, \u201cand I\u2019ll get them out of the way while\nyou\u2019re taking your shower.\u201d\nBob undressed and adjusted the spray in the shower to his liking. For ten\nminutes he relaxed under the soothing flow of the water and when he\nfinally emerged his muscles were not as sore and tight and his head felt\nclearer. As he rubbed his body briskly with a heavy towel, one thought\ntroubled him. What had caused the sudden illness which had befallen Tully\nand later had nearly struck him down on the train? While he dressed, Bob\ntold his uncle about these incidents.\n\u201cYou say you felt something like a sharp blow on the face before you\nbecame ill?\u201d asked the older federal agent.\n\u201cThat\u2019s right.\u201d\n\u201cThen you were gassed.\u201d\n\u201cGassed!\u201d exclaimed Bob incredulously.\n\u201cCertainly. Tully got a full-sized dose and you probably got only half a\none, which accounts for the varying degrees of your illness and nausea.\u201d\n\u201cBut we couldn\u2019t have been gassed,\u201d replied Bob.\n\u201cOh yes you could. Modern crooks sometimes turn to science to help them\nand I know as a fact that small amounts of gas, which make the victim\ndesperately ill, can be obtained in thin glass capsules. These capsules\nare so small they can be flipped off the end of a finger or thrown in\nsome other manner with great accuracy. If they strike near the nose, the\nimpact shatters them and the gas is released, causing a violent illness\nwhich usually makes the victim unconscious.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s what happened,\u201d cried Bob. \u201cWhy your explanation fits perfectly,\nonly I didn\u2019t get a full dose. Perhaps there was too much fresh air in\nthe car I was in.\u201d\n\u201cThe pellet of glass might have struck you a glancing blow,\u201d suggested\nhis uncle.\n\u201cHow can you defend yourself against this?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cThe only safe way would be by a gas mask, but now that you know such\nthings can happen you can be on the lookout. If you ever feel a similar\nimpact that arouses your suspicion, don\u2019t breathe, but rush to some other\nspot before you take another gulp of air. That should enable you to\nescape the gas.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m going to remember that,\u201d promised Bob.\n\u201cBetter take a nap now. After you wake up you can type out your detailed\nreport for Washington,\u201d advised Merritt Hughes.\nBob didn\u2019t especially relish the idea of sleeping when he felt he should\nbe on his way to Atalissa, but he was thoroughly relaxed and a great\nfatigue had crept over him. So it was with real gratitude that he crept\nin between crisp sheets. He was asleep in less than a minute. Some time\nlater his uncle looked in and pulled down the shades at the windows.\nLater he went out for a time, and when he returned Bob was still in a\ndeep sleep. It was late afternoon before Bob finally roused from his\nslumber, but he felt much like his former self. Of course there were a\nfew bruises and several strained muscles, but he could walk without\ncreaking in every joint.\nBob dressed and went into the adjoining room which his uncle occupied.\nThe federal agent had gone out several hours before, but his portable\ntypewriter was on a low table and Bob sat down and started to work on his\nreport which was to be air mailed to Washington.\nThe report was lengthy for Bob went into great detail and the afternoon\nfaded into early night. He snapped on a desk light and continued with his\nwork. When he was through he straightened up and stretched his arms for\nhe had been hunched over the typewriter for more than an hour and a half.\nBob leaned back in his chair and read the report with care, correcting an\noccasional error which he had made in the manuscript. That done, he\naddressed a large envelope, and went down to the desk in the lobby where\nhe secured air mail stamps and learned that by prompt mailing the letter\nwould be delivered in Washington the next morning.\nBob was hungry, but he waited for a time for his uncle. Now that he was\nthoroughly rested, he was anxious to make plans for the trip to Atalissa.\nAfter waiting in the lobby for half an hour, Bob went into the dining\nroom which opened to the right, leaving word where he could be found.\nA supper with a fresh fish steak as the main course appeased his hunger\nand he ate leisurely. A newsboy, walking through the restaurant,\nattracted his attention and he purchased an evening paper, scanning the\nheadlines while he completed his meal with a chocolate sundae.\nBob wondered if the reporters had been tipped off by the trainmen as to\nwhat had taken place the night before on the Southern Limited. He\nsearched every page of the paper, but there was no mention of the\ndisappearance of Joe Hamsa.\nIt was nearly mid-evening by the time Bob was through with his meal and\nhe returned to the lobby, inquiring for any possible information about\nhis uncle.\n\u201cHe left about four o\u2019clock,\u201d said the clerk on duty. \u201cI happened to see\nhim step into the street and he turned to the right. I\u2019m positive he\nhasn\u2019t been back since then.\u201d\nBob thanked the clerk for the information, meager though it was. It would\ndo no harm to go for a stroll and he stepped out into the street. Like\nhis uncle had done, he turned right on a street which led down to the\nwater front.\nHe soon found himself in a poorer part of the city. Street lights were\nfar apart and their globes dirty. Houses and shops seemed to be hiding\nand the men who went along the street did not look up.\nTwo policemen strolled by and Bob whistled for he knew what it meant when\nofficers made their beat in pairs. He doubted whether his uncle had\nvisited this district and he turned and walked back to the hotel.\nA clock was striking ten when Bob re-entered the lobby. He was almost at\nthe elevators when the clerk called to him.\n\u201cTelephone call just coming in for you,\u201d he said. \u201cYou can answer here if\nyou wish.\u201d\nBob hastened over to the desk. It must be his uncle, phoning to tell him\nthat he had been detained.\nBob picked up the instrument which the clerk handed him and placed the\nreceiver to his ear. A gruff voice spoke, \u201cIs this Bob Houston?\u201d\nIt was a strange voice and Bob tried to catalog its timbre, for it was\npitched unusually low.\n\u201cThis is Bob Houston speaking,\u201d he replied quietly.\n\u201cThen listen to what I\u2019ve got to say. We\u2019ve got your uncle and we\u2019ll get\nyou and any other federal men who attempt to trail us. Get off this case\nand stay off if you ever want to see him alive again and you can tell\nthat to Washington.\u201d\nBefore Bob could reply he heard the receiver on the other end of the line\nclick. He whirled to the hotel clerk.\n\u201cAny idea where that call came from?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cNo.\u201d\n\u201cGet the chief operator for me at once,\u201d said Bob, pulling out his badge\nto speed the clerk\u2019s efforts. To the chief operator Bob explained who he\nwas and what he wanted.\n\u201cHold the line,\u201d said the telephone official.\nBob leaned his elbows hard against the desk. He needed the extra support\nfor he had suddenly gone weak all over. There had been grave menace in\nthe throaty voice which had come over the wire and he did not doubt the\ntruth of the threat.\nIt was entirely possible that his uncle had been captured by the\nsmugglers they were trailing and Bob knew, after his encounter with\nHamsa, that they were perfectly capable of using the most drastic means\nto put out of the way any obstacle to the success of their plans.\nThe chief operator spoke again.\n\u201cYour call came from a pay station in a drug store near the water front.\u201d\nBob obtained the name of the drug store and he whirled away from the desk\nand ran outside to the taxi stand. He jumped into the first cab and gave\nthe address of the drug store.\n\u201cStep on it driver. I\u2019ll clear you with any traffic officer that stops\nus.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ve heard that story before,\u201d grunted the driver as he shifted the\ngears.\n\u201cThis talks,\u201d said Bob, shoving his badge into view of the driver.\n\u201cYou said it, mister,\u201d said the taxi man, and the cab leaped ahead as he\ntrod heavily on the accelerator.\nThe cab wove in and out of a web of traffic, then shot away down a dark\nstreet, took several corners on two wheels, and after threading through\nseveral narrower streets, drew up beside a well lighted corner drug\nstore.\n\u201cWait here,\u201d ordered Bob, jumping from the cab and hurrying into the\nstore.\nTwo clerks were on duty and Bob addressed himself to the older man.\nMotioning toward the telephone booth at the rear of the store, he fired\nhis first question.\n\u201cGive me a description of the man who put in a call from here not more\nthan fifteen minutes ago.\u201d\nThe man to whom Bob addressed the question appeared to resent his\nintrusion, and his reply was far from courteous.\n\u201cYou\u2019ve got the wrong place and besides I don\u2019t like you.\u201d\nThat touched off Bob\u2019s temper and his anger blazed.\n\u201cGive me the information I want and give it to me at once or you\u2019re going\non a quick ride to jail. Who phoned from that booth?\u201d\nAt the same time Bob revealed the metal shield in his hand which\nidentified him, and the entire attitude of the clerk changed.\n\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you tell me you were a federal man in the first place?\u201d he\ngrumbled.\n\u201cI want to know who made that call,\u201d insisted Bob.\n\u201cWell, I didn\u2019t pay a whole lot of attention. There were a couple of\nother customers in the store. He was kind of tall, and about thirty-five\nI\u2019d say.\u201d\n\u201cWhat kind of clothes was he wearing?\u201d\n\u201cHe had on a coverall suit and a dark hat.\u201d\n\u201cHow about his hair and eyes. Was there anything on his face that would\nmake it easy to identify him?\u201d\nThe younger clerk spoke up.\n\u201cI noticed his low, deep voice,\u201d he said, \u201cand there was a little scar\njust in front of one ear.\u201d\n\u201cWhich one?\u201d\nThe clerk turned half away from Bob as though assuming the position in\nwhich the stranger had appeared to him.\n\u201cIt was the left ear,\u201d he replied. \u201cI\u2019m sure about that now.\u201d\n\u201cNotice anything else about him? Did he appear nervous or in a hurry to\nget away?\u201d\n\u201cHe wasn\u2019t exactly nervous, but after he came out of the booth he didn\u2019t\nlinger around.\u201d\n\u201cDid he have a car?\u201d\n\u201cNo, he walked in here, but just after he left I heard a motorboat\ngetting under way. You know it\u2019s less than a block to the water front.\u201d\nThere was no more information to be gained from the clerks in the store\nand Bob returned to the street where the cab was waiting.\n\u201cRoll on down to the water front,\u201d he told the driver.\nAlong the river the docks appeared deserted and there was not even a\nwatchman in sight. Bob returned to the cab.\n\u201cWheel for the central police station and don\u2019t lose any time,\u201d he\ncommanded.\nThe cab shot away and Bob sank back into the seat, his head in a whirl.\nSomehow, he felt sure, the tangled threads would weave into a pattern\nthat he could solve, but he had to admit that right now he was up against\na seeming impasse.\nThe cab driver broke almost every speed record in Jacksonville that night\nand more than once they averted smashed fenders by the narrowest of\nmargins.\nA police siren shrilled behind them and the driver looked over his\nshoulder.\n\u201cMotorcycle cop coming,\u201d he cried.\n\u201cHow far is it to the station?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cTwo blocks.\u201d\n\u201cThen keep on going.\u201d\nThe driver pressed the accelerator to the floor boards and the cab leaped\nahead, ran through a red light in spite of the waving arms of another\ntraffic officer, and then shrieked to a stop before the central police\nstation.\nBehind them the siren rose and then fell as the motorcycle officer\nwheeled to the curb.\n\u201cSmart guys, smart guys,\u201d he yelled. \u201cLook where you stopped?\u201d\nGrinning, he pointed to the sign which designated the building as the\npolice station.\n\u201cJust go right on in and make yourselves at home. You\u2019ll be there long\nenough. I\u2019m going to slap half a dozen traffic charges against you.\u201d\nBob had no time to waste words with a traffic officer.\n\u201cCome on in and place all of the charges you want to,\u201d he snapped,\nmotioning to the taxi driver to accompany him.\nOnce inside the station, Bob hastened to the main desk where a night\ncaptain was on duty.\n\u201cI\u2019m Bob Houston, special agent nine of the Department of Justice,\u201d he\nexplained, displaying the badge which he held in his hand. \u201cIt was\nnecessary for me to reach here without loss of time and the driver of my\ncab ran through some red lights. Please see that any charges against him\nare dismissed.\u201d\nThe night captain nodded and waved the motorcycle officer aside.\n\u201cWhy all the hurry?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cMy uncle, a federal agent, walked out of the hotel this afternoon and\nfailed to return. A few minutes ago I was warned that unless the federal\nmen were taken off a certain case, he would never be seen alive again.\u201d\n\u201cThink it was a fake threat?\u201d\n\u201cNo. It was serious enough. I traced the call to a public booth in a drug\nstore down near the water front. The clerks were able to give me only a\nfair description of the man who made the call, but one of them told me a\nmotorboat had started down river shortly after the man left.\u201d\n\u201cAny description of the boat?\u201d pressed the night captain.\n\u201cThere was no one along the water front.\u201d\n\u201cThen I\u2019m afraid it\u2019s going to be tough to pick up that boat. It\u2019s as\nblack as pitch tonight, but we\u2019ll see what we can do.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019d like to use a private room where I can phone Washington,\u201d said Bob\nand the officer pointed to a doorway to the left and rear of his own\ndesk. Before he entered, Bob paid his taxi bill and handed the driver a\ngenerous tip.\nOnce in the private room, Bob dropped into a leather upholstered chair.\nCalling long distance, he asked for a certain number in Washington that\nwas called only when something of the utmost importance happened.\n\u201cLines north are busy at present,\u201d said the operator.\nBut the information Bob had could not wait and he asked for the chief\noperator. In quick, terse sentences he explained who he was and the\nimportance of his message.\nFaint clicking sounds could be heard in the receiver, then Washington\nanswered and Bob knew that his call was being given the right-of-way over\neverything else.\nA quiet voice asked, \u201cWho\u2019s speaking?\u201d and Bob knew that he was in\ncontact with Waldo Edgar, the grim, efficient head of the government\u2019s\ngreatest man-hunting division.\n\u201cThis is Bob Houston. I\u2019m at the central police station at Jacksonville.\nMerritt Hughes, my uncle, has been kidnaped within the last few hours.\u201d\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d There was explosive energy in the question which was\nhurled back over the wires.\nBob repeated his message, elaborating a little this time.\n\u201cBut Bob, that\u2019s impossible.\u201d\n\u201cI thought so too, at first,\u201d confessed Bob, \u201cbut after that warning\nphone call I changed my mind.\u201d\n\u201cCall your hotel again. I\u2019ll hold the line.\u201d\nBob stepped outside and from another phone got in touch with his hotel.\nThere had been no word about his uncle, the clerk assured him, and Bob\nreturned to the private room, where he relayed the news northward.\nHe heard Waldo Edgar\u2019s breath suck in.\n\u201cWhat have you done?\u201d came the question, and Bob was ready.\nHe told of his own attempt and added that he had enlisted the aid of the\nJacksonville police.\n\u201cThat\u2019s right as far as you\u2019ve gone,\u201d said his chief. \u201cUnfortunately a\nbig kidnaping has broken in the midwest and all of the extra men are\nconcentrated there. Condon Adams will be back in Jacksonville shortly\nafter midnight and you must get in touch with him.\u201d\nThere was a brief pause while the federal chief mulled over plans for his\nnext strategy.\n\u201cThis isn\u2019t going to be easy to do, Bob,\u201d he said, \u201cbut I\u2019m counting on\nyou going to your assignment at Atalissa at once. This gang must be about\nto pull off a really big job and I have a feeling the disappearance of\nyour uncle is a step to keep federal men from concentrating further south\nalong the coast. Get all of the information you can and turn it over to\nCondon Adams when he arrives. Then you continue south and Adams will take\nup the search for your uncle. As soon as additional men can be spared,\nthey will be sent to aid you.\u201d\nIt was a hard assignment to take, but Bob acquiesced. He would have\npreferred to remain in Jacksonville and search for his uncle, but he\nrealized the logic in Waldo Edgar\u2019s deductions.\n\u201cKeep in close touch with me, Bob, and if it looks like things are going\nto break down the coast, we\u2019ll get help to you. Keep your chin up now,\nand give them all you\u2019ve got.\u201d\nThe receiver on the far end of the line clicked and Bob hung up the\ninstrument he had used. The night captain stuck his head in the door.\n\u201cI\u2019ve sent word to the coast guard to keep a close watch for any unusual\nboat. Maybe they\u2019ll be able to turn up something.\u201d\n\u201cBut we don\u2019t know it was an unusual boat,\u201d protested Bob.\n\u201cWell, we didn\u2019t have any description and I had to tell them something,\u201d\nsaid the policeman.\nThey returned to the main desk. The night captain was curious.\n\u201cLot of federal men coming in?\u201d he asked.\nBut Bob was noncommittal. He would be going further south in a few hours\nand the search for clues here would be turned over to Condon Adams. One\nthing he did need, was a good revolver and ammunition for the rifle.\nHe made known his wants to the night captain.\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t the usual thing, but I guess we can fix you up,\u201d said the\npoliceman.\nHe called another officer to take charge of the desk and led the way into\na rear room where there was a whole rack of guns.\n\u201cLook these over and take your choice.\u201d\nThe night captain opened the case and Bob tried half a dozen revolvers in\nhis hand until he found one that was balanced to suit him.\n\u201cThis feels like a good gun,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ll take it.\u201d\nFrom another case the captain produced a generous supply of ammunition.\n\u201cThere\u2019s a range downstairs if you\u2019d like to try your marksmanship,\u201d he\nvolunteered.\nBob knew that in the coming hours he might find himself in a position\nwhere a trusty gun would be a life saver and he accepted the captain\u2019s\ninvitation.\nHis finger was steady and the pressure on the trigger smooth. As a result\nhe turned in a surprisingly good score and the policeman whistled when he\nsaw the card Bob shot out.\n\u201cGood work, boy. Anytime you get tired of this federal manhunting just\nlet me know and I\u2019ll see that you have a job here.\u201d\n\u201cThanks a lot,\u201d replied Bob. \u201cI may have to call on you if this case\nisn\u2019t solved successfully.\u201d\nWhen they returned upstairs the captain rummaged through the ammunition\nchest and finally found some cartridges which would fit Bob\u2019s rifle. A\nshoulder holster was also borrowed and Bob adjusted the straps so that it\nfitted neatly under his coat.\nAfter thanking the night captain for his assistance, Bob returned to the\nhotel. Another inquiry at the desk revealed that there had been no word\nfrom his uncle and Bob went upstairs.\nHis body was tired from the strain of the last few hours and he took a\nwarm shower, topping it off with a cold spray that sent the blood\ntingling through his body. Then he dressed in fresh clothes and stretched\nout on the bed for a little relaxation before going to the train to meet\nCondon Adams.\nBob would have preferred to remain in Jacksonville to lead the hunt for\nhis uncle, but he knew that Adams was both capable and ruthless and when\na federal agent was kidnaped, personal feelings which Adams might have\ntoward his uncle would vanish.\nBob mulled over the preceding events and the disappearance of his uncle\nstrengthened his belief that Hamsa had survived his fall off the trestle\nand into the flood waters the night before. If Hamsa had not survived,\nBob doubted if his uncle would have been abducted for he knew that Hamsa\nwould be afraid of the results when his uncle and he got to comparing\nnotes.\nThe feeling that some momentous activity by the smugglers was under way\ngrew as Bob lay there on the bed. The leaders were desperate and yet\ncourageous enough to attempt to do away with two federal agents and\nhaving failed to do that had kidnaped a third.\nBob got up and scanned a map of Florida which he had obtained. His finger\nran along the coastline until he came to Atalissa. Then he traced on down\nto Nira where Tully had been assigned. It was a desolate, sparsely\ninhabited section of the coast\u2014an area which in centuries before had\nprobably been a favorite hiding place for bands of pirates who had roved\nthe Spanish main. Numerous indentations dotted the coast, offering ample\nshelter to men who were afraid of the law.\nWith a start Bob noticed the time. It was after eleven o\u2019clock. He was\ntaking no chances and he adjusted the shoulder holster, filled the\nchambers of the revolver with shells, and slipped on his coat.\nAt the desk downstairs he left word for the clerk to take any message\nwhich might come for him. Then he sped toward the station in a taxi. When\nhe arrived at the terminal he found that the train Condon Adams was\ncoming on was half an hour late, for the tracks north were still soft\nfrom the heavy rain of the preceding night.\nBob sat down to wait for the arrival of the train and as the minutes\nslipped away he had the feeling that he was under observation. The hair\nalong the back of his neck tingled and he wanted to turn around and stare\nat those back of him. Instead, he moved once or twice as though restless\nand finally stood up, stretched, and strolled over to the magazine stand,\nwhere he could turn around and see the entire concourse.\nBob picked up a magazine and skimmed through the pages with fingers that\nturned the sheets mechanically while his keen eyes roved over the room.\nFinally he came back to a lightly built man who had been leaning against\na radiator somewhat to the right and back of the bench on which he had\nbeen seated.\nThe man was dressed in a poorly fitted dark suit, wore a cap, and moved\nrestlessly. He was the only one in the scattered gathering of people in\nthe station whom Bob would suspect of being there to watch him.\nJust then the lights flashed over an incoming train board and Bob turned\nand walked toward the train gates. Passengers started coming through the\ngate and among the first was the bulky form of Condon Adams. Bob called\nto him and Adams turned aside.\n\u201cHow\u2019s Tully?\u201d asked Bob, who was really concerned over the condition of\nthe young federal agent.\nCondon Adams\u2019 face lighted up, for he was genuinely fond of his nephew\nand Bob\u2019s inquiry touched a soft spot.\n\u201cGetting along fine,\u201d he said. \u201cOh, he\u2019s pretty sore and all that, but\nhe\u2019ll be able to continue on his assignment in two or three more days.\u201d\n\u201cIt was a tough break,\u201d said Bob and Adams nodded.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s been going on?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cPlenty,\u201d replied Bob. \u201cMy uncle was kidnaped earlier this evening.\u201d\nAdams dropped his bag and whirled to Bob.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d he demanded, as though unable to believe the words.\n\u201cMy uncle disappeared this evening and everything points to a kidnaping\nby this gang of smugglers we\u2019re after,\u201d explained Bob.\nCondon Adams threw back his head and laughed, but it was a grim sort of\nlaugh that sent chills down Bob\u2019s neck.\n\u201cWell that\u2019s good,\u201d snorted Adams. \u201cMerritt Hughes, ace federal\nmanhunter, kidnaped. I suppose I\u2019ll have to hunt for him now instead of\nthe kidnapers.\u201d\n\u201cI guess that\u2019s about the size of things,\u201d replied Bob slowly. \u201cI\u2019ve been\nin touch with Washington. I\u2019m to go on south to Atalissa on my original\nassignment and you are to take up the hunt here for him. I\u2019ve already got\nthe Jacksonville police on the case. When Tully comes out of the\nhospital, he is to continue to Nira as first ordered.\u201d\n\u201cLet\u2019s get some coffee,\u201d said Condon Adams as they walked past the\nentrance of the station restaurant.\nThe older federal agent slid his traveling bag into a corner and dropped\ndown into a chair.\n\u201cWhat a mess to get into,\u201d he said, half to himself and half to Bob. Then\nhe looked up.\n\u201cYour uncle means quite a lot to you?\u201d\nBob nodded. \u201cYou know he does. He got me into the service and he\u2019s pretty\nmuch of an older brother to me.\u201d\nA waitress took their orders before Adams spoke again.\n\u201cThen you know how I feel about Tully; he\u2019s kind of a kid brother to me.\nBut that\u2019s getting away from what I started to say. Your uncle and I have\nalways been rivals in the service. One of us would solve a good case and\nthen the other would win on the next one. He\u2019s never liked the way I got\nin through a little political help, but on the whole I\u2019ve done a pretty\ngood job. Gosh, I wouldn\u2019t know what to do if anything happened to him to\ntake him out of the service.\u201d\n\u201cHe may be out for good now unless we can find him,\u201d said Bob bitterly.\n\u201cThat\u2019s just it, and Bob, differences are going to be forgotten for the\ntime. Why I wouldn\u2019t be happy if your uncle and I weren\u2019t in some kind of\na scrap to see who could solve a new case. We\u2019ll find him and we\u2019ll find\nhim soon.\u201d\n\u201cThen you\u2019ll work a hundred per cent on the case?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cDay and night,\u201d promised Condon Adams, reaching across the table to\nclasp Bob\u2019s hand firmly in his own and Bob knew that the older agent was\na man of his word and highly competent in his own peculiar way.\nCups of steaming coffee were set before them as well as the plate of\ndoughnuts which Adams had ordered. They attacked the lunch with a will\nand Bob, draining his cup of coffee a few minutes later, caught another\nglimpse of the slender, slouching figure he had seen in the main waiting\nroom.\n\u201cDon\u2019t turn around,\u201d he said to Adams, \u201cbut when we get up, look at the\nlittle fellow in the dark cap and suit. He\u2019s outside looking in the\nwindow. I had a feeling in the station he was watching me.\u201d\nCondon Adams reached for the checks and stood up. In reaching for his\ntraveling bag he was able to turn toward the broad glass window and get a\ngood view of the man Bob had described.\n\u201cI\u2019ve never seen him before,\u201d said Adams, \u201cbut he doesn\u2019t look like a\nvery savory character.\u201d\nHe paid the bill for their lunch and as they stepped out of the\nrestaurant and looked for a cab, the man in the dark suit sidled up to\nthem.\n\u201cYou guys federal men?\u201d he asked.\nBob and Condon Adams whirled toward him.\n\u201cWhat of it?\u201d barked Adams.\n\u201cI was just askin\u2019. If you are, I\u2019ve got a message for you.\u201d\n\u201cWho from?\u201d it was Bob now.\nThe little man shook his head.\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d he mumbled. \u201cFellow down on the water front gave me a\nnote to give to the federals. Said one of them was at a hotel. When I\ninquired there I learned he\u2019d gone to the station so I came along and\nthought I\u2019d try you.\u201d\nHe reached for an inner pocket and too late Bob divined what was\nhappening. The street they were in was quiet now and suddenly there was\ndanger in the air.\nBefore Bob could reach for his own gun, the little man had whipped a\nsnub-nosed automatic from a shoulder holster under his left shoulder and\nhis eyes gleamed in the dim street light.\n\u201cHow nice of you to tell me you were federals; saved me a lot of trouble.\nSmart guys, aren\u2019t you? Well, get going toward that car on the other side\nand don\u2019t make any bad steps.\u201d\nA cold rage gripped Bob. They had fallen into a neat trap and probably\nwould soon be as helpless as his uncle, who had been kidnaped earlier in\nthe evening. In the meantime, the smugglers would have ample time to run\nin a large sum of gems. Since they were willing to take the desperate\nchance of abducting three federal men, the amount must be tremendous.\nCondon Adams started to set down his traveling bag, but a sharp command\nfrom the little man stopped him.\n\u201cCarry that bag and carry it carefully,\u201d he snapped. \u201cYou guys are going\nfor a long boat ride.\u201d\nThey walked rapidly across the street. In fact, Bob was in a hurry to\nreach the car. For some reason they had not been searched and if he could\nget inside the sedan he might be able to slip the revolver out of his\nshoulder holster. Condon Adams lagged a little; perhaps suspecting what\nwas in Bob\u2019s mind.\nThe door of the sedan opened as they neared and Bob saw a man slouched at\nthe wheel. There was no one else in the car and Bob stepped into the\nsedan, his muscles tense and his nerves cold.\n\u201cStop!\u201d the command was quiet but deadly and Bob halted halfway to the\nseat.\n\u201cBack up and back up slow; I\u2019m taking no chances on gunplay.\u201d\nThe driver of the car sat up quickly.\n\u201cAin\u2019t you searched them, Benny?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cShut up,\u201d snapped the man on the pavement and Bob, stepping back\ngingerly now, caught a glimpse of the man with the gun. There was just a\nchance of success for a desperate play and he took the chance.\nThe gun in the shoulder holster was unfamiliar as was the holster, but\nBob was half hidden by the darkness of the interior of the sedan. His\nright hand, moving like a flash, grasped the butt of the gun. Without\nattempting to pull it from the holster, Bob simply elevated the muzzle\nand pulled the trigger.\nHe fired by instinct as much as anything and a flash of flame stabbed the\nnight. On the echo of the shot came a sharp cry and the man on the\npavement leaped backward, his own gun replying.\nBob fired again and through the haze of smoke and the acrid smell of\nburning cloth saw the little man tumbling. The driver of the car swung\ntoward Bob, but before he could get into the scrap, Bob jerked the gun\nfrom its holster and clubbed him over the head with the barrel. It was a\nsavage blow, but he was dealing with men who knew no mercy themselves.\nThe driver slumped forward in his seat and Bob, gun in hand, leaped from\nthe car.\nCondon Adams, who had been able to draw his own weapon, was leaning over\nthe man on the street.\n\u201cGreat work, Bob. I thought they were going to get away with this for a\nwhile.\u201d\n\u201cIs he hurt badly?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cWell, I don\u2019t think he\u2019s going to be doing any more mischief for a good\nlong time. Your first one caught his right shoulder and the second one\ntook his left leg\u2014that\u2019s what I\u2019d call disabling a gangster.\u201d\n\u201cIt was spot shooting. I didn\u2019t have time to aim,\u201d explained Bob.\n\u201cThen I hope I\u2019m not the target when you really aim,\u201d said the older\nfederal agent.\nA policeman on duty at the station, attracted by the shooting, came on\nthe run and Condon Adams flashed his federal badge.\n\u201cGet an ambulance and get this man to a hospital. See that a heavy guard\nis placed at his bed. We\u2019ll take the fellow in the car down to the\ncentral station with us and make a personal report.\u201d\nThe federal men remained on the scene until an ambulance arrived. In the\nmeantime Condon Adams had handcuffed the driver of the car, who was now\nregaining consciousness. He pushed him into the back seat, tossed in his\nown traveling bag, and with Bob driving the car, they started for the\npolice station.\nThe trip was uneventful and they parked the car in front of the station\nwhere a few hours before Bob had telephoned the news of his uncle\u2019s\nabduction to Washington. The same night captain was on duty and his eyes\nwidened when he saw Bob and Condon Adams with their handcuffed prisoner.\nBefore the policeman could ply them with questions Condon Adams explained\nwhat had happened.\n\u201cThrow this fellow into a solitary cell; I\u2019ll question him after I get\nback from the hospital,\u201d he said.\n\u201cWhat charge shall I book him on?\u201d asked the policeman.\n\u201cAttempted abduction of a federal officer,\u201d snapped Adams, who then\nturned toward Bob.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll get over to the hospital now and see if the fellow you clipped\nwith a couple of bullets is ready to talk.\u201d\nThey hurried outside the station, but Adams stopped short when he saw the\nsedan at the curb.\n\u201cI forgot all about the car,\u201d he said. \u201cIt\u2019s probably stolen. I\u2019ll report\nit to the captain.\u201d\nBy the time the older federal agent was back Bob had a cab waiting at the\ncurb and they told the driver to speed them to the hospital.\n\u201cIf we can get either one of these fellows to talk, it may be the break\nthat will open up this case,\u201d mused Adams as the cab roared along the now\nalmost deserted streets.\nThey pulled up at the hospital where a dim light glowed over the\nentrance. There was no general admittance at that hour of the night, but\ncontinued ringing of the bell brought an orderly and they gained\nadmission.\nCondon Adams revealed their identity to the night supervisor and asked\nthe condition of the man who had been brought in.\n\u201cHe\u2019s resting fairly comfortably,\u201d said the nurse. \u201cThe bullet in his\nshoulder has been removed and the one in his leg will be taken out in the\nmorning.\u201d\n\u201cCase serious?\u201d pressed Adams.\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t say so,\u201d replied the nurse cautiously, leading the way down\nthe darkened corridor to a room where the lights were aglow. She opened\nthe door and they stepped in, a nurse who had been near the bed rising as\nthey entered. A policeman on the other side of the bed did likewise.\n\u201cDon\u2019t make him talk too much,\u201d cautioned the night supervisor.\nBob looked at the man who had attempted to kidnap them. His face was thin\nand marred with a sneer.\n\u201cYou fellows can save your breath. I won\u2019t talk,\u201d he said, an unpleasant\nwhine in his voice, and Bob catalogued him as a dangerous man when armed,\nbut one who was weak physically.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll see about that,\u201d said Adams confidently. \u201cThe boys down at the\nstation are working over the fellow who was driving for you. If you don\u2019t\ntalk here, we\u2019ll work you over when you get out.\u201d\nBob knew that was only a threat, but he was interested in the reaction in\nthe face of the man on the bed and he saw a weakening of the lines around\nthe mouth as though the thought of physical punishment was unnerving.\nCondon Adams must have sensed the same thing for he advanced with a\nthreatening gesture of his fists and the man on the bed cringed away from\nhim.\n\u201cYou can\u2019t hit me,\u201d he cried.\n\u201cMaybe not, but I\u2019d like to,\u201d scowled Adams, and Bob knew that the older\nfederal agent was sincere in that.\nAdams plied the wounded man with questions, but all of the answers were\nevasive and he finally turned to Bob.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll let him go for tonight. I\u2019ll come back and see him tomorrow and\nI\u2019ll see him alone. I can make him talk.\u201d\nThey left the room after admonishing the policeman on guard to remain on\nthe alert for any attempt to free the wounded man.\nOut in the hallway Condon Adams confessed to his disappointment.\n\u201cI thought maybe he\u2019d break and talk. He\u2019s a weakling. I\u2019ll get it out of\nhim later.\u201d\n\u201cHow much later?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cThat\u2019s just it. I don\u2019t know. It may be too late to help in the hunt for\nyour uncle.\u201d\nDown on the main floor of the hospital once more they telephoned for a\ntaxicab and when it appeared, gave the driver orders to go to Bob\u2019s\nhotel. They were silent on the trip back into the heart of the city and\nwhen they reached the hotel Condon Adams registered for a room on the\nsame floor as those of Bob and his uncle.\nBob went directly to his own room and made a final inspection of the\narticles in his Gladstone bag. The rifle and ammunition appeared intact\nand he removed the revolver from the shoulder holster, cleaned it\ncarefully and refilled the chambers.\nAfter that was done he inspected his coat. It appeared ruined beyond\nrepair for the revolver bullets had torn through the cloth and sparks\nfrom the burning powder had extended the area of the damage.\nBob removed the suit he had been wearing and got into the comfortable and\nrough and ready corduroys which he had brought with him. He laced up his\nboots and then adjusted the shoulder holster, making sure that it would\nswing free in case he faced any other emergencies similar to the one\nwhich had confronted them a little more than an hour before.\nCondon Adams tapped on the door and then came in.\n\u201cAbout ready to start for Atalissa?\u201d he asked.\nBob nodded.\n\u201cI can get a southbound local at 3 a. m. After about three hours I change\nto an accommodation train that finally winds up at Atalissa somewhere\naround noon. Not a very pleasant ride, but I don\u2019t want to attract\nattention either by breezing in there in a car or a boat and as the roads\nare none too good, I think the train is the best bet.\u201d\n\u201cHow about communications out of the village? You may need help in a\nhurry?\u201d\n\u201cI haven\u2019t checked up on them,\u201d confessed Bob.\nThe older federal agent went to the telephone and after a lengthy\nconversation with the hotel clerk, secured the desired information.\n\u201cThe telegraph office at the railroad station is open from eight o\u2019clock\nin the morning to five o\u2019clock in the evening. The phone exchange, which\nseems to be pretty much of a one horse affair, closes at nine o\u2019clock in\nthe evening. If anything happens after that you\u2019ll have to get the\noperator out of bed in order to get a call through. I\u2019m making my\nheadquarters here. Let me know the minute anything turns up.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll do that,\u201d promised Bob, who, while he could not exactly warm up to\nCondon Adams, felt sure that the older man would bend every effort toward\nthe recovery of his uncle. \u201cI\u2019ll let you know where I can be reached in\nAtalissa so you can get news to me the minute Uncle Merritt is found.\u201d\nCondon Adams glanced at his wrist watch.\n\u201cYou haven\u2019t much time to lose if you\u2019re going to make that southbound\nlocal.\u201d\nBob looked at his own watch. It was 2:45 o\u2019clock. He closed his Gladstone\nbag and tightened the straps. Condon Adams walked ahead of him into the\nhall and then as far as the elevator.\n\u201cDon\u2019t take too many chances, Bob, and keep your chin up. This thing is\ngoing to come out all right.\u201d\nBob wished that he could feel the confidence of Condon Adams\u2019 words as he\nstepped into the elevator and dropped toward the main floor. At the desk\nhe turned in his room key and then took a taxi to the same station where\nearlier in the night, in company with Condon Adams, he had captured two\nof the suspected gem smugglers.\nThe young federal agent purchased his ticket for Atalissa and the agent\ncautioned him about the change at the junction. Then Bob picked up his\nbag and walked through the now practically deserted waiting room and out\ninto the train shed where a stubby, three car train was waiting for the\nfinal call of \u201cbooo-ard\u201d to start its jerking journey southward. An\nexpress car and a combination baggage and mail car were behind the engine\nwhile the rear car was a dimly lighted coach.\nBob climbed up the steps. The seats were of green plush, and halfway up\nthe interior of the car was a wooden partition which marked the forward\nend of the coach as the smoking compartment. There were only two people\nin the rear half and Bob turned one seat over so a double seat would be\navailable. Then he stuck his ticket in his hat band, folded up his\ncorduroy coat for a pillow, and curled up to make the best of the lonely\ntrip to Atalissa.\nThe federal agent had dropped into a light sleep when the train started.\nHe roused up long enough to hear it roll over a bridge and then he went\nback to sleep, failing to hear the conductor when he removed the ticket\nfrom the band of his hat.\nThe local jerked and stopped and then jerked into motion again. This\noperation was repeated a number of times, but Bob slept heavily through\nit all, for his body was near exhaustion. It was well after dawn when he\nfinally moved and he groaned softly as the blood started flowing once\nmore through his cramped legs.\nBob sat up and massaged his legs and arms. It was quite clear out now and\nthe local was rocking along a desolate stretch of Florida east coast.\nSomewhere along the line the other passengers had left the train and Bob\nwas now the only occupant of the coach.\nHe got up and walked to the water cooler. Fortunately there was an ample\nsupply of water and after bathing his face and hands with the cool\nliquid, he felt much refreshed though ravenously hungry.\nUp ahead the engineer blasted his whistle for a highway crossing and Bob\nfelt the air brakes go on, the old wooden coach jumping around in protest\nas the speed dropped sharply. They clacked over switches and Bob, looking\nahead, could see a weather beaten station, on the other side of which\nanother train was standing. This, he concluded, must be the junction.\nThe conductor, coming back from the baggage car, gave Bob his train\ncheck.\n\u201cDon\u2019t have many passengers going to Atalissa,\u201d he said. \u201cThem that wants\nto get there usually go by car or boat.\u201d\nThe local rocked to a creaking halt and Bob, his Gladstone in hand,\nstepped down on the cinder platform.\nThe accommodation which was to take him the rest of the way to Atalissa\nwas on the other side of the station. The engine, an antiquated little\naffair, looked about like a teakettle, but the two freight cars and the\npassenger car on the back end were standard size equipment.\nThe conductor, in faded blue overalls, looked at Bob\u2019s ticket.\n\u201cGuess you\u2019re the only passenger,\u201d he said. \u201cWell, we might as well be\ngoing.\u201d\n\u201cHow about breakfast?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cHungry?\u201d asked the conductor.\n\u201cJust about starved,\u201d confessed Bob.\n\u201cWell, we stop at Ainsworth about ten miles down the line. There\u2019s a\nlittle place there where you can get a bite to eat.\u201d\nThere appeared to be nothing else to do so Bob climbed up the steps of\nthe old wooden coach and put his Gladstone in the first seat at the rear.\nThe engineer whistled a wheezy \u201chigh ball\u201d and the conductor swung up on\nthe back end as the accommodation started its daily run for the seacoast.\nThe air in the coach was stuffy and Bob found it pleasanter on the rear\nplatform, watching the track wind away in the distance and they swung\naround curves and chugged their way up steep grades. It seemed incredible\nthat in such a peaceful appearing country there must be located the\nheadquarters for a relentless band of smugglers.\nThe second stop of the accommodation that morning was at Ainsworth and as\nthe train slowed down for the station, the conductor came back and spoke\nto Bob.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll be here about fifteen minutes. That ought to give you time enough\nto get something to eat. Restaurant\u2019s right back of the station.\u201d\nBob estimated that Ainsworth must be a village of some two hundred souls\nand he was dubious about the quality of the food which he would obtain,\nbut when he stepped inside the eating house he was agreeably surprised by\nthe cleanliness and an elderly woman took his order with pleasing\npromptness.\nBob took a cold cereal, and ate it with relish while eggs and bacon\nsputtered on a stove in the kitchen. When they were ready he ordered\ncoffee and several doughnuts.\n\u201cDon\u2019t need to hurry too much, they won\u2019t go away without you,\u201d reassured\nthe woman who waited on him.\nBut Bob finished in ample time to enjoy a leisurely walk back to the\ntrain. When he reentered the day coach he was surprised to find another\noccupant, a large, heavy-boned man with a faded mustache and thinning\nhair. What surprised Bob even more was to see a badge on the other\u2019s vest\nand he strolled forward through the car. His eyes opened a little wider\nwhen he saw that the badge worn by the other said, \u201cSheriff.\u201d\nThe water cooler was a convenient place to stop and Bob, studying the\nother man in leisure, drank two cups of water.\nSuddenly the sheriff spoke.\n\u201cNow that you\u2019ve about sized me up, what\u2019s on your mind, Bud?\u201d\nBob almost fell over backwards for he had tried to make his observation\nof the other man altogether casual.\n\u201cNothing,\u201d he managed to reply, but the word failed to carry conviction.\n\u201cNot trying to dodge the law, are you?\u201d asked the sheriff, and Bob\nnoticed that a perfectly capable looking gun was holstered under the\nother\u2019s right shoulder.\n\u201cNo,\u201d said Bob.\n\u201cThen why are you carrying a gun?\u201d\nBob started, almost guiltily, and his face flushed.\n\u201cThat,\u201d he retorted, \u201cis none of your business.\u201d\nAfter the words were out he could almost have bitten his tongue in two\nfor if the sheriff pressed him for an answer, he would be forced to\nreveal his identity and such things as local sheriffs being involved in\ncrime was not altogether unknown.\n\u201cI\u2019m making it my business right now,\u201d snapped the older man and before\nBob could move, a gun appeared in the other\u2019s hands.\n\u201cPut up your hands and turn around. Do it slowly and you won\u2019t be hurt,\nbut if you make one false move, I\u2019ll let you have it.\u201d\n                         SHERIFF McCURDY TALKS\nThere was nothing else for Bob to do and with his hands raised high above\nhis head, he turned slowly and faced the water cooler. He could imagine\nhow Tully Ross would have chuckled if he could have seen his predicament\nnow.\nFirm hands whisked the gun out of the shoulder holster and Bob heard the\nsheriff step back.\n\u201cTurn around slowly now, but keep your hands up.\u201d\nBob obeyed the command and the sheriff waved him toward a seat on the\nopposite side of the car.\n\u201cNow that you\u2019ve got my gun, you\u2019d better let me explain,\u201d said Bob.\n\u201cYou can do your explaining in jail,\u201d retorted the sheriff. \u201cNo big-town\ngunman is going to run another trick on me.\u201d\nThe last words were said with grim determination and Bob saw the\nsheriff\u2019s jaw muscles tighten.\n\u201cTurn up the lapel of my coat and you\u2019ll find that you\u2019re making a\nmistake,\u201d pressed Bob. \u201cI\u2019m an agent of the bureau of investigation of\nthe United States Department of Justice.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re just a kid,\u201d scoffed the older officer.\n\u201cTurn up the lapel of my coat and see what\u2019s there. This thing has gone\nfar enough,\u201d insisted Bob.\nThere was something in Bob\u2019s voice which forced the sheriff to act and he\nreached over cautiously and turned up the lapel of Bob\u2019s coat. The small\nbadge which was revealed there brought an instant change in his attitude\nand he lowered the gun which he held in his hands.\n\u201cLooks like I\u2019ve made a bad mistake,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, but after what\nI\u2019ve been through you can\u2019t blame me.\u201d\nThe sheriff, who introduced himself as Abel McCurdy, handed the gun back\nto Bob and the federal agent, after breaking open the gun and looking at\nthe chambers, returned it to his shoulder holster.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s happened?\u201d asked Bob, for he recalled that only a minute earlier\nthe sheriff hinted at some trick of which he had been the victim.\n\u201cOh, it\u2019s kind of a crazy story and I don\u2019t suppose it would interest a\nfederal man,\u201d replied the older officer.\n\u201cI\u2019m interested in anything that\u2019s going on around here,\u201d said Bob.\n\u201cThen you may run right smack into trouble,\u201d cautioned the other, and he\nshook his head a little sadly. \u201cThat\u2019s what was the matter with me\u2014too\ninterested in other people\u2019s business.\u201d\n\u201cTell me what happened,\u201d pressed Bob, for he had a feeling that in some\nway or another the sheriff might be connected with the smugglers who were\nknown to be operating around Atalissa.\n\u201cThere\u2019s been some strange things going on along the coast,\u201d began the\nsheriff, \u201cand I\u2019ve been trying to figure them out, but I didn\u2019t have much\nluck until last night when I was south of Atalissa. A big touring car\ncame roaring along the road and I stopped it. Car was going too fast.\u201d\n\u201cWhat happened?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cToo much,\u201d admitted the sheriff. \u201cFellow driving got out, but when he\ndid he had a machine gun in his hands and I wasn\u2019t any match for that\neven though I\u2019m a pretty good shot with a revolver. He handcuffed me with\nmy own handcuffs and made me get into the back seat and then drove off\nlike mad. After a while he stopped and blindfolded me, and then went on\nfor a time.\u201d\n\u201cWhat did he look like?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cWell, he was kind of short and heavy, I\u2019d say.\u201d The sheriff went on with\nhis description of the man who had kidnaped him and before he was through\nBob was convinced that the other was Joe Hamsa.\nBob felt it was time to reveal his real mission to the seacoast and in\nclear, brief words he told the sheriff why he had come down from\nWashington and what had gone on since he had started south.\n\u201cYou mean to say they had the nerve to kidnap your uncle, a federal\nagent?\u201d asked the sheriff.\n\u201cI\u2019m sure they have him and the only thing we know is that the start away\nfrom Jacksonville was made by boat.\u201d\nThe sheriff nodded.\n\u201cThat would be a good way. Why, I can think of half a hundred good places\nto hide a man along this section of the coast.\u201d Then the sheriff went on\nto explain that shortly before dawn he had been dumped unceremoniously\nout of the sedan after being released from the handcuffs.\n\u201cCan you remember any stops?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cOnly one. We must have been very close to the ocean, for I was sure I\ncould hear the sound of the surf.\u201d\n\u201cAny idea in what direction you traveled?\u201d\n\u201cNothing that would help much. I was about two miles from Ainsworth when\nI was dumped out, and I went in there and got another gun and then\ndecided to take the train to Atalissa for I was only about a mile from\nthere when I was kidnaped last night.\u201d\n\u201cDid you hear anything unusual when you stopped where you thought you\ncould hear the surf?\u201d pressed on Bob.\nSheriff McCurdy was silent for a time.\n\u201cYes, there was one thing\u2014a humming that was faint and then increased in\nstrength and finally died away.\u201d\n\u201cIt might have been a \u2019plane,\u201d suggested Bob.\n\u201cWhy, I hadn\u2019t thought of that. Sure, that\u2019s just what it sounded like.\u201d\n\u201cThe driver of the car got out and came back a little after.\u201d\n\u201cAfter the humming had died away?\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s right,\u201d agreed the sheriff.\nBob was elated at this news. He felt that even before his arrival at\nAtalissa he had stumbled upon a real clue and he hoped upon a worthy aid\nin the doughty southern sheriff.\n\u201cThen he went on, later dumping you out of the car?\u201d pressed Bob.\nThe sheriff agreed.\n\u201cHe was none too gentle in dumping me out,\u201d complained the sheriff. \u201cI\u2019d\njust like to get my hands on him for a few minutes. Believe me, I\u2019d make\nhis bones ache.\u201d\nThere was no question about the irritation or the sincerity of the\nofficer and Bob couldn\u2019t help but suppress a chuckle, for he believed the\nsheriff perfectly capable of manhandling Joe Hamsa.\nBob felt that the time had come to be perfectly frank with the sheriff.\n\u201cI\u2019m down here on a smuggling case,\u201d he explained. \u201cI\u2019m going to need\nyour help and I may need it badly.\u201d\nThen he went on to relate in detail everything that had taken place since\nhe had left Washington, revealing even the kidnaping of his uncle. When\nhe was through the sheriff whistled through his whiskers.\n\u201cI\u2019ve kind of suspected that something queer was going on south of\nAtalissa, but there were no complaints and I never was able to pick up\nanything. You think the fellow who kidnaped me was the man on the train\nwith you when you came south?\u201d\n\u201cFrom your description, I\u2019m positive it was Hamsa,\u201d replied Bob.\n\u201cThen he\u2019s a tough customer if he escaped from that river and got down\nhere so rapidly.\u201d\n\u201cOne thing we\u2019ve got to remember,\u201d cautioned Bob, \u201cis that the gang is\ncompact and apparently extremely well organized.\u201d\nThe sheriff was silent for a time.\n\u201cThink that plane landing last night might have brought in smuggled\ngems?\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d confessed Bob. \u201cEveryone in the department has a feeling\nthat the gang is pointing toward one more big smuggling operation. If the\ngems had come in last night I have a feeling that more than one man would\nhave been with Hamsa to get them. It just doesn\u2019t seem logical that one\nman, even though he might be the leader of the gang, would handle this\nend of the game. I\u2019d be more inclined to think the contact last night was\nfor the purpose of making final plans.\u201d\nThe sheriff turned this over in his mind for some time as the train\nrumbled along the rough right-of-way. Then he nodded and agreed with Bob.\n\u201cLooks like you\u2019re right. That means we may be in for a busy time when\nthe actual contact is attempted.\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019ll be busy enough, if we can learn where the contact will be made,\u201d\nretorted the young federal agent.\n\u201cWhat about your uncle?\u201d asked the sheriff.\nThe exultation which had marked Bob\u2019s features vanished.\n\u201cI don\u2019t honestly know. From the reputation of this gang I should fear\nthe worst, but for some reason I have unbounded faith in my uncle\u2019s\nability to take care of himself in a crisis. The last we knew was that he\ndisappeared from the waterfront and shortly after that a motorboat sped\ndown the river.\u201d\n\u201cThen if a big smuggling operation is under way, it\u2019s just possible that\nhe might be brought down here,\u201d argued the sheriff.\n\u201cHe might be taken to their hideout,\u201d agreed Bob, \u201cbut so far our men\nhave no real clue to that.\u201d\n\u201cWe may be able to pick up something at Atalissa,\u201d said the sheriff.\n\u201cI\u2019ve a number of friends there who may be able to give me information\nyou never could get.\u201d\nAs the accommodation jogged toward the coast, the country became wilder\nand they rumbled across narrow bridges that spanned bayous and salt\nstreams. Undergrowth was thick and almost jungle-like. They were in one\nof the wildest sections of the Florida coast\u2014uninviting, inhospitable,\nand for years the hideout for lawbreakers of various kinds.\nThe brakes went on sharply and the little train swung around a curve as\nthe wheels shrieked a protest. Looking ahead, Bob could see a huddle of\nhouses around a large bayou. Beyond that was a narrow opening and further\nout a glimpse of the blue Atlantic. This, then, must be Atalissa, his\npresent destination.\nThe sheriff stood up, and looked at his watch.\n\u201cLucky trip this morning,\u201d he declared. \u201cUsually the local has a couple\nof derailments.\u201d\nThe train pulled up before a dilapidated station and Bob and the sheriff\nstepped down on a rough plank platform. The only others visible were the\ntrain crew and the station agent.\n\u201cTown looks quiet,\u201d said the sheriff as they started down the one street\nwhich was flanked on one side by the clear waters of the bayou and on the\nother by a long line of buildings, some of them stores and the others\nplaces of residence.\nThe first building, a story and a half structure, was a barber shop and\nthe sheriff turned in here.\n\u201cMorning, sheriff,\u201d said the barber.\n\u201cMorning, Emil,\u201d replied the sheriff. \u201cWant you to meet a friend of mine,\nBob Houston. Northerner. He\u2019s down for a few days loafing and maybe a\nlittle fishing. Know anything new?\u201d\nThe barber, inclined to stoutness and baldness, shook his head.\n\u201cNot even any good fishing left,\u201d he sighed.\n\u201cEverybody behavin\u2019?\u201d asked the sheriff.\n\u201cJust what are you driving at?\u201d the barber asked.\n\u201cNothing special; just thought you might have heard of something,\u201d\ngrinned the sheriff.\n\u201cMatter of fact, I have,\u201d retorted the barber. \u201cSomebody\u2019s been flying\naround here the last couple of nights with a plane of some kind.\u201d\n\u201cThat ain\u2019t so unusual, is it?\u201d asked the sheriff. \u201cWe\u2019ve been used to\nall kinds of things along this coast.\u201d\n\u201cWell, that wasn\u2019t so strange, but this morning when I was fishing down\nin Harpey\u2019s bayou a boat came through there so fast it was nothing but a\nblack streak and a flash of spray. Blamed thing must have been doing\nforty an hour.\u201d\nBob\u2019s eyes glinted.\n\u201cWhere did it go?\u201d\n\u201cNow I was only in a rowboat and I wouldn\u2019t know where a speed boat\nwent,\u201d replied the barber. Then, seeing the chagrin on Bob\u2019s face, he\nadded, \u201cI\u2019d almost be willing to bet that it was heading for Lost\nIsland.\u201d\nBob saw a queer expression flit across the sheriff\u2019s face.\n\u201cI might have known that\u2019s where such a boat would be going,\u201d he groaned.\n\u201cWhy couldn\u2019t it be toward some other island?\u201d\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t know,\u201d grinned the barber, who sensed that the sheriff was in\nAtalissa on some important mission. Bob saw the barber scanning his coat\nand he wondered if the gun in the shoulder holster was visible. If it\nwas, it would reveal instantly that he was an officer, and not the\nvacationer that the sheriff had pictured him to be.\n\u201cGuess we\u2019ll be getting a boat and heading south,\u201d said the sheriff.\n\u201cJust don\u2019t say anything to anyone else on what you saw this morning.\u201d\n\u201cNot a word, sheriff,\u201d said the barber, and they left the small shop.\n\u201cQueer fellow,\u201d nodded the sheriff as they proceeded down the street\ntoward a wharf. \u201cHe knows everything that\u2019s going on and he protects a\nlot of people, but when some outsiders come in and start breaking the\nlaw, I can always figure he\u2019ll tell me the truth.\u201d\n\u201cWhat do you make of it?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cI\u2019d say that the more men you can get in here, the better it will be.\nEmil knows something queer is going on at Lost Island and it was just his\nway of telling me to get there in a hurry. But I don\u2019t like that place.\nIt\u2019s too lonesome and it\u2019s so big a man can get lost on it for days.\u201d\n\u201cI didn\u2019t know there were any islands that large along here,\u201d replied\nBob.\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t actually an island,\u201d explained the sheriff, \u201cbut there\u2019s water\non three sides of it and it\u2019s swampy and about as dismal as the last\nplace on earth. Always been a favorite hiding place for men trying to get\naway from the law.\u201d\nAt the wharf the sheriff dickered for the rental of a boat and a 20-foot\ncraft with a sturdy four cylinder motor was secured. There was nothing\nspeedy about it, but it looked eminently safe.\n\u201cWe may be gone a couple of nights. I know where I can get some duffel\nand grub. You\u2019d better send word for more of your men to get in here,\u201d\nsaid the sheriff, and while he went in quest of the camping supplies, Bob\nwalked back to the station.\nHe had been warned to use extreme caution in sending out any messages\nfrom Atalissa, but there was no time to drive to another town and he\npreferred to telegraph rather than to telephone.\nThe message went in code and it took him some time to compose it. Very\nbriefly he outlined what he had learned from the sheriff, concluding,\n\u201cNow believe Merritt Hughes has been brought to Lost Island and that\nattempt to bring in large amount of gems will be made soon.\u201d\nBob did not leave the old depot until the telegram was humming over the\nwires on its way to Washington. Then he returned to the wharf and found\nthe sheriff waiting.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll start at once,\u201d said the officer. \u201cI\u2019ve got a snack put up for our\nlunch and we\u2019ll eat on the way. Save time.\u201d\nBob stepped into the bow of the boat where the sheriff had stowed away\nthe federal agent\u2019s large bag and the officer jumped into the stern. The\nmotor was turning over smoothly. The sheriff threw in the clutch and they\nmoved away.\nThe young federal agent looked back at the sleepy village which was\nstrung along the bayou. The barber came out of his shop and waved at them\nand the man on the wharf, from whom they had rented the boat, watched\nthem, his hands shielding his eyes from the glaring rays of the mid-day\nsun.\nSheriff McCurdy headed the boat toward the seaway, but before they\nreached it swung it sharply to the right and they chugged through a\nnarrow passageway that twisted and turned interminably.\n\u201cHow under the sun can you find your way through all this maze of\nchannels?\u201d asked Bob, understanding now why it was an ideal spot to carry\non smuggling operations.\n\u201cBeen in this country all my life,\u201d explained the sheriff, \u201cbut once in a\nwhile I get lost. Then I usually just sit still until someone hunts me\nup.\u201d\nA larger expanse of water opened ahead of them.\n\u201cHarpey\u2019s bayou,\u201d said the sheriff. \u201cThis is where Emil was fishing when\nthat black speed boat came through.\u201d\nThe sheriff put the rudder bar between his legs and unwrapped a package\nwhich had been resting on the floor boards in the bottom of the boat.\nInside were half a dozen thick sandwiches, heavily laden with butter and\nwith generous slices of cold ham between the bread.\nThey ate the sandwiches as the launch chugged through the quiet waters of\nHarpey\u2019s bayou.\nThe sheriff produced a jug of cold water and after a deep drink apiece,\nthey nosed the boat out of the bayou and into another twisting channel,\nwhich, while deep, was heavily overgrown with trees which arched above\nthe water until they formed a perfect tunnel.\nThe air was cool and dank and Bob shuddered involuntarily as he thought\nof the loneliness which would descend upon such an area when the sun went\ndown.\n\u201cHow far is it to Lost Island?\u201d he asked the sheriff.\n\u201cDepends on just which part we\u2019re going to. The nearest point is about\neight miles from here.\u201d\nThey went on for some distance without speaking, the sheriff devoting\npractically all of his time to watching the channel.\nA little more than half an hour later he shut off the engine and\nskillfully guided the boat into a backwater where they would not be\nvisible from the main channel.\nSheriff McCurdy dropped the heavy piece of iron which served as an anchor\noverboard and Bob was surprised to note that the water was at least eight\nor nine feet deep.\n\u201cBetter look over your guns. We may need them in a hurry,\u201d advised the\nsheriff.\nBob got out his Gladstone bag and opened it, removing the case which held\nhis rifle.\nHe assembled the gun and filled the magazine with shells. Placing it\nagainst his shoulder, he aimed at a spot some distance away when a sharp\ncall from the sheriff stopped the steady pressure of his finger on the\ntrigger.\n\u201cDon\u2019t take any chances with a shot now giving an alarm to anyone,\u201d he\nwarned. \u201cRemember that the men who hide out down here are all wary of any\ngunshots.\u201d\nBob lowered the gun and he knew that his cheeks were burning for, had he\nthought of the possible result, he would not have attempted a practice\nshot or two.\nThe sheriff, probing his own roll of duffel, unearthed a serviceable\nlooking gun.\n\u201cBorrowed this from the barber,\u201d he grinned. \u201cIt isn\u2019t quite as fancy a\ngun as yours but it will carry well and I\u2019ve used it once or twice\nbefore, so I\u2019m used to handling it.\u201d\nThe sheriff drew out his pipe and lighted it, settling back against the\ngunwale.\n\u201cAren\u2019t we going on?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cNot much use right now,\u201d replied the officer. \u201cWe\u2019d be spotted in a\nminute. We\u2019ll wait until dusk. Then we can cruise along the island.\nThey\u2019ll be sure to have a fire of some kind for the nights are getting\nchilly.\u201d\nBob knew that the sheriff was right, but the thought of inactivity while\nhis uncle was in the hands of gangsters galled his active spirit.\nHowever, he made the best of it and tried to doze.\nAn hour slipped away when the exhaust of a motorboat, evidently coming at\nhigh speed, echoed through the lowlands.\nThe sheriff sat up quickly, glanced at his rifle, and then picked up an\noar and paddled their boat closer toward a thicket so that they were well\nhidden from the channel which passed within a short distance of the bayou\nwhere they had sought temporary refuge.\nThe noise of the oncoming boat was clearer.\n\u201cComing fast,\u201d grunted the sheriff, balancing his rifle in his hands.\nBob, crouched in the bow, saw a gray boat shoot into sight in the main\nchannel. It was not more than 200 feet away and only one man was in the\nboat. With a start he recognized the crouched figure of Joe Hamsa. Then\nthe gray speeder was gone, only a broad, spreading wake remaining to mark\nits passage.\nThe federal agent turned to the sheriff.\n\u201cWe\u2019ve got to follow him. That was Joe Hamsa.\u201d\nThe sheriff shook his head.\n\u201cWe\u2019re not following him now; still too light. Besides I know he\u2019s headed\nfor the island. Listen to him go!\u201d\nThe roar of the exhaust gradually died away and the sheriff turned to\nBob.\n\u201cYou\u2019re sure that was your man?\u201d\n\u201cPositive,\u201d replied Bob.\nSheriff McCurdy looked at his borrowed rifle once more and Bob saw the\ndeep lines of the peace officer\u2019s face tighten.\nThey remained for another hour in the seclusion of the small bayou and\nbefore they started out again the shadows were deepening and the warmth\nof the afternoon was vanishing.\nSheriff McCurdy started the motor of their boat and Bob pulled up the\nmud-covered anchor. With the motor throttle well down they started for\nLost Island and Bob was thankful that their boat had an underwater\nexhaust which it was almost impossible to hear.\nAfter leaving the shelter of the bayou, Sheriff McCurdy operated their\nboat with extreme caution and just before they came within sight of Lost\nIsland he stopped the boat and spoke to Bob.\n\u201cWe may be poking our heads into a hornet\u2019s nest,\u201d he warned. \u201cWant to go\non or wait until additional federal men can get to Atalissa and we can\nbring them down here?\u201d\n\u201cThat might be too late,\u201d decided Bob. \u201cWe\u2019ll go on.\u201d\nThe sheriff started the motor and once more they were in forward motion,\nthe bow of their small boat knifing its way through the waters of a\nlarger lagoon.\nAhead of them lay a long, low mass of tangled undergrowth.\n\u201cLost Island,\u201d said the sheriff cryptically and Bob felt his blood\nbeating faster. It was toward this spot that the black speed boat sighted\nby the barber had been going and it was also toward this spot that Joe\nHamsa had been hurrying in the gray motorboat.\nThe motor of their own boat died suddenly and Bob looked toward the\nsheriff, whose face was still dimly discernible in the faint light.\n\u201cNo more noise; we\u2019ll use oars from now on.\u201d\nBob helped put the oars in their sockets. There were two pairs and they\nbent their backs to the task of rowing.\n\u201cThis may be an all night job,\u201d grunted the sheriff, \u201cbut it will be\nworth it if I can catch up with the fellow who threw me out of the car\nlast night.\u201d\nThe boat, although not large, was heavy and in less than half an hour Bob\nhad blisters on both hands and his back ached mightily.\n\u201cEase up a bit,\u201d advised the sheriff. \u201cWe\u2019ll drift along here and rest.\u201d\nBob welcomed the chance to straighten up and he let the oars rest in the\noarlocks while he stood up in the boat.\nA flicker of light to the left caught his eye and he spoke quietly to the\nsheriff.\n\u201cThere\u2019s a light to your left,\u201d he said. \u201cStand up and look at it.\u201d\nSheriff McCurdy stood up in the stern.\n\u201cI expected something like this,\u201d he grunted. \u201cMight as well rest a bit,\nthough, for I\u2019ve too many kinks in my back now to think of a good scrap.\u201d\nThe boat drifted gently and the sheriff told what he knew about the\nisland.\n\u201cThis is one of the highest parts,\u201d he explained, \u201cand one of the driest.\nNot much swamp right here and the footing should be good. On the other\nside there\u2019s an old pier and a sort of hunting house that was built years\nago by some northerners. I expect we\u2019ll find the men we want over there.\u201d\nBob was too impatient to rest very long, and at his insistence, they took\nup the oars again and turned the bow of their boat toward shore.\nMoving like a shadow and with as little noise, they guided their craft in\ntoward the island. The bow stuck in soft mud three or four feet from the\nshore and the sheriff grunted his distaste.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll have to wade in,\u201d he complained. \u201cI\u2019ll get wet and that will make\nmy rheumatism bad again.\u201d\nBob dropped their anchor over into the mud and the sheriff stuck two of\nthe spark plugs from the motor in his pocket, effectively disabling the\nboat from use.\nWith Bob in the lead, they dropped over the side. The muck and ooze was\ncold and slimy and Bob felt his legs plowing in about six inches of the\nclammy stuff. Fortunately they were ashore in about four long strides.\nThey paused long enough to loosen the guns in their shoulder holsters and\nto look at the safeties on their rifles. Then, with the sheriff in the\nlead, they started for the far side of the narrow island.\nThere was plenty of underbrush, but the ground was firm, and by treading\ncautiously, they made progress without making much noise.\nFrom a little knoll which they ascended they could look down on the other\nside of the island and the light which Bob had seen from a distance was\nplainly visible.\nIt was a torch of some kind and was apparently mounted on a rather tall\npole, for the flame flickered in the light breeze which was sweeping in\nfrom the open sea.\nMoving even more cautiously than before, Bob and the sheriff started down\nfor the camp which they knew must be in the blackness beyond the light.\nIt was a dismal adventure and it took real courage to move even another\nstep forward, but Bob was driven on by the thought that his uncle might\nbe on the island and that success tonight would bring about his return\nand smash the ring of smugglers he had been assigned to break up.\nAs they neared the light it was plain that the flare was mounted on a\npole about twenty feet tall and Bob stopped the sheriff.\n\u201cThat looks like a beacon for a plane,\u201d he muttered.\n\u201cIf it is, it fits in with your theory that they\u2019ll land the smuggled\ngems by plane,\u201d replied Sheriff McCurdy.\nThey went on, treading easily and giving the circle of light cast by the\nflare a wide birth.\nAgainst the blackness of the waters of a broad bayou which flanked the\nother side of Lost Island loomed the outline of a ramshackle structure\nand though the windows appeared to be boarded up, faint rays of light\ncrept through a number of cracks. Bob half stumbled on a stick and the\nnoise brought the quick baying of a hound.\n\u201cWe\u2019re in for it now,\u201d said the sheriff, and Bob felt that trouble, and\nserious trouble, was just ahead.\nA door in the house was thrown open and against the oblong of light could\nbe seen the silhouette of a man. Then he stepped out into the night, to\nbe followed by a second man, stockier and heavier than the first.\n\u201cStay down,\u201d whispered the sheriff. \u201cMaybe they\u2019ll miss us. We don\u2019t want\ntrouble now.\u201d\nBefore the men could leave the shelter of the house, the low drone of an\nincoming plane could be heard. Bob turned toward the east. A red and\ngreen light, marking the wing tips of a plane, were visible. The craft\nwas low and evidently coming in fast.\nEven above the noise of the plane, they could hear a shouted command near\nthe old house, and one of the men who had stepped outside turned on a\nflash light and raced toward the pier, some distance away. He was\nfollowed, at a slower pace by the second man.\n\u201cThat\u2019s Hamsa, I\u2019m sure,\u201d said Bob.\n\u201cLet\u2019s get inside and see if anyone is there,\u201d said Sheriff McCurdy and\nthey moved around so that the house was between them and the pier.\nLanding lights of the plane blinked on as it circled over them and once\nthe powerful beams swept down on the clearing, but Bob and the Sheriff,\nanticipating that, had dropped to the ground behind an old log and were\nsafe, for the moment, from discovery.\n\u201cMust be either a seaplane or an amphibian,\u201d said Bob as the plane\nprepared to alight on the water.\n\u201cGet inside,\u201d urged the sheriff, who would feel better when he had some\nshelter.\nThe two men on the pier were concentrating their attention on the plane\nswinging over the lagoon and the hound which had sounded the alarm was\nbeside them, so it was a comparatively simple matter for Bob to jump\nacross the threshold.\nInside the door, where only an oil lamp cast faint illumination, he\ncrouched with his rifle in his hands, accustoming his eyes to the light.\nThere was, apparently, no one in the room.\nHe spoke softly to the sheriff, who was waiting just outside.\n\u201cAll clear; come on!\u201d\nWith one bound the sheriff was inside and like Bob he had his rifle ready\nfor instant action.\nSquinting between cracks in the wall, the sheriff watched the action in\nthe lagoon. The plane smacked the surface of the water sharply and came\nto rest several hundred feet from the end of the old pier. The men\nwaiting there put out in a motorboat, making directly for the plane,\nwhich was bobbing around on the waves which it had stirred up in the\nquiet waters.\nSheriff McCurdy turned from the wall and watched Bob open the door to the\nsecond room. He saw the young federal agent drop to his knees and his gun\nclatter while a choked sob escaped from Bob\u2019s lips.\nThe sheriff crossed the room in several bounds and bent down over Bob,\nwho was kneeling beside the bound and gagged figure of a man.\nWithout asking questions, the sheriff handed Bob a knife and the ropes\nand gag were slashed.\n\u201cUncle Merritt, Uncle Merritt,\u201d cried Bob. \u201cSpeak to me.\u201d There was\ndesperation in his voice.\nMerritt Hughes opened his eyes and tried to smile. His lips and tongue\nwere swollen from the gag, but the expression in his eyes gave Bob\ncourage.\n\u201cWe\u2019d better get him out of here,\u201d said Bob. \u201cThey\u2019ll be back and we\nwon\u2019t be ready for them.\u201d\nBefore they could turn, a harsh laugh echoed through the room and the\nheavy voice of Joe Hamsa lashed at them.\n\u201cYou\u2019re not going any place, boys, except where I want you to and you\u2019ll\nnever return from there.\u201d\nBob started to move, but a quick command from Hamsa stopped him.\n\u201cDon\u2019t move kid. I\u2019ve got a machine gun on you and my finger is nervous.\nTurn around slowly and don\u2019t either one of you try any gunplay.\u201d\nThey started to turn slowly when Bob was amazed by a quick gesture of his\nuncle\u2019s. Hidden in the heavy shadow of the little room which adjoined the\nlarger one, he reached up and like a flash seized the revolver which was\nin the shoulder holster. There wasn\u2019t even the rustle of Bob\u2019s coat as\nthe gun was whisked away and Bob continued to turn slowly toward Hamsa.\nThe man who had claimed to be a diamond salesman was standing in the\ndoorway, a machine gun in his hands. Behind him was a man with a scar,\nwhom Bob recognized from the descriptions obtained in Jacksonville must\nhave been the abductor of his uncle. To the rear of these two was a\nslender chap, little older than Bob and with a thin face. He was in a\nflyer\u2019s outfit and in his hands carried a soft leather case.\n\u201cGet their guns, Rap,\u201d barked Hamsa, and the man with the scar came\nforward, his hands patting the sheriff for weapons. The gun was taken\nfrom the shoulder holster and the rifle was tossed across the room.\nThe man known as Rap then turned to Bob and his hands found the empty\nholster.\n\u201cGun\u2019s gone,\u201d said Rap flatly and without expression.\n\u201cWhere?\u201d demanded Hamsa.\n\u201cLost in the brush,\u201d fibbed Bob.\nThe answer seemed to satisfy them and Rap took the rifle from Bob\u2019s\nhands.\n\u201cTake this gun and keep those fellows covered while Curt and I check over\nthe stuff he brought in,\u201d ordered Hamsa, handing his weapon to Rap while\nthe fellow, whom he had called Curt, strode into the room and placed his\nblack leather case on the rough table.\nBob gasped as the velvet lined case was opened and scores of gleaming\ndiamonds were revealed. A king\u2019s fortune was spread on the table in front\nof them and Hamsa, an ugly light in his eyes, looked at his captives.\n\u201cSo you federal men thought you were smart enough for Joe Hamsa?\u201d he\nchortled. \u201cWell, this is your last assignment. You\u2019ve seen me and you\u2019ve\nseen how we bring in the stuff. This is my last job. I\u2019ll make a cool\nmillion on it. Think it over.\u201d\nHe turned back to the pile of gems and ran them through his stubby\nfingers, gloating at the wealth that was on the table.\n\u201cWhat are we going to do now?\u201d asked Curt.\n\u201cSink your plane and the gray boat. We\u2019ll use the black one for a getaway\nand we\u2019ll burn this place before we leave.\u201d\n\u201cHow about the federal men?\u201d The flyer gestured toward Bob and the\nothers.\n\u201cMaybe we\u2019ll sink them, too,\u201d said Hamsa and there was deadly mirth in\nhis words.\nThe man known as Rap started to laugh, but a sharp explosion back of Bob\nturned the laugh into a sob and Rap, gasping for breath, sank to the\nfloor.\nHamsa whirled toward the officers, a gun in his right hand. Before he\ncould use it, there was another explosion and Hamsa reeled back against\nthe wall, his right arm hanging limp and useless, the gun which it had\nheld falling to the floor.\n\u201cDon\u2019t move!\u201d The command was low and husky, but there was authority in\nthe words and Bob, out of the corner of one eye, saw his uncle step out\nof the small room to the rear. From this position of advantage he had\ndisabled Rap, the machine gunner, and wounded Hamsa. Curt, the flyer, had\nhis hands in the air.\n\u201cPick up their guns, Bob,\u201d commanded his uncle and Bob picked up the\nmachine gun and the revolver Hamsa had dropped.\n\u201cSearch them!\u201d\nThis time the sheriff stepped forward and with hands long experienced in\nthat kind of work, searched even the hats of the others. A gun was taken\nfrom the flyer and a stubby but deadly pistol from Rap. These were placed\non the table beside the glittering pile of diamonds.\n\u201cGot any handcuffs, sheriff?\u201d asked Bob\u2019s uncle after the young federal\nagent introduced his ally.\nTwo small, compact pairs were produced from the capacious pockets of the\npeace officer. One pair was snapped on Hamsa and the other on Curt and\nRap.\nWhile Bob and his uncle went about the task of giving first aid to Rap\nand Hamsa, the sheriff went down to the old wharf to inspect the boats.\nWhen he returned, the bandaging was done, for neither wound was serious.\n\u201cWe can start any time you want to,\u201d he informed the federal men.\n\u201cTake these fellows down. We\u2019ll be along shortly,\u201d replied Merritt\nHughes, and when Hamsa and his allies had been led away by the sheriff,\nhe sat down on one side of the table and motioned for Bob to take a seat\nopposite him.\n\u201cLet\u2019s hear your side of the story, Bob,\u201d said his uncle as he sat down,\nmassaging the red marks which the tightly tied ropes had made on his\nhands.\nIt was a strange setting, the rays from the kerosene lamp on the table\nthrowing a soft glow over the diamonds which were still heaped on the\nblack velvet.\nBob was anxious to tell his own story, but first he wanted to know about\nhis uncle.\n\u201cSure you\u2019re all right?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cOh, my arms and legs are still a little numb and I can\u2019t talk any too\nwell, but I\u2019m coming around fast now.\u201d\nBob launched into a detailed explanation of all of the events which had\ntaken place since the disappearance of his uncle in Jacksonville.\n\u201cLuckiest thing that ever happened to me was when I ran into the\nsheriff,\u201d he said.\n\u201cNo doubt about it,\u201d agreed his uncle. Then he went on, \u201cThe men we\ncaptured tonight are the brains of the gang. From what Hamsa said after\nhe got here this afternoon I gathered that two more members of the gang\nwere picked up by you and Condon Adams last night.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s right,\u201d said Bob. \u201cBut I can\u2019t figure out how Hamsa got down here\nso soon and I thought he\u2019d never get out of the river he fell into on the\nway down from Washington.\u201d\n\u201cHamsa is a tough customer,\u201d said Merritt Hughes. \u201cHe has a tremendous\nphysique and was able to swim to shore. Then he chartered a private plane\nand came south.\u201d\n\u201cThey\u2019ve been running in the diamonds by plane all the time,\u201d said Bob.\n\u201cCurt has been their pilot. He\u2019s got a fast amphibian and last night he\nmade contact with Hamsa near Atalissa and informed him that a large\nconsignment would be delivered tonight. They were careful to make only\nthe contacts with the smuggled gems here to keep suspicions away from\nthis island.\u201d\n\u201cWhere did Curt get the gems?\u201d Bob wanted to know.\n\u201cThey were brought over from Europe aboard tramp steamers. Curt would\ncontact the ships well off the coast and then fly the smuggled stuff in\nat night. They were careful about the type of gems they brought in. Why\nthese diamonds on the table could be sold almost any place without\nsuspicion. In fact, Hamsa actually went around the country peddling them\nto customers who had no idea that they were smuggled property.\u201d\nBob, leaning back in his chair, looked at his uncle.\n\u201cYou must have been brought directly here,\u201d he said.\n\u201cJust as fast as the fellow they call Rap could get me here. Hamsa had\nbeen in Washington. Somehow he got wind that Department of Justice men\nwere being put on his trail and he learned that Adams and I had been sent\nsouth. It was up to Rap to get us out of the way. Then Hamsa came down\nand it was just luck that he met you and Tully on the train. What looked\nlike a bad situation for us turned out all right.\u201d\nBob chuckled.\n\u201cWon\u2019t Tully be sore when he learns that the whole case has been cleared\nup without him getting even as far as Jacksonville.\u201d\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t worry about Tully, Bob. This is another feather in your cap.\nJust keep plugging away and you\u2019ll get toward the top in the Department\nmighty fast.\u201d\nMerritt Hughes bent down and gathered up the smuggled gems, wrapping them\nin the velvet and replacing them in the leather case.\n\u201cWe might as well destroy this place so that it will no longer be used\nfor such purposes,\u201d he said, and as he stepped out of the door behind Bob\nhe aimed a shot at the kerosene lamp. A sheet of flame spread through the\ninterior of the shanty and the dry wood crackled lustily as the fire ate\ninto it.\nThe glow of the burning shanty illuminated the clearing and they found\ntheir way easily to the old wharf where Sheriff McCurdy and his prisoners\nwere waiting for them. Further out the amphibian was drifting at its\nanchor.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll have to leave that for another trip,\u201d smiled Merritt Hughes.\n\u201cSheriff, let\u2019s start for town. I\u2019m hungry and sleepy.\u201d\nWith their three captives in the bow, Bob and his uncle just behind them\nand the sheriff at the wheel at the rear, they started out of the bayou,\nanother successful chapter written in the bureau of investigation\u2019s war\non crime.\n--Copyright notice provided as in the original\u2014this e-text is public\n  domain in the country of publication.\n--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and\n  dialect unchanged.\n--In the text versions only, delimited italicized text by _underscores_.\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Agent Nine and the Jewel Mystery, by Graham M. Dean\n*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AGENT NINE AND THE JEWEL MYSTERY ***\n***** This file should be named 44786-0.txt or 44786-0.zip *****\nThis and all associated files of various formats will be found in:\nProduced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan\nand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nUpdated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions\nwill be renamed.\nCreating the works from public domain print editions means that no\none owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation\n(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without\npermission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,\nset forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to\ncopying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to\nprotect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project\nGutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you\ncharge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you\ndo not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the\nrules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose\nsuch as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and\nresearch.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do\npractically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is\nsubject to the trademark license, especially commercial\nredistribution.\n*** START: FULL LICENSE ***\nTHE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE\nPLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK\nTo protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free\ndistribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work\n(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase \"Project\nGutenberg\"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project\nGutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at\n  www.gutenberg.org/license.\nSection 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm\nelectronic works\n1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm\nelectronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to\nand accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property\n(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all\nthe terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy\nall copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.\nIf you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project\nGutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the\nterms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or\nentity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.\n1.B.  \"Project Gutenberg\" is a registered trademark.  It may only be\nused on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who\nagree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few\nthings that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works\neven without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See\nparagraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project\nGutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement\nand help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic\nworks.  See paragraph 1.E below.\n1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (\"the Foundation\"\nor PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project\nGutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the\ncollection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an\nindividual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are\nlocated in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from\ncopying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative\nworks based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg\nare removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project\nGutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by\nfreely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of\nthis agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with\nthe work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by\nkeeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project\nGutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.\n1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern\nwhat you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in\na constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check\nthe laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement\nbefore downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or\ncreating derivative works based on this work or any other Project\nGutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning\nthe copyright status of any work in any country outside the United\nStates.\n1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:\n1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate\naccess to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently\nwhenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the\nphrase \"Project Gutenberg\" appears, or with which the phrase \"Project\nGutenberg\" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,\ncopied or distributed:\nThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with\nalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or\nre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included\nwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org\n1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived\nfrom the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is\nposted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied\nand distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees\nor charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work\nwith the phrase \"Project Gutenberg\" associated with or appearing on the\nwork, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1\nthrough 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the\nProject Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or\n1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted\nwith the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution\nmust comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional\nterms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked\nto the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the\npermission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.\n1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm\nLicense terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this\nwork or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.\n1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this\nelectronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without\nprominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with\nactive links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project\nGutenberg-tm License.\n1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,\ncompressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any\nword processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or\ndistribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than\n\"Plain Vanilla ASCII\" or other format used in the official version\nposted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),\nyou must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a\ncopy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon\nrequest, of the work in its original \"Plain Vanilla ASCII\" or other\nform.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm\nLicense as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.\n1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,\nperforming, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works\nunless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.\n1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing\naccess to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided\nthat\n- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from\n     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method\n     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is\n     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he\n     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the\n     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments\n     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you\n     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax\n     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and\n     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the\n     address specified in Section 4, \"Information about donations to\n     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.\"\n- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies\n     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he\n     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm\n     License.  You must require such a user to return or\n     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium\n     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of\n     Project Gutenberg-tm works.\n- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any\n     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the\n     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days\n     of receipt of the work.\n- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free\n     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.\n1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm\nelectronic work or group of works on different terms than are set\nforth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from\nboth the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael\nHart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the\nFoundation as set forth in Section 3 below.\n1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable\neffort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread\npublic domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm\ncollection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic\nworks, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain\n\"Defects,\" such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or\ncorrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual\nproperty infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a\ncomputer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by\nyour equipment.\n1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the \"Right\nof Replacement or Refund\" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project\nGutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project\nGutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project\nGutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all\nliability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal\nfees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT\nLIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE\nPROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE\nTRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE\nLIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR\nINCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH\nDAMAGE.\n1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a\ndefect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can\nreceive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a\nwritten explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you\nreceived the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with\nyour written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with\nthe defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a\nrefund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity\nproviding it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to\nreceive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy\nis also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further\nopportunities to fix the problem.\n1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth\nin paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER\nWARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO\nWARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.\n1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied\nwarranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.\nIf any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the\nlaw of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be\ninterpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by\nthe applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any\nprovision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.\n1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the\ntrademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone\nproviding copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance\nwith this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,\npromotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,\nharmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,\nthat arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do\nor cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm\nwork, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any\nProject Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.\nSection  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm\nProject Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of\nelectronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers\nincluding obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists\nbecause of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from\npeople in all walks of life.\nVolunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the\nassistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's\ngoals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will\nremain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project\nGutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure\nand permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.\nTo learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation\nand how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4\nand the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org\nSection 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive\nFoundation\nThe Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit\n501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the\nstate of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal\nRevenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification\nnumber is 64-6221541.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg\nLiterary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent\npermitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.\nThe Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.\nFairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered\nthroughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at 809\nNorth 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887.  Email\ncontact links and up to date contact information can be found at the\nFoundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact\nFor additional contact information:\n     Dr. Gregory B. Newby\n     Chief Executive and Director\n     gbnewby@pglaf.org\nSection 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg\nLiterary Archive Foundation\nProject Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide\nspread public support and donations to carry out its mission of\nincreasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be\nfreely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest\narray of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations\n($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt\nstatus with the IRS.\nThe Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating\ncharities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United\nStates.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a\nconsiderable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up\nwith these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations\nwhere we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To\nSEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any\nparticular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate\nWhile we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we\nhave not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition\nagainst accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who\napproach us with offers to donate.\nInternational donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make\nany statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from\noutside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.\nPlease check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation\nmethods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other\nways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.\nTo donate, please visit:  www.gutenberg.org/donate\nSection 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic\nworks.\nProfessor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm\nconcept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared\nwith anyone.  For forty years, he produced and distributed Project\nGutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.\nProject Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed\neditions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.\nunless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily\nkeep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.\nMost people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:\n     www.gutenberg.org\nThis Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,\nincluding how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary\nArchive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to\nsubscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  Agent Nine and the Jewel Mystery\n"},
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1934, "culture": " English\n", "content": "E-text prepared by Al Haines\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/8/8/22884/22884-h/22884-h.htm)\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/8/8/22884/22884-h.zip)\n[Illustration: Cover artwork]\nTHE DRAGON PAINTER\nby\nMARY McNEIL FENOLLOSA\nAuthor of \"Truth Dexter,\" \"The Breath of the Gods,\"\n  \"Out of the Nest: A Flight of Verses,\"\n  etc.\nIllustrated by Gertrude McDaniel\n[Frontispiece: \"Another step, and she was in the room.\"]\nBoston\nLittle, Brown, and Company\nCopyright, 1905,\nBy P. F. Collier & Son.\nCopyright, 1906,\nBy Little, Brown, and Company.\nAll rights reserved\nPublished October, 1906\n  The story of \"The Dragon Painter,\" in\n  a shorter form, was originally published in\n  \"Collier's.\"  It has since been practically\n  rewritten.\nTO\nKANO YEITAN\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\"Another step, and she was in the room\" . . . _Frontispiece_\n\"With the soft tuft of camel hair he blurred against the\n  peak pale, luminous vapor of new cloud\n\"He walked up and down, sometimes in the narrow room,\n  sometimes in the garden\"\n\"'Come, Dragon Wife,' he said, 'come back to our little home'\"\n\"Um\u00e8-ko leaned over instantly, staring down into the stream\"\n\"Then a little hand, stealing from a nun's gray sleeve,\n  slipped into his\"\nTHE DRAGON PAINTER\nI\nThe old folks call it Yeddo.  To the young, \"Tokyo\" has a pleasant,\nmodern sound, and comes glibly.  But whether young or old, those whose\nhome it is know that the great flat city, troubled with green hills,\ncleft by a shining river, and veined in living canals, is the central\nspot of all the world.\nStorms visit Tokyo,--with fury often, sometimes with destruction.\nEarthquakes cow it; snow falls upon its temple roofs, swings in wet,\ndazzling masses from the bamboo plumes, or balances in white strata\nalong green-black pine branches.  The summer sun scorches the face of\nYeddo, and summer rain comes down in wide bands of light.  With evening\nthe mist creeps up, thrown over it like a covering, casting a spell of\nsilence through which the yellow lanterns of the hurrying jinrikishas\ndance an elfish dance, and the voices of the singing-girls pierce like\nfine blades of sound.\nBut to know the full charm of the great city, one must wake with it at\nsome rebirth of dawn.  This hour gives to the imaginative in every land\na thrill, a yearning, and a pang of visual regeneration.  In no place\nis this wonder more deeply touched with mystery than in modern Tokyo.\nFar off to the east the Sumida River lies in sleep.  Beyond it, temple\nroofs--black keels of sunken vessels--cut a sky still powdered thick\nwith stars.  Nothing moves, and yet a something changes!  The darkness\nshivers as to a cold touch.  A pallid haze breathes wanly on the\nsurface of the impassive sky.  The gold deepens swiftly and turns to a\nfaint rose flush.  The stars scamper away like mice.\nAcross the moor of gray house eaves the mist wavers.  Day troubles it.\nA pink light rises to the zenith, and the mist shifts and slips away in\nlayers, pink and gold and white.  Now far beyond the grayness, to the\nwest, the cone of Fuji flashes into splendor.  It, too, is pink.  Its\nshape is of a lotos bud, and the long fissures that plough a mountain\nside are now but delicate gold veining on a petal.  Slowly it seems to\nopen.  It is the chalice of a new day, the signal and the pledge of\nconsecration.  Husky crows awake in the pine trees, and doves under the\ntemple eaves.  The east is red beyond the river, and the round, red\nsun, insignia of this land, soars up like a cry of triumph.\nOn the glittering road of the Sumida, loaded barges, covered for the\nnight with huge squares of fringed straw mats, begin to nod and preen\nthemselves like a covey of gigantic river birds.  Sounds of prayer and\nof silver matin bells come from the temples, where priest and acolyte\ngreet the Lord Buddha of a new day.  From tiny chimneyless kitchens of\na thousand homes thin blue feathers of smoke make slow upward progress,\nto be lost in the last echoes of the vanishing mist.  Sparrows begin to\nchirp, first one, then ten, then thousands.  Their voices have the\nclash and chime of a myriad small triangles.\nThe wooden outer panels (amado) of countless dwellings are thrust\nnoisily aside and stacked into a shallow closet.  The noise\nreverberates from district to district in a sharp musketry of sound.\nMaid servants call cheerily across bamboo fences.  Shoji next are\nopened, disclosing often the dull green mosquito net hung from corner\nto corner of the low-ceiled sleeping rooms.  Children, in brilliant\nnight robes, run to the verandas to see the early sun; cocks strut in\npigmy gardens.  Now, from along the streets rise the calls of flower\npeddlers, of venders of fish, bean-curd, vegetables, and milk.  Thus\nthe day comes to modern Tokyo, which the old folks still call Yeddo.\nOn such a midsummer dawn, not many years ago, old Kano Indara, sleeping\nin his darkened chamber, felt the summons of an approaching joy.\nBeauty tugged at his dreams.  Smiling, as a child that is led by love,\nhe rose, drew aside softly the shoji, then the amado of his room, and\nthen, with face uplifted, stepped down into his garden.  The beauty of\nthe ebbing night caught at his sleeve, but the dawn held him back.\nIt was the moment just before the great Sun took place upon his throne.\nKano still felt himself lord of the green space round about him.  On\ntheir pretty bamboo trellises the potted morning-glory vines held out\nflowers as yet unopened.  They were fragile, as if of tissue, and were\nbeaded at the crinkled tips with dew.  Kano's eyelids, too, had dew of\ntears upon them.  He crouched close to the flowers.  Something in him,\ntoo, some new ecstacy was to unfurl.  His lean body began to tremble.\nHe seated himself at the edge of the narrow, railless veranda along\nwhich the growing plants were ranged.  One trembling bud reached out as\nif it wished to touch him.\nThe old man shook with the beating of his own heart.  He was an artist.\nCould he endure another revelation of joy?  Yes, his soul, renewed ever\nas the gods themselves renew their youth, was to be given the inner\nvision.  Now, to him, this was the first morning.  Creation bore down\nupon him.\nThe flower, too, had begun to tremble.  Kano turned directly to it.\nThe filmy, azure angles at the tip were straining to part, held\ntogether by just one drop of light.  Even as Kano stared the drop fell\nheavily, plashing on his hand.  The flower, with a little sob, opened\nto him, and questioned him of life, of art, of immortality.  The old\nman covered his face, weeping.\nThe last of his race was Kano Indara; the last of a mighty line of\nartists.  Even in this material age his fame spread as the mists of his\nown land, and his name was known in barbarian countries far across the\nsea.  Tokyo might fall under the blight of progress, but Kano would\nhold to the traditions of his race.  To live as a true artist,--to die\nas one,--this was his care.  He might have claimed high position in the\ngreat Art Museum recently inaugurated by the new government, and housed\nin an abomination of pink stucco with Moorish towers at the four\ncorners.  He might even have been elected president of the new Academy,\nand have presided over the Italian sculptors and degenerate French\npainters imported to instruct and \"civilize\" modern Japan.  Stiff\ngraphite pencils, making lines as hard and sharp as those in the faces\nof foreigners themselves, were to take the place of the soft charcoal\nflake whose stroke was of satin and young leaves.  Horrible brushes,\nfashioned of the hair of swine, pinched in by metal bands, and wielded\nwith a hard tapering stick of varnished wood, were to be thrust into\nthe hands of artists,--yes,--artists--men who, from childhood, had\nknown the soft pliant Japanese brush almost as a spirit hand;--had felt\nthe joy of the long stroke down fibrous paper where the very thickening\nand thinning of the line, the turn of the brush here, the easing of it\nthere, made visual music,--men who had realized the brush as part not\nonly of the body but of the soul,--such men, indeed,--such artists,\nwere to be offered a bunch of hog bristles, set in foreign tin.  Why,\neven in the annals of Kano's own family more than one faithful brush\nhad acquired a soul of its own, and after the master's death had gone\non lamenting in his written name.  But the foreigners' brushes, and\ntheir little tubes of ill-smelling gum colored with dead hues!  Kano\nshuddered anew at the thought.\nNaturally he hated all new forms of government.  He regretted and\ndeplored the magnanimity of his Emperor in giving to his people, so\nsoon, a modern constitution.  What need had Art of a constitution?\nAcross the northern end of Yeddo runs the green welt of a table-land.\nMidway, at the base of this, tucked away from northern winds, hidden in\ngreen bamboo hedges, Kano lived, a mute protest against the new.\nBeside himself, of the household were Um\u00e8-ko, his only child, and an\nold family servant, Mata.\nKano's garden, always the most important part of a Japanese dwelling\nplace, ran out in one continuous, shallow terrace to the south.  A\nstone wall upheld its front edge from the narrow street; and on top of\nthis wall stiff hedges grew.  In one corner, however, a hillock had\nbeen raised, a \"Moon Viewing Place,\" such as poets and artists have\nalways found necessary.  From its flat top old Kano had watched through\nmany years the rising of the moon; had seen, as now, a new dawn possess\na new-created earth,--had traced the outlines of the stars.  By day he\nsometimes loved to watch the little street below, delighting in the\nmotion and color of passing groups.\nFor the garden, itself, it was fashioned chiefly of sand, pebbles,\nstones, and many varieties of pine, the old artist's favorite plant.  A\nsmall rock-bound pond curved about the inner base of the moon-viewing\nhill, duplicating in its clear surface the beauties near.  A few\nsplendid carp, the color themselves of dawn, swam lazily about with\nnoses in the direction of the house whence came, they well knew,\nliberal offerings of rice and cake.\nKano had his plum trees, too; the classic \"um\u00e8,\" loved of all artists,\npoets, and decent-minded people generally.  One tree, a superb specimen\nof the kind called \"Crouching-Dragon-Plum,\" writhed and twisted near\nthe veranda of the chamber of its name-child, Um\u00e8-ko, thrusting one\nleafy arm almost to the paper shoji of her wall.  Kano's transient\nflowers were grown, for the most part in pots, and these his daughter\nUm\u00e8-ko loved to tend.  There were morning-glories for the mid-summer\nseason, peonies and iris for the spring, and chrysanthemums for autumn.\nOne foreign rose-plant, pink of bloom, in a blue-gray jar, had been\npruned and trained into a beauty that no western rose-bush ever knew.\nBehind the Kano cottage the rise of ground for twenty yards was of a\ngrade scarcely perceptible to the eye.  Here Mata did the family\nwashing; dried daikon in winter, and sweet-potato slices in the summer\nsun.  This small space she considered her special domain, and was at no\npains to conceal the fact.  Beyond, the hill went upward suddenly with\nthe curve of a cresting wave.  Higher it rose and higher, bearing a\ntangled growth of vines and ferns and bamboo grass; higher and higher,\nuntil it broke, in sheer mid-air, with a coarse foam of rock, thick\nshrubs, and stony ledges.  Almost at the zenith of the cottage garden\nit poised, and a great camphor tree, centuries old, soared out into the\nblue like a green balloon.\nBehind the camphor tree, again, and not visible from the garden below,\nstood a temple of the \"Shingon\" sect, the most mystic of the old\nesoteric Buddhist forms.  To the rear of this the broad, low,\nrectangular buildings of a nunnery, gray and old as the temple itself\nbrooded among high hedges of the sacred mochi tree.  This retreat had\nbeen famous for centuries throughout Japan.  More than once a Lady\nAbbess had been yielded from the Imperial family.  Formerly the temple\nhad owned many koku of rich land; had held feudal sway over rice fields\nand whole villages, deriving princely revenue.  With the restoration of\nthe Emperor to temporal power, some thirty years before the beginning\nof this story, most of the land had been confiscated; and now, shrunken\nlike the papal power at Rome, the temple claimed, in land, only those\nacres bounded by its own hedges and stone temple walls.  There were the\nmain building itself, silent, impressive in towering majesty;\nsubordinate chapels and dwellings for priests, a huge smoke-stained\nrefectory, the low nunnery in its spreading gardens and, down the\nnorthern slope of the hill, the cemetery, a lichen-growth, as it were,\nof bristling, close-set tombs in gray stone, the splintered regularity\nbroken in places by the tall rounded column of a priest's grave, set in\na ring of wooden sotoba.  At irregular intervals clusters of giant\nbamboo trees sprang like green flame from the fissures of gray rock.\nEven in humiliation, in comparative poverty, the temple dominated, for\nmiles around, the imagination of the people, and was the great central\nnote of the landscape.  The immediate neighborhood was jealously proud\nof it.  Country folk, journeying by the street below, looked up with\nlips that whispered invocation.  Children climbed the long stone steps\nto play in the temple courtyard, and feed the beautiful tame doves that\nlived among the carved dragons of the temple eaves.\nIn that gray cemetery on the further slope Kano's wife, the young\nmother who died so long ago that Um\u00e8-ko could not remember her at all,\nslept beneath a granite shaft which said, \"A Flower having blossomed in\nthe Night, the Halls of the Gods are fragrant.\"  This was the Buddhist\nkaimyo, or priestly invocation to the spirit of the dead.  Of the more\npersonal part of the young mother, her name, age, and the date of her\n\"divine retirement,\" these were recorded in the household shrine of the\nKano cottage, where her \"ihai\" stood, just behind a little lamp of pure\nvegetable oil whose light had never yet been suffered to die.  Through\nthis shrine, and the daily loving offices required by it, she had never\nceased to be a presence in the house.  Even in his passionate desire\nfor a son to inherit the name and traditions of his race, old Kano had\nnot been able to endure the thought of a second wife who might wish the\nshrine removed.\nUm\u00e8-ko and her father were well known at the temple, and worshipped\noften before its golden altars.  But Mata scorned the ceremony of the\nolder creed.  She was a Shinshu, a Protestant.  Her sect discarded\nmysticism as useless, believed in the marriage of priests, and in the\nabolition of the monastic life, and relied for salvation only on the\nlove and mercy of Amida, the Buddha of Light.\nSometimes at twilight a group of shadowy human figures, gray as the\ndoves themselves, crept out from the nunnery gate, crossed the wide,\npebbled courtyard of the temple and stood, for long moments, by the\ngnarled roots of the camphor tree, staring out across the beauty of the\nplain of Yeddo; its shining bay a great mirror to the south, and off,\non the western horizon, where the last light hung, Fuji, a cone of\nporphyry, massive against the gold.\nFor a full hour, now, Kano had delighted in the morning-glories.  At\nintervals he strolled about the garden to touch separately, as if in\ngreeting, each beloved plant.  Except for the deepening fervor of the\nsun he would have kept no note of time.  The last shred of mist had\nvanished.  Crows and sparrows were busy with breakfast for their\nnestlings.\nIt was, perhaps, the clamor of these feathered parents that, at last,\nawoke old Mata in her sleeping closet near the kitchen.  She turned\ndrowsily.  The presence of an unusual light under the shoji brought her\nto her knees.  The amado in the further part of the house were\nundoubtedly open.  Could robbers have come in the night?  And were her\nmaster and Miss Um\u00e8 weltering in gore?\nShe was on her feet now, pushing with shaking fingers at the sliding\nwalls.  She peered at first into Um\u00e8's room for there, indeed, lay the\ncore of old Mata's heart.  A slender figure on the floor stirred\nslightly and a sound of soft breathing filled the silence.  All was\nwell in Um\u00e8's room.  She knocked then on Kano's fusuma.  There was no\nresponse.  Cautiously she parted them, and met an incoming flood of\nmorning light.  The walls were opened.  Through the small square\npillars of the veranda she could see, as in a frame, old Kano standing\nin the garden beside the fish-pond.  Even as she gazed, incredulous at\nher own stupidity in sleeping so late, the temple bell above boomed out\nsix slow strokes.  Six!  Such a thing had never been known.  Well, she\nmust be growing old and worthless.  She had better fill her sleeve with\npebbles and cast herself into the nearest stream.  She hurried back, a\ntempestuous protest in every step.\n\"Miss Um\u00e8,--Um\u00e8-ko!\" she called.  \"Ma-a-a!  What has come to us both?\nThe Danna San walks about as if he had been awake for hours.  And not a\ncup of tea for him!  The honorable fire does not exist.  Surely a demon\nof sleep has bewitched us.\"\nShe had entered the girl's room, and now, while speaking, crossed the\nnarrow space to fling wide, first the shoji, and then the outer amado.\nUm\u00e8 moved lazily.  Her lacquered pillow, with its bright cushion,\nrocked as she stirred.  \"No demon has found me, Mata San,\" she\nmurmured, smiling.  \"No demon unless it be you, cruel nurse, who have\ndragged me back from a heavenly dream.\"\n\"Baku devour your dream!\" cried Mata.  \"I say there is no fire beneath\nthe pot!\"\nUm\u00e8 sat up now, and smoothed slowly the loops of her shining hair.  The\nyellow morning sun danced into the corners of her room, rioted among\nthe hues of her silken bed coverings, and paused, abashed, as it were,\nbefore the delicate beauty of her face.\nAs Mata scolded, the girl nestled back among her quilts, smiling\nmischievously.  She loved to tease the old dame.  \"No, nurse,\" she\nprotested, \"that cannot be.  The baku feeds on evil dreams alone, and\nthis was not evil.  Ah, nurse, it was so sweet a dream----\"\n\"I can give no time to your honorable fooling,\" cried Mata, in\npretended anger.  \"Have I the arms of a Hundred-Handed Kwannon that I\ncan do all the household work at once?  Attire yourself promptly, I\nentreat: prepare one of the small trays for your august parent, and get\nout two of the pickled plums from the blue jar.\"\nUm\u00e8, with an exaggerated sigh of regret, rose to her feet.  Quilt and\ncushions were pushed into a corner for later airing.  Her toilet was\nswift and simple.  To slip the bright-colored sleeping robe from her\nand toss it to the heaped-up coverlids, don an undergarment of thin\nwhite linen and a scant petticoat of blue crepe, draw over them a day\nrobe of blue and white cotton, and tie all in with a sash of brocaded\nblue and gold,--that was the sum of it.  For washing she had a shallow\nwooden basin on the kitchen veranda, where cold water splashed\nincessantly from bamboo tubes thrust into the hillside.  Hurriedly\ndrying her face and hands on a small towel that hung from a swinging\nbamboo hoop, she ran into the kitchen to assist the still grumbling\nMata.\nBy this time old Kano had again seated himself at the edge of his\nveranda.  The summer sun grew unpleasantly warm.  The morning-glories\non their trellises had begun to droop.  A little later they would hang,\nwretched and limp, mere faded scraps of dissolution.  Overhead the\ntemple bell struck seven.  Kano shuddered at this foreign marking out\nof hours.  A melancholy, intense as had been his former ecstacy, began\nto enfold his spirit.  Perhaps he had waited too long for the simple\nbreakfast; perhaps the recent glory had drained him of vital force.  A\nhopelessness, alike of life and death, rose about him in a tide.\nUm\u00e8 prostrated herself upon the veranda near him.  \"Good morning,\naugust father.  Will you deign to enter now and partake of food?\"\nHer voice and the morning face she lifted might have won a smile from a\nstone image.  Kano turned sourly.  \"Why,\" he thought, \"in Shaka's name,\ncould n't she have been a son?\"\nHe rose, however, shaking off his wooden clogs so that they remained\nupon the path below, and followed Um\u00e8 to the zashiki, or main room of\nthe house, with the best view of the garden.\nThe tea was delicious in its first delicate infusion; the pickled plums\nmost stimulating to a morning appetite.\n\"Rice and fish will soon honorably eventuate,\" Um\u00e8 assured him as she\nwent back, smiling, into the kitchen.\nKano pensively lifted a plum upon the point of a toothpick and began\nnibbling at its wrinkled skin.  Yes, why could she not have been a son?\nAs it was, the girl could paint,--paint far better than most women even\nthe famous ones of old.  But, after all, no woman painter could be\nsupreme.  Love comes first with women!  They have not the strong heart,\nthe cruelty, the fierce imagination that go to the making of a great\nartist.  Even among the men of the day, corrupted and distracted as\nthey are by foreign innovations, could real strength be found?  Alas!\nArt was surely doomed, and his own life,--the life of the last great\nKano, futile and perishable as the withering flowers on their stems.\nHe ate of his fish and rice in gloomy silence.  Um\u00e8's gentle words\nfailed to bring a reply.  When the breakfast dishes were removed the\nold man continued listlessly in his place, staring out with unseeing\neyes into his garden.\nA loud knock came to the wooden entrance gate near the kitchen.  Kano\nheard a man's deep tones, Mata's thin voice answering an enquiry, and\nthen the soft murmur of Um\u00e8's words.  An instant later, heavy\nfootsteps, belonging evidently to a wearer of foreign shoes, came\naround by the side of the house toward the garden.  Kano looked up,\nfrowning with annoyance.  A fine-looking man of middle age appeared.\nKano's irritation vanished.\n\"Ando Uchida!\" he cried aloud, springing to his feet, and hurrying to\nthe edge of the veranda.  \"Ando Uchida, is it indeed you?  How stout\nand strong and prosperous you seem!  Welcome!\"\n\"A little too stout for warm weather,\" laughed Ando, as laboriously he\nremoved his foreign shoes and accepted his host's assistance up the one\nstone step to the veranda.\n\"Welcome, Ando Uchida,\" said Kano again, when they had taken seats.\n\"It is quite five years since my eyes last hung upon your honorable\nface.\"\n\"Is it indeed so long?\" said the other.  \"Time has the wings of a\ndragon-fly!\"\nAndo had brought with him a roll, apparently of papers, tied up in\nyellow cloth.  This parcel he put carefully behind him on the matted\nfloor.  He then drew from his kimono sleeve a pink-bordered foreign\npocket-handkerchief, and began to mop his damp forehead.  Kano's\npoliteness could not hide, entirely, a shudder of antipathy.  He\nhurried into new speech.  \"And where, if it is not rude to ask, has my\nfriend Ando sojourned during the long absence?\"\n\"Chiefly among the mountains of Kiu Shiu,\" answered the other.\n\"Kiu Shiu,\" murmured the artist.  \"I wandered there in youth and have\nthought always to return.  The rocks and cliffs are of great beauty.  I\nremember well one white, thin waterfall that flung itself out like a\nlaugh, but never reached a thing so dull as earth.  Midway it was\nsplintered upon a sunbeam, and changed into rainbows, pearls, and\nswallows!\"\n\"I know it excellently well,\" said Uchida.  \"Indeed I have been zealous\nto preserve it, chiefly for your sake.\"\n\"Preserve it?  What can you mean?\"\n\"I have become a government inspector of mines,\" explained Uchida, in\nsome embarrassment.  \"I thought you knew.  There is a rich coal deposit\nnear that waterfall.\"\n\"Ando!  Ando!\" groaned the old man, \"you were once an artist!  The\nforeigners are tainting us all.\"\n\"I love art still,\" said Ando, \"but I make a better engineer.  And--I\nbeseech you to overlook my vulgarity--I am getting rich.\"\nKano groaned again.  \"Oh, this foreign influence!  It is the curse of\nmodern Japan!  Love of money is starting a dry rot in the land of the\ngods.  Success, material power, money,--all of them illusions, miasma\nof the soul, blinding men to reality!  Surely my karma was evil that I\nneeded to be reborn into this age of death!\"\nAndo looked sympathetic and a little contrite.  \"Since we are indeed\nhopelessly of the present,\" ventured he, \"may it not be as well to let\nthe foreigners teach us their methods of success?\"\n\"Success?\" cried Kano, almost angrily.  \"What do they succeed in except\nthe grossest material gains?  There is no humanity in them.  Love of\nbeauty dies in the womb.  Shall we strive to become as dead things?\"\n\"The love of beauty will never perish in this land,\" said Ando more\nearnestly than he had yet spoken.  \"A Japanese loves Art as he loves\nlife.  Our rich merchants become the best patrons of the artists.\"\n\"Patrons of the artists,\" echoed Kano, wearily.  \"You voice your own\ndegradation, friend Ando.  In the great days, who dared to speak of\npatronage to us.  Emperors were artists and artists Emperors!  It was\nto us that all men bowed.\"\n\"Yes, yes, that is honorably true,\" Ando hastened to admit.  \"And so\nwould they in this age bow to you, if you would but allow it.\"\n\"I am not worthy of homage,\" said Kano, his head falling forward on his\nbreast.  \"None knows this better than I,--and yet I am the greatest\namong them.  Show me one of our young artists who can stand like Fudo\nin the flame of his own creative thought!  There is none!\"\n\"What you say is unfortunately true of the present Tokyo\npainters,--perhaps equally of Kioto and other large cities,--but----\"\nHere Ando paused as if to arouse expectancy.  Kano did not look up.\n\"But,\" insisted the other, \"may it not be possible that in some place\nfar from the clamor of modern progress,--in some remote mountain\npass,--maybe----\"\nKano looked up now sharply enough.  Apathy and indifference flared up\nlike straws in a sudden flame of passion.  He made a fierce gesture.\n\"Not that, not that!\" he cried.  \"I cannot bear it!  Do not seek to\ngive false life to a hope already dead.  I am an old man.  I have hoped\nand prayed too long.  I must go down to my grave without an heir,--even\nan adopted heir,--for there is no disciple worthy to succeed!\"\n\"Dear friend, believe that I would not willingly add to a grief like\nthis.  I assure you----\"  Ando was beginning, when his words were cut\nshort by the entrance of Um\u00e8-ko.  She bore a tray with cups, a tiny\nsteaming tea-pot, and a dish heaped with cakes in the forms and tints\nof morning-glories.  This offering she placed near Uchida; and then,\nretiring a few steps, bowed to the floor, drawing her breath inaudibly\nas a token of welcome and respect.  Being merely a woman, old Kano did\nnot think of presenting her.  She left the room noiselessly as she had\ncome.  Ando watched every movement with admiration and a certain\nweighing of possibilities in his shrewd face.  He nodded as if to\nhimself, and leaned toward Kano.\n\"Was that not Kano Um\u00e8-ko, your daughter?\"\n\"Yes,\" said the old man, gruffly; \"but she is not a son.\"\n\"Fortunately for the eyes of men she is not,\" smiled Ando.  \"That is\nthe most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and I have seen many.  She\nwelcomed me at the gate.\"\nKano, engaged in pouring tea, made no reply.\n\"Also, if current speech be true, she has great talent,\" persisted the\nvisitor.  \"One can see genius burning like a soft light behind her\nface.  I hear everywhere of her beauty and her fame.\"\n\"Oh, she does well,--even remarkably well for a woman,\" admitted Kano.\n\"But, as I said before, she is a woman, and nothing alters that.  I\ntell you, Ando!\" he cried, in a small new gust of irritation,\n\"sometimes I have wished that she had been left utterly untouched by\nart.  She paints well now, because my influence is never lifted.  She\nknows nothing else.  I have allowed no lover to approach.  Yet, some\nday love will find her, as one finds a blossoming plum tree in the\nnight.  In every rock and tree she paints I can see the hint of that\ncoming lover; in her flowers, exquisitely drawn, nestle the faces of\nher children.  She knows it not, but I know,--I know!  She thinks she\ncares only for her father and her art.  When I die she will marry, and\nthen how many pictures will she paint?  Bah!\"\n\"Poor child!\" murmured Ando, under his breath.\n\"Poor child,\" mocked the artist, whose quick ears had caught the\nwhisper.  \"Poor Nippon, rather, and poor old Kano, who has no better\nheir than this frail girl.  Oh, Ando, I have clamored to the gods!  I\nhave made pilgrimages and given gifts,--but there is no one to inherit\nmy name and the traditions of my race.  Nowhere can I find a Dragon\nPainter!\"\nAndo put his hand out quickly behind him, seized the long roll tied in\nyellow cloth, and began to unfasten it.\nKano was panting with the vehemence of his own speech.  He poured\nanother little cup of tea and drained it.  He began now to watch Ando,\nand found himself annoyed by the deliberation of his friend's motions.\n\"Strange, strange----\"  Ando was murmuring.  An instant later came the\nwhisper, \"very, very strange!\"\n\"Why do you repeat it?\" cried Kano, irritably.  \"There was nothing\nstrange in what I said.\"\nThe parcel was now untied.  Ando held a roll of papers outward.\n\"Examine these, Kano Indara,\" he said impressively.  \"If I do not\ngreatly mistake, the gods, at last, have heard your prayer.\"\nKano went backward as if from fire.  \"No!  I cannot,--I must not hope!\nToo long have I searched.  Not a schoolboy who thought he could draw an\noutline in the sand with his toe but I have fawned on him.  I dare not\nlook.  Ando, to-day I am shaken as if with an ague of the soul.\nI--I--could not bear another disappointment.\"  He did indeed seem\npiteously weak and old.  He hid his face in long, lean, twitching\nfingers.\nAndo was sincerely affected.  \"This is to be no disappointment,\" said\nhe, gently.  \"I pray you, listen patiently to my clumsy speech.\"\n\"I will strive to listen calmly,\" said Kano, in a broken voice.  \"But\nfirst honorably secrete the papers once again.  They tantalize my\nsight.\"\nUchida put them down on the floor beside him and threw the cloth\ncarelessly above.  He was more moved than he cared to show.  He strove\nnow to speak simply, directly, and with convincing earnestness.  Kano\nhad settled into his old attitude of dejection.\n\"One morning, not more than six weeks ago,\" began Uchida, \"the\nengineering party which I command had climbed some splintered peaks of\nthe Kiu Shiu range to a spot quite close, indeed, to that thin\nwaterfall which you remember----\"\n\"One might forget his friends and relatives, but not a waterfall like\nthat!\" interrupted Kano.\n\"Suddenly a storm, blown down apparently from a clear sky, caught up\nthe mountain and our little group of men in a great blackness.\"\n\"The mountain deities were angered at your presumption,\" nodded Kano,\nwell pleased.\n\"It may be,\" admitted the other.  \"At any rate, the winds now hurried\nin from the sea.  Round cloud vapors split sidewise on the wedges of\nthe rocks.  Voices screamed in the fissures.  We clung to the\nscrub-pines and the sa-sa grass for safety.\"\n\"I can see it all.  I can feel it,\" whispered old Kano.\n\"We wished to descend, but knew no way.  I shouted for aid.  The others\nshouted many times.  Then from the very midst of tumult came a\nyouth,--half god, half beast, with wild eyes peering at us, and hair\nthat tossed like the angry clouds.\"\n\"Yes, yes,\" urged Kano, straining forward.\n\"We scrambled toward him, and he shrank back into the mist.  We called,\nbeseeching help.  The workmen thought him a young sennin, and falling\non their knees, began to pray.  Then the youth approached us more\ndeliberately, and, when we asked for guidance, led us by a secluded\npath down into a mountain village.\"\n\"And you think,--you think that this marvellous youth,\" began Kano,\neagerly; then broke off with a gesture of despair.  \"I must not\nbelieve, I must not believe,\" he muttered.\nAndo's hand was once more on the roll of papers.  He went on smoothly.\n\"We questioned of him in the village.  He is a foundling.  None knows\nhis parentage.  From childhood he has made pictures upon rocks, and\nsand beds, and the inner bark of trees.  He wanders for days together\namong the peaks, and declares that he is searching for his mate, a\nDragon Princess, withheld from him by enchantment.  Naturally the\nvillage people think him mad.  But they are kind to him.  They give him\nfood and clothing, and sometimes sheets of paper, like these here.\"\nWith affected unconcern he raised the long roll.  \"Yes, they give him\npaper, with real ink and brushes.  Then he leaps up the mountain side\nand paints and paints for hours, like a demon.  But as soon as he has\neased his soul of a sketch he lets the first gust of wind blow it away.\"\nKano was now shivering in his place.  On his wrinkled face a light\ndawned.  \"Shall I believe?  Oh, Ando, indeed I could not bear it now!\nUnroll those drawings before I go mad!\"\nUchida deliberately spread out the first.  It was a scene of mountain\nstorm, painted as in an elemental fury.  Inky pine branches slashed and\nhurled upward, downward, and across a tortured gray sky.  A cloud-rack\ntore the void like a Valkyrie's cry made visible.  One huge talon of\nlightning clutched at the flying scud.\nKano gave a glance, covered his face, and began to sob.  Uchida blew\nhis nose on the pink-bordered foreign handkerchief.  After a long while\nthe old man whispered, \"What name shall I use in my prayer?\"\n\"He is called,\" said Ando, \"by the name of 'Tatsu.'  'Tatsu, the Dragon\nPainter.'\"\nII\nThe sounds and sights of the great capital were dear to Ando Uchida.\nIn five years of busy exile among remote mountains he felt that he had\nearned, as it were, indulgence for an interval of leisurely enjoyment.\nHis initial visit to old Kano had been made not so much to renew an\nillustrious acquaintance, as to relieve his own mind of its exciting\nnews, and his hands of a parcel which, at every stage of the journey,\nhad been an incubus.  Ando knew the paintings to be unusual.  He had\nhoped for and received from Kano the highest confirmation of this\nbelief.\nAt that time, now a week ago, he had been pleased, and Kano irradiated.\nAlready he was cursing himself for his pains, and crying aloud that,\nhad he dreamed the consequences, never had the name of Tatsu crossed\nhis lips!  Ando's anticipated joys in Yeddo lay, as yet, before him.\nHourly was he tormented by visits from the impatient Kano.  Neither\nmidnight nor dawn were safe from intrusion.  Always the same questions\nwere asked, the same fears spoken, the same glorious future prophesied;\nuntil finally, in despair, one night Ando arose between the hours of\ntwo and three, betaking himself to a small suburban hotel.  Here he\nlived, for a time, in peace, under the protection of an assumed name.\nA letter had been dispatched that first day, to Tatsu of Kiu Shiu, with\na sum of money for the defraying of travelling expenses, and the\npetition that the youth should come as quickly as possible for a visit\nto Kano Indara, since the old man could not, of himself, attempt so\nlong a journey.  After what seemed to the impatient writer (and in\nequal degree to the harassed Uchida) an endless cycle of existence, an\nanswer came, not, indeed from Tatsu, but from the \"Mura osa,\" or head\nof the village, saying that the Mad Painter had started at once upon\nhis journey, taking not even a change of clothes.  By what route he\nwould travel or on what date arrive, only the gods could tell.\nKano's rapture in these tidings was assailed, at once, by a swarm of\nblack conjectures.  Might the boy not lose himself by the way?  If he\nattempted to ride upon the hideous foreign trains he was certain to be\ninjured; if on the other hand, he did not come by train, weeks, even\nmonths, might be consumed in the journey.  Again, should he essay to\ncome by boat!  Then there were dangers of wind and storm.  Visions of\nTatsu drowned; of Tatsu heaped under a wreck of burning cars; starved\nto death in a solitary forest; set upon, robbed, and slain by footpads,\nall spun--black silhouettes in a revolving lantern--through Kano's\nfrenzied imagination.  It was at this point that Uchida had hid\nhimself, and assumed a false name.\nIn another week the gentle Um\u00e8 began to grow pale and silent under the\nsmall tyrannies of her father.  Mata openly declared her belief that it\nwas a demon now on the way to them, since he had power to change the\nplace into a cave of torment even before arrival.  After Uchida's\ndefection old Kano remained constantly at home.  Many hours at a time\nhe stood upon the moon-viewing hillock of his garden, staring up, then\ndown the street, up and down, up and down, until it was weariness to\nwatch him.  Within the rooms he was merely one curved ear, bent in the\ndirection of the entrance gate.  His nervousness communicated itself to\nthe women of the house.  They, too, were listening.  More than one\ninnocent visitor had been thrown into panic by the sight of three\nstrained faces at the gate, and three pairs of shining eyes set\ninstantly upon them.\nOne twilight hour, late in August, Tatsu came.  After an eager day of\nwatching, old Kano had just begun to tell himself that hope was over.\nTatsu had certainly been killed.  The ihai might as well be set up, and\nprayers offered for the dead man's soul.  Um\u00e8-ko, wearied by the heat,\nand the incessant strain, lay prone upon her matted floor, listening to\nthe chirp of a bell cricket that hung in a tiny bamboo cage near by.\nThe clear notes of the refrain, struck regularly with the sound of a\nfairy bell, had begun to help and soothe her.  Mata sat dozing on the\nkitchen step.\nA loud, sudden knock shattered in an instant this precarious calm.\nKano went through the house like a storm.  Mata, being nearest, flung\nthe panel of the gate aside.  There stood a creature with tattered blue\nrobe just to the knees, bare feet, bare head, with wild, tossing locks\nof hair, and eyes that gleamed with a panther's light.\n\"Is it--is it--Tatsu?\" screamed the old man, hurling his voice before\nhim.\n\"It is a madman,\" declared the servant, and flattened herself against\nthe hedge.\nUm\u00e8 said nothing at all.  After one look into the stranger's face she\nhad withdrawn, herself unseen, into the shadowy rooms.\n\"I am Tatsu of Kiu Shiu,\" announced the apparition, in a voice of\nstrange depth and sweetness.  \"Is this the home of Kano Indara?\"\n\"Yes, yes, I am Kano Indara,\" said the artist, almost grovelling on the\nstones.  \"Enter, dear sir, I beseech.  You must be weary.  Accompany me\nin this direction, august youth.  Mata, bring tea to the guest-room.\"\nTatsu followed his tempestuous host in silence.  As they gained the\nroom Kano motioned him to a cushion, and prepared to take a seat\nopposite.  Tatsu suddenly sank to his knees, bowing again and again,\nstiffly, in a manner long forgotten in fashionable Yeddo.\n\"Discard the ceremony of bowing, I entreat,\" said Kano.\n\"Why?  Is it not a custom here?\"\n\"Yes,--to a lesser extent.  But between us, dear youth, it is\nunnecessary.\"\n\"Why should it be unnecessary between us?\" persisted the unsmiling\nguest.\n\"Because we are artists, therefore brothers,\" explained Kano, in an\nencouraging voice.\nTatsu frowned.  \"Who are you, and why have you sent for me?\"\n\"Do you inquire who I am?\" said Kano, scarcely believing his ears.\n\"It is what I asked.\"\n\"I am Kano Indara.\"  The old man folded his arms proudly, waiting for\nthe effect.\nTatsu moved impatiently upon his velvet cushion.  \"Of course I knew\nthat.  It was the name on the scrap of paper that guided me here.\"\n\"Is it possible that you do not yet know the meaning of the name of\nKano?\" asked the artist, incredulously.  A thin red tingled to his\ncheek,--the hurt of childish vanity.\n\"There is one of that name in my village,\" said Tatsu.  \"He is a\nscavenger, and often gives me fine large sheets of paper.\"\nOld Kano's lip trembled.  \"I am not of his sort.  Men call me an\nartist.\"\n\"Oh, an artist!  Does that mean a painter of dragons, like me?\"\n\"Among other things of earth and air I have attempted to paint\ndragons,\" said Kano.\n\"I paint nothing else,\" declared Tatsu, and seemed to lose interest in\nthe conversation.\nKano looked hard into his face.  \"You say that you paint nothing else?\"\nhe challenged.  \"Are not these--all of them--your work, the creations\nof your fancy?\"  He reached out for the roll that Uchida had brought.\nHis hands trembled.  In his nervous excitement the papers fell,\nscattering broadcast over the floor.\nTatsu's dark face flashed into light.  \"My pictures!  My pictures!\" he\ncried aloud, like a child.  \"They always blow off down the mountain!\"\nKano picked up a study at random.  It was of a mountain tarn lying\nquiet in the sun.  Trees in a windless silence sprang straight upward\nfrom the brink.  Beyond and above these a few tall peaks stood thin and\npale, cutting a sky that was empty of all but light.\n\"Where is the dragon here?\" challenged the old man.\n\"Asleep under the lake.\"\n\"And where here?\" he asked quickly, in order to hide his discomfiture.\nThe second picture was a scene of heavy rain descending upon a village.\n\"Oh, I perceive for myself,\" he hurried on before Tatsu could reply.\n\"The dragon lies full length, half sleeping, on the soaking cloud.\"\nTatsu's lip curled, but he remained silent.\nThe old man's hands rattled among the edges of the papers.  \"Ah, here,\nMaster Painter, are you overthrown!\" he cried triumphantly, lifting the\npainting of a tall girl who swayed against a cloudy background.  The\nlines of the thin gray robe blew lightly to one side.  The whole figure\nhad the poise and lightness of a vision; yet in the face an exquisite\nhuman tenderness smiled out.  \"Show me a dragon here,\" repeated Kano.\nTatsu looked troubled and, for the first time, studied intently the\ncountenance of his host.  \"Surely, honored sir, if you are a painter,\nas you say you are, its meaning must be plain.  Look more closely.  Do\nyou not see on what the maiden stands?\"\n\"Of course I see,\" snapped Kano.  \"She stands among rocks and weeds,\nand looks marvellously like----\"  He broke off, thinking it better not\nto mention his daughter's name.  \"But I repeat, no dragon-thought is\nhere.\"\nTatsu reached out, took the picture, and tore it into shreds.  Then he\nrose to his feet.  \"Good-by,\" he said.  \"I shall now make a quick\nreturning.  You are of the blind among men.  My painting was the Dragon\nMaid, standing on the peaks of earth.  All my life I have sought her.\nThe people of my village think me mad because of her.  By reason that I\ncannot find, I paint.  Good-by!\"\n\"Good-by!\" echoed the other.  \"What do you mean?  What are you saying?\"\nThe face of a horrible possibility jeered at him.  His heart pounded\nthe lean ribs and stood still.  Tatsu was upon his feet.  In an instant\nmore he would be gone forever.\n\"Tatsu, wait!\" almost screamed the old man.  \"Surely you cannot mean to\nreturn when you have but now arrived!  Be seated.  I insist!  There is\nmuch to talk about.\"\n\"I have nothing to talk about.  When a thing is to be done, then it is\nbest to do it quickly.  Good-by!\"  He wheeled toward the deepening\nnight, the torn and soiled blue robe clinging to him as to the figure\nof a primeval god.\n\"Tatsu!  Tatsu!\" cried the other in an agony of fear.  \"Stop!  I\ncommand!\"\nTatsu turned, scowling.  Then he laughed.\n\"No, no, I did not mean the word 'command.'  I entreat you, Tatsu,\nbecause you are young and I am old; because I need you.  Dear youth,\nyou must be hungered and very weary.  Remain at least until our meal is\nserved.\"\n\"I desire no food of yours,\" said Tatsu.  \"Why did you summon me when\nyou had nothing to reveal?  You are no artist!  And I pine, already,\nfor the mountains!\"\n\"Then, Tatsu, if I am no artist, stay and teach me how to paint.  Yes,\nyes, you shall honorably teach me.  I shall receive reproof thankfully.\nI need you, Tatsu.  I have no son.  Stay and be my son.\"\nThe short, scornful laugh came again.  \"Your son!  What could you do\nwith a son like me?  You love to dwell in square cages, and wear smooth\nshiny clothes.  You eat tasteless foods and sleep like a cocoon that is\nrolled.  My life is upon the mountains; my food the wild grapes and the\nberries that grow upon them.  The pheasants and the mountain lions are\nmy friends.  I stifle in these lowlands.  I cannot stay.  I must\nbreathe the mountains, and there among the peaks some day--some day--I\nshall touch her sleeve, the sleeve of the Dragon Maiden whom I seek.\nLet me go, old man!  I have no business in this place!\"\nIn extremes of desperation one clutches at the semblance of a straw.  A\nlast, wild hope had flashed to Kano's mind.  \"Come nearer, Tatsu San,\"\nhe whispered, forcing his face into the distortion of a smile.  \"Lean\nnearer.  The real motive of my summons has not been spoken.\"\nCompelled by the strange look and manner of his host, Tatsu retraced a\nfew steps.  The old voice wheedled through the dusk.  \"In this very\nhouse, under my mortal control, the Dragon Maiden whom you seek is\nhidden.\"\nTatsu staggered back, then threw himself to the floor, searching the\nspeaker's face for truth.  \"Could you lie to me of such a thing as\nthis?\" he asked.\n\"No, Tatsu, by the spirits of my ancestors, I have such a maiden here.\nSoon I shall show you.  Only you must be patient and very quiet, that\nshe may manifest herself.\"\n\"I shall be quiet, Kano Indara.\"\nKano, shivering now with excitement and relief, clapped hands loudly\nand called on Mata's name.  The old dame entered, skirting warily the\nvicinity of the \"madman.\"\n\"Mata, fix your eyes on me only while I am speaking,\" began her master.\n\"Say to the Dragon Maid whom we keep in the chamber by the great plum\ntree that I, Kano Indara, command her to appear.  The costume must be\nworn; and let her enter, singing.  These are my instructions.  Assist\nthe maiden to obey them.  Go!\"\nHis piercing look froze the questions on her tongue.  \"And Mata,\" he\ncalled again, stopping her at the threshold, \"bring at once some heated\nsak\u00e8,--the best,--and follow it closely with the evening meal.\"\n\"Kashikomarimashita,\" murmured the servant, dutifully.  But within the\nsafety of her kitchen she exploded into execrations, muttering\nprophecies of evil, with lamentations that a Mad Thing from the\nmountains had broken into the serenity of their lives.\nTatsu, who had listened eagerly to the commands, now flung back his\nhead and drew a long breath.  \"My life being spent among wild\ncreatures,\" he murmured as if to himself, \"little skill have I in\njudging the ways of men.  How shall I believe that in this desert of\nhouses a true Dragon Maiden can be found?\"  Again he turned flashing\neyes upon his host.  \"I mistrust you, Kano Indara!  Your thin face\npeers like a fox from its hole.  If you deceive me,--yet must I\nremain,--for should she come----\"\n\"You shall soon perceive for yourself, dear Dragon Youth.\"\nMata entered with hot sak\u00e8.  \"Go!  We shall serve ourselves,\" said\nKano, much to her relief.\n\"I seldom drink,\" observed Tatsu, as the old man filled his cup.  \"Once\nit made of me a fool.  But I will take a little now, for I am very\nweary with the long day.\"\n\"Indeed, it must be so; but good wine refreshes the body and the mind\nalike,\" replied the other.  It was hard to pour the sak\u00e8 with such\nshaking hands, harder still to keep his eyes from the beautiful sullen\nface so near him, and yet he forced the wrinkled eyelids to conceal his\ndawning joy.  In Tatsu's strange submission, the artist felt that the\nnew glory of the Kano name was being born.\nIII\nFor a long interval the two men sat in silence.  Kano leaned forward\nfrom time to time, filling the small cup which Tatsu--half in revery it\nseemed--had once more drained.  The old servant now and again crept in\non soundless feet to replace with a freshly heated bottle of sak\u00e8 the\none grown cold.  So still was the place that the caged cricket hanging\nfrom the eaves of Um\u00e8's distant room beat time like an elfin metronome.\nTwo of the four walls of the guest-room were of shoji, a lattice\ncovered with translucent rice-paper.  These opened directly upon the\ngarden.  The third wall, a solid one of smoke-blue plaster, held the\nniche called \"tokonoma,\" where pictures are hung and flower vases set.\nThe remaining wall, opening toward the suite of chambers, was fashioned\nof four great sliding doors called fusuma, dull silver of background,\nwith paintings of shadowy mountain landscape done centuries before by\none of the greatest of the Kanos.  It was in front of these doors that\nMata now placed two lighted candles in tall bronze holders.\nOutside, the garden became a blur of soft darkness.  Within, the\nflickering yellow light of the candles danced through the room,\ntouching now the old face, now the young, each set hard in its own\nlines of concentrated thought.  Weird shadows played about the\nmountains on the silver doors, and hid in far corners of the matted\nfloor.\nAll at once the two central fusuma were apart.  No slightest sound had\nbeen made, yet there, in the narrow rectangle, stood a figure,--surely\nnot of earth,--a slim form in misty gray robes, wearing a crown of\nintertwisted dragons, with long filigree chains that fell straight to\nthe shoulders.  In one hand was held an opened fan of silver.\nTatsu gave a convulsive start, then checked himself.  He could not\nbelieve the vision real.  Not even in his despairing dreams had the\nDragon Maid appeared so exquisite.  As he gazed, one white-clad foot\nslid a few inches toward him on the shining floor.  Another step, and\nshe was in the room.  The fusuma behind her closed as noiselessly as\nthey had opened.  Tatsu shivered a little, and stared on.  With equal\nintensity the old man watched the face of Tatsu.\nThe figure had begun to sway, slightly, at full length, like long bands\nof perpendicular rain across the face of a mountain.  A singing voice\nbegan, rich, passionate, and low, matching with varying intonation the\nmarvellous postures of fan and throat and body.  At first low in sound,\nalmost husky, it flowered to a note long held and gradually deepening\nin power.  It gathered up shadows from the heart and turned them into\nlight.\nUm\u00e8-ko danced (or so she would have told you) only to fulfil her\nfather's command; yet, before she had reached the room, she knew that\nit would be such a dance as neither she nor the old artist had dreamed\nof.  That first glimpse of Tatsu's face at the gate had registered for\nher a notch upon the Revolving Wheel of Life.  His first spoken word\nhad aroused in her strange mystic memories from stranger hiding places.\nKarma entered with her into the little guest-room where she was to\ndance and charged the very air with revelation.  The words of the old\nclassic poem she had in her ignorance believed familiar, she knew that\nshe was now for the first time really to sing.\n\"Not for one life but for the blossoming of a thousand lives, shall I\nseek my lover, shall I regain his love,\" she sang.  No longer was it\nUm\u00e8-ko at all, but in actual truth the Dragon Maid, held from her lover\nby a jealous god, seeking him through fire and storm and sea, peering\nfor him into the courts of emperors, the shrines of the astonished\ngods, the very portals of the under-world.\nAnd Tatsu listened without sound or motion; only his eyes burned like\nbeacons in a windless night.  Kano wriggled himself backward on the\nmatting that the triumph of his face might not be seen.  Now and again\nhe leaned forward stealthily and filled Tatsu's cup.\nThe unaccustomed fluid was already pouring in a fiery torrent through\nthe boy's vivid brain.  His hands, slipped within the tattered blue\nsleeves, grasped tightly each the elbow of the other arm.  His ecstacy\nwas a drug, enveloping his senses; again it was a fire that threatened\nthe very altar of his soul.  Through it all he, as Um\u00e8-ko, realized\nfulfilment.  Here in this desert of men's huts he had gained what all\nthe towering mountains had not been able to bestow.  Here was his\nbride, made manifest, his mate, the Dragon Maid, found at last through\ncenturies of barren searching!  Surely, if he should spring now to his\nfeet, catch her to him and call upon his mountain gods for aid, they\nwould be hurled together to some paradise of love where only he and she\nand love would be alive!  He trembled and caught in his breath with a\nsob.  Kano glided a few feet nearer, and struck the matting sharply\nwith his hand.\nSuddenly the dance was over.  Um\u00e8-ko, quivering now in every limb, sank\nto the floor.  She bowed first to the guest of honor, then to her\nfather.  Touching her wet eyes with a silken sleeve she moved backward\nto the rear of the room where she seated herself upright, motionless as\nthe wall itself, between the two tall candles.  Tatsu's eyes never left\nher face.  Old Kano, in the background, rocked to and fro, and, after a\nshort pause of waiting, clapped his hands for Mata.\n\"Hai-ie-ie-ie-ie!\" came the thin voice, long drawn out, from the\nkitchen.  She entered with a tray of steaming food, placing it before\nTatsu.  A second tray was brought for the master, and a fresh bottle of\nwine.  Um\u00e8-ko sat motionless against the silver fusuma, an ivory image,\ncrowned and robed in shimmering gray.\nThe odor of good food attracted Tatsu's senses if not his eyes.  He ate\ngreedily, hastily, not seeing what he ate.  His manners were those of\nan untutored mountain peasant.\n\"Dragon Maid,\" purred Kano, \"weariness has come upon you.  Retire, I\npray, and deign to rest.\"\n\"No!\" said Tatsu, loudly.  \"She shall not leave this room.\"\n\"My concern is for the august maiden who has found favor in your\nsight,\" replied Kano, with a deprecating gesture.  \"Here, Tatsu, let me\nfill your cup.\"\nTatsu threw his cup face down to the floor, and put his lean, brown\nhand upon it.  \"I drink no more until my cup of troth with the maiden\nyonder.\"\nUm\u00e8-ko's startled eyes flew to his.  She trembled, and the blood slowly\nebbed from her face, leaving it pale and luminous with a sort of wonder.\n\"Go!\" said Kano again, and, in a daze, the girl rose and vanished from\nthe room.\nTatsu had hurled himself toward her, but it was too late.  He turned\nangrily to his host.  \"She is mine!  Why did you send her away?\"\n\"Gently, gently,\" cooed the other.  \"In this incarnation she is called\nmy daughter.\"\n\"I believe it not!\" cried Tatsu.  \"How came she under bondage to you?\nHave I not sought her through a thousand lives?  She is mine!\"\n\"Even so, in this life I am her father, and it is my command that she\nwill obey.\"\nTatsu rocked and writhed in his place.\n\"She is a good daughter,\" pursued the other, amiably.  \"She has never\nyet failed in docility and respect.  Without my consent you shall not\ntouch her,--not even her sleeve.\"\n\"I have sought her through a thousand lives.  I will slay him who tries\nto keep her from me!\" raved the boy.\n\"To kill her father would scarcely be a fortunate beginning,\" said\nKano, tranquilly.  \"Your hope lies in safer paths, dear youth.  There\nare certain social conventions attached even to a Dragon Maid.  Now if\nyou will calm yourself and listen to reason----\"\nTatsu sprang to his feet and struck himself violently upon the brow.\nThe hot wine was making a whirlpool of his brain.  \"Reason! convention!\nsafety!  I hate them all!  Oh, you little men of cities!  Farmyard\nfowls and swine, running always to one sty, following always one\nlead,--doing things in the one way that other base creatures have\nmarked out----\"\nKano laughed aloud.  His whole life had been a protest against\nconventionality, and this impassioned denunciation came from a new\nworld.  The sound maddened Tatsu.  He leaped to the veranda, now a mere\nledge thrust out over darkness, threw an arm about the slender\ncorner-post, and strained far out, gasping, into the night.  Kano\nfilled his pipe with leisurely deliberation.  The time was past for\nfear.\nIn a few moments the boy returned, his face ugly, black, and sullen.\n\"I will be your son if you give me the maiden,\" he muttered.\n\"Come now, this is much better,\" said Kano, with a genial smile.  \"We\nshall discuss the matter like rational men.\"\nTatsu ground his teeth so that the other heard him.\n\"Have a pipe,\" said Kano.\n\"I want no pipe.\"\n\"At least make yourself at ease upon the cushion while I speak.\"\n\"I am more at ease without it,\" said the boy, flinging the velvet\nsquare angrily across the room.  \"Ugh!  It is like sitting on a dead\ncat.  Kindly speak without further care for me.  I am at ease!\"\nKano glanced at the burning eyes, the quivering face and twitching\nmuscles with a smile.  The intensity of ardor touched him.  He drew a\nshort sigh, the look of complacency left his for an instant, and he\nbegan, deliberately, \"As you may have gathered from my letter, I am\nwithout a son.\"\nTatsu nodded shortly.\n\"Worse than this, among all my disciples here in Yeddo there has\nappeared none worthy to inherit the name and traditions of my race.\nNow, dear youth, when I first saw these paintings of yours, the hope\nstirred in me that you might be that one.\"\n\"Do you mean that I should paint things as paltry as your own?\"\n\"No, not exactly, though even from my poor work you might gain some\nvaluable lessons of technique.\"\n\"I know not that word,\" said Tatsu.  \"When I must paint, I paint.  What\nhas all this to do with the Dragon Maiden?\"\n\"Softly, softly; we are coming to that now,\" said Kano.  \"If, after\ntrial, I should find you really worthy of adoption, nothing could be\nmore appropriate than for you to become the husband of my daughter.\"\nTatsu dug his nails into the matting of the floor.\n\"Suitable--appropriate--husband!\" he groaned aloud.  \"Farmyard\ncackle,--all of it.  Oh, to be joined in the manner of such earthlings\nto a Dragon Maid like this!  Old man, cannot even you feel the horror\nof it?  No, your eyes blink like a pig that has eaten.  You cannot see.\nShe should be made mine among storm and wind and mist on some high\nmountain peak, where the gods would lean to us, and great straining\nforests roar out our marriage hymn!\"\n\"There is indeed something about it that appeals to me.  It would make\na fine subject for a painting.\"\n\"Oh, oh,\" gasped Tatsu, and clutched at his throat.  \"When will you\ngive her to me, Kano Indara?  Shall it be to-night?\"\n\"To-night?  Are you raving!\" cried the astonished Kano.  \"It would be\nat the very least a month.\"\nTatsu rose and staggered to the veranda.  \"A month!\" he whispered to\nthe stars.  \"Shall I live at all?  Good-night, old man of clay,\" he\ncalled suddenly, and with a light step was down upon the garden path.\nKano hurried to him.  \"Stop, stop, young sir,\" he called half clicked,\nnow, with laughter.  \"Do not go in this rude way.  You are my guest.\nThe women are even now preparing your bed.\"\n\"I lie not on beds,\" jeered Tatsu through the darkness.  \"Vile things\nthey are, like the ooze that smears the bottom of a lake.  I climb this\nhillside for my couch.  To-morrow, with the sun, I shall return!\"\nThe voice, trailing away through silence and the night, had a tone of\nsupernatural sweetness.  When it had quite faded Kano stared on, for a\nlong time, into the fragrant solitude.  Stars were out now by\nthousands, a gold mosaic set into a high purple dome.  Off to the south\na wide blur of artificial light hung above the city, the visible\nexpression, as it were, of the low, human roar of life, audible even in\nthis sheltered nook.  To the north, almost it seemed within touch of\nhis hands, the temple cliff rose black, formidable, and impressive, a\ngigantic wall of silence.  The camphor tree overhead was thrown out\ndarkly against the stars, like its own shadow.  The velvety boom of the\ntemple bell, striking nine, held in its echoes the color and the\nsoftness of the hour.\nKano, turning at last from the veranda, slowly re-entered the\nguest-room, and seated himself upon one of the cushions that had\naroused Tatsu's scorn.  A dead cat,--forsooth!  Well to old bones a\ndead cat might be better than no cushion!  Mata had come in very\nsoftly.  \"I prayed the gods for him,\" Kano was muttering aloud, \"and I\nthank them that he is here.  To-morrow I shall make offering at the\ntemple.  Yet I have thanks, too, that there is but one of him.  Ah,\nMata,--you?  My hot bath, is it ready?  And, friend Mata, do you recall\na soothing draught you once prepared for me at a time of great mental\nstrain,--there was, I think, something I wished to do with a picture,\nand the picture would not allow it.  I should like a draught like that\nto-night.\"\n\"Kashikomarimashita.  I recall it,\" said old Mata, grimly, \"and I shall\nmake it strong, for you have something worse than pictures to deal with\nnow.\"\n\"Thanks.  I was sure you would remember,\" smiled the old man, and Mata,\ndisarmed of her cynicism, could say no more.\nUm\u00e8 remained in her chamber.  She had not been seen since the dance.\nAll her fusuma and shoji were closed.  Mata, in leaving her master,\nlooked tentatively toward this room, but after an imperceptible pause\nkept on down the central passageway of the house to the bathroom, at\nthe far end.  The place smelled of steam, of charcoal fumes, and cedar\nwood.  With two long, thin iron \"fire-sticks,\" Mata poked, from the\ntop, the heap of darkening coals in the cylindrical furnace that was\nbuilt into one end of the tub.  For the protection of the bather this\nwas surrounded with a wooden lattice which, being always wet when the\nfurnace was in use, never charred.  The tub itself was of sugi-wood.\nAfter years of service it still gave out unfailingly its aromatic\nbreath, and felt soft to the touch, like young leaves.  Sighing\nheavily, the old servant bared her arm and leaned over to stir the\nwater, to draw down by long, elliptical swirls of motion the heated\nupper layers into cold strata at the bottom.  She then wiped her arm on\nher apron and went to the threshold of the guest-room to inform the\nwaiting occupant.  \"In ten minutes more, without fail, the water will\nbe at right heat for your augustness.\"\nNow, in the kitchen, a great searching among jars and boxes on high\nshelves told of preparation for the occasional brew.  Again she thought\nof calling Um\u00e8.  Um\u00e8 could reach the highest shelf without standing on\nan inverted rice-pot, or the even more precarious fish-cleaning bench.\nAnd again, for a reason not quite plain to herself, Mata decided not to\ncall.  She threw a fresh handful of twigs and dried ferns to the\nsleeping ashes of the brazier, set a copper skillet deep into the\nanswering flame, and began dropping dried bits of herbs into the\nsimmering water.  Instantly the air was changed,--was tinged and\ninterpenetrated with hurrying, spicy fumes, with hints of a bitter\nbark, of jellied gums, of resin, and a compelling odor which should\nhave been sweet, but was only nauseating.  The steam assumed new colors\nas it rose.  Each sprite of aromatic perfume when released plunged into\nnoiseless tumult with opposing fumes.  The kitchen was a crucible, and\nthe old dame a mediaeval alchemist.  The flames and smoke striving\nupward, as if to reach her bending face, made it glow with the hue of\nthe copper kettle, a wrinkled copper, etched deep with lines of life,\nof merriment, perplexity, of shrewd and practical experience.\nAs she stirred, testing by nose and eye the rapid completion of her\nwork, she was determining to put aside for her own use a goodly share\nof the beneficent fluid.  The coming of the wild man had unnerved her\nterribly.  In the threatening family change she could perceive nothing\nbut menace.  Apprehension even now weighed down upon her, a\nforeshadowing of evil that had, somehow, a present hostage in the deep\nsilence of Um\u00e8's room.  Of what was her nursling thinking?  How had it\nseemed to her, so guarded, and so delicately reared, this being\nsummoned like a hired geisha to dance before a stranger,--a ragged,\nunkempt, hungry stranger!  Even her father's well-known madness for\nthings of art could scarcely atone to his child for this indignity.\nKano had gone promptly to his bath.  He was now emerging.  His bare\nfeet grazed the wooden corridor.  Mata ran to him.  \"Good!  Ah, that\nwas good!\" he said heartily.  \"Five years of aches have I left in the\ntub!\"  Within his chamber the andon was already lighted, and the long,\nsilken bed-cushions spread.  Mata assisted him to slip down carefully\nbetween the mattress and the thin coverlid.  She patted and arranged\nhim as she would a child, and then went to fetch the draught.  \"Mata,\nthou art a treasure,\" he said, as she knelt beside him, the bowl\noutstretched.  He drained the last drop, and the old friends exchanged\nsmiles of answering satisfaction.  Before leaving him she trimmed and\nlowered the andon so that its yellow light would be a mere glimmer in\nthe darkness.\nShe moved now deliberately to Um\u00e8's fusuma, tapping lightly on the\nlacquered frame.  \"Miss Um\u00e8!  O Jo San!\" she called.  Nothing answered.\nMata parted the fusuma an inch.  The Japanese matted floor, even in\ndarkness, gives out a sort of ghostly, phosphorescent glow.  Thus, in\nthe unlit space Mata could perceive that the girl lay at full length,\nher Dragon Robe changed to an ordinary house dress, her long hair\nunbound, her face turned downward and hidden on an outstretched arm.\nIt was not a pose of grief, neither did it hint of slumber.\n\"Honorable Young Lady of the House,\" said Mata, now more severely, \"I\ncame to announce your bath.  The august father having already entered\nand withdrawn, it is your turn.\"\nThis time Um\u00e8 answered her, not, however, changing her position.  \"I do\nnot care to take the bath to-night.  You enter, I pray, without further\nwaiting.  I--I--should like to be left alone, nurse.  I myself will\nunroll the bed and light the andon.\"\nMata leaned nearer.  Her voice was a theatrical whisper.  \"Is it that\nyou are outraged, my Um\u00e8-ko, at your father's strange demand upon you?\nI was myself angered.  He would scarcely have done so much for a Prince\nof the Blood,--and to make you appear before so crude and ignorant a\nthing as that--\"\nUm\u00e8 sat upright.  \"No, I am angered at nothing.  I only wish to be\nalone.  Ah, nurse, you have always spoiled me,--give me my way.\"\nMata went off grumbling.  She wished that Um\u00e8 had shown a more natural\nindignation.  The hot bath, however, notwithstanding Kano's five lost\nyears of pain presumably in solution, brought her ease of body, as did\nthe soothing potion, ease of mind.\nAll night long the old folks heavily slept; and all night long little\nUm\u00e8-ko drifted in a soft, slow rising flood of consciousness that was\nneither sleep nor waking, though wrought of the intertwining strands of\neach.  Again she saw the dark face in the gateway.  It was a mere\npicture in a frame, set for an artist's joy.  Then it seemed a summons,\ncalling her to unfamiliar paths,--a prophecy, a clew.  Again she heard\nhis voice,--an echo made of all these things, and more.  She tried to\nforce herself to think of him merely as an artist would think; how the\nlines of the shoulders and the throat flowed upward, like dark flame,\nto the altar of his face.  How the hair grew in flame upon his brow,\nhow the dark eyes, fearless and innocent with the look of primeval\nyouth, indeed, held a strange human pain of searching.  The mere\nremembered pictures of him rose and fell with her as sea-flowers, or\nlong river grass; but when there came remembered shiver of his words,\n\"I drink no more until my cup of troth with the maiden yonder!\" then\nall drifting ceased; illusion was at an end.  With a gasp she felt\nherself falling straight down through a swirling vortex of sensation,\nto the very sand-bed of the stream.  Now she was sitting upright (the\nsand-bed had suddenly become the floor of her little room), her hands\npressing a heart that was trying to escape, her young eyes straining\nthrough the darkness to see,--ah!--she could see nothing at all for the\nshining!\nShe listened now with bated breath, thinking that by some unconscious\ncry she might have aroused the others.  No, Kano breathed on softly,\nregularly, in the next room; while from the kitchen wing came\nunfaltering the beat of Mata's nasal metronome.\nIn one such startled interval of waking her caged cricket had given out\nits plaintive cry.  All at once it seemed to Um\u00e8-ko an unbearable thing\nfor any spark of life to be so prisoned.  She longed to set him free,\nbut even though she opened wide her shoji, the outer night-doors, the\namado stretched, a relentless opaque wall, along the four sides of the\nhouse.\nShe lay quiet now for a long time.  \"I will return with the sun,\" he\nhad said.  She wished that the cricket were indeed outside, and could\ntell her of the first dawn-stirring.  It was very close and dark in the\nlittle room.  She had not lighted the andon after all.  It could not be\nso dark outside.  With very cautious fingers she began now to separate\nthe shoji that opened on the garden side.  A breath of exquisite night\nair rushed in to her from the lattices above the amado.  It would be a\ndifficult matter to push even one of these aside without waking the\nhouse.  Yet, there were two things in her favor; the unusually heavy\nsleep of her companions and the fact that the amado had a starting\npoint in their long grooves from a shallow closet very near her room.\nSo instead of having to remove the whole chain, each clasping by a\nmetal hand, its neighbor, she had but to unbar the initial panel, coax\nit noiselessly apart just far enough to emit a not too bulky form, and\nthen the night would be hers.\nThere had been in the girl's life so little need of cunning or of\nstrategy that her innocent adventure now brought a disturbing sense of\ncrime.  She had unlatched the first amado in safety, and had her white\narms braced to push it to one side, when, suddenly she thought, \"I am\nacting like a thief!  Perhaps I am feeling like a thief!  This is a\nterrible thing and must displease the gods.\"  Her hands dropped limply,\nshe must not continue with this deed.  Somewhere near her feet the\ncricket gave out an importunate chirp.  She stooped to him, feeling\nabout for the little residence with tender, groping hands.  She must\ngive him freedom, though she dared not take it for herself.  Yet it\nwould be sweet to breathe the world for its own sake once more before\nhe--and the sun--returned.\nThe amado went back as if of itself.  In an instant Um\u00e8's face was\namong the dew-wet leaves of the plum tree.  Oh, it was sweet!  The\nnight smelled of silence and the stars.  She threw back her head to\ndrink it like a liquid.  She lifted the insect in its cage.  By holding\nit high, against a star of special brightness, she could see the tiny\nbit of life gazing at her through its bars.  She opened the door of the\ncage, and set it among the twigs of the plum.  Then barefooted,\nungirdled, with hair unbound, she stepped down upon the stone beneath\nthe tree, and then to the garden path.\nIV\nThe pebbles of the garden were slippery and cold under the feet that\npressed them.  Also they hurt a little.  Um\u00e8 longed to return for her\nstraw sandals, but this freedom of the night was already far too\nprecious for jeopardy.  She caught her robe about her throat and was\nglad of the silken shawl of her long hair.  How thickly shone the\nstars!  It must be close upon the hour of their waning, yet how big and\nsoft; and how companionable!  She stretched her arms up to them, moving\nas if they drew her down the path.  They were more real, indeed, than\nthe dim and preternatural space in which she walked.\nShe looked slowly about upon that which should have been commonplace\nand found the outlines alone to be unaltered.  There were the hillock,\nthe house, the thick hedge-lines square at the corners with black bars\nhard as wood against the purple night; there were the winding paths and\nlittle courts of open gravel.  She could have put her hand out, saying,\n\"Here, on this point, should be the tall stone lantern; here, in this\nsheltered curve, a fern.\"  Both lantern and fern would have been in\nplace; and yet, despite these evidences of the usual, all that once\nmade the sunlit garden space an individual spot, was, in this dim,\nghostly air, transformed.  The spirit of the whole had taken on weird\nmeaning.  It was as if Mata's face looked suddenly upon her with the\nold abbot's eyes.  Fantastic possibilities crouched, ready to spring\nfrom every shadow.  The low shrubs held themselves in attitudes of\nflight.  This was a world in which she had no part.  She knew herself a\nparadox, the violator of a mood; but the enchantment held her.\nShe had reached now the edge of the pond.  It was a surface of polished\nlacquer, darker than the night, and powdered thick with the gold of\nreflected stars.  Leaning over, she marvelled at the silhouette of her\nown slim figure.  It did not seem to have an actual place among these\nfrail phantasmagoria.  As she stared on she noticed that the end of the\npond farthest from her, to the west, quivered and turned gray.  She\nlooked quickly upward and around.  Yes, there to the east was the\nanswering blur of light.  Dawn had begun.\nShe ran now to the top of the moon-viewing hill.  The earth was wider\nhere; the dawn more at home.  Below her where the city used to be was\nno city, only a white fog-sea, without an island.  The cliff, black at\nthe base, rising gradually into thinner gray, drove through the air\nlike the edge of a coming world.  A chill breeze swept out from the\nhollow, breathing of waking grasses and of dew.  The girl shivered, but\nit was with ecstacy.  \"I climb this hillside for my couch, to-night!\"\nWas he too waking, watching, feeling himself intruder upon a soundless\nritual?  There was a hissing noise as of a fawn hurrying down a tangled\nslope.  The hedge near the cliff end of the garden dipped and squeaked\nand shook indignant plumes after a figure that had desecrated its green\nguardianship, and was now striding ruthlessly across the enclosure.\nUm\u00e8 heard and saw; then wrung her hands in terror.  It was he, of\ncourse,--the Dragon Painter; and he would speak with her.  What could\nshe do?  Family honor must be maintained, and so she could not cry for\nhelp.  Why had her heart tormented her to go into the night?  Why had\nshe not thought of this possibility?  Because of it, life, happiness,\neverything might be wrecked, even before they had dared to think of\nhappiness by name!\nTatsu had reached her.  Leaning close he set his eyes to her face as\none who drinks deep and silently.\n\"I must not remain.  Oh, sir, let me pass!\" she whispered.\nHe did not speak or try to touch her.  A second gust of wind came from\nthe cliff, blowing against his hand a long tress of her hair.  It was\nwarm and perfumed, and had the clinging tenderness of youth.  He\nshivered now, as she was doing, and stood looking down at his hand.\nUm\u00e8 made a swift motion as if to pass him; but he threw out the barrier\nof an arm.\n\"I have been calling you all the night.  Now, at last, you have come.\nWhy did you never answer me upon the mountains?\"\n\"Indeed, I could not.  I was not permitted.  As you must see for\nyourself, lord, in this incarnation I am but a mortal maiden.\"\n\"I do not see it for myself,\" said Tatsu, with a low, triumphant laugh.\n\"I see something different!\"  Suddenly he reached forward, caught the\nlong ends of her hair and held them out to left and right, the full\nwidth of his arms.  They stood for a moment in intense silence, gazing\neach into the face of the other.  The rim of the dawn behind them cut,\nwith its flat, gold disc, straight down to the heart of the world.\n\"You a mortal!\" said the boy again, exultantly.  \"Why, even now, your\nface is the white breast of a great sea-bird, your hair, its shining\nwings, and your soul a message that the gods have sent to me!  Oh, I\nknow you for what you are,--my Dragon Maid, my bride!  Have I not\nsought you all these years, tracing your face on rocks and sand-beds of\nmy hills, hanging my prayers to every blossoming tree?  Come, you are\nmine at last; here is your master!  We will escape together while the\nstupid old ones sleep!  Come, soul of my soul, to our mountains!\"\nHe would have seized her, but a quick, passionate gesture of repulsion\nkept him back.  \"I am the child of Kano Indara,\" she said.  \"He, too,\nhas power of the gods, and I obey him.  Oh, sir, believe that you, as\nI, are subject to his will, for if you set yourself against him--\"\n\"Kano Indara concerns me not at all,\" cried Tatsu, half angrily.  \"It\nis with you,--with you alone, I speak!\"\nUm\u00e8 poised at the very tip of the hill.  \"Look, sir,--the plum tree,\"\nshe whispered, pointing.  So sudden was the change in voice and manner\nthat the other tripped and was caught by it.  \"That longest, leafy\nbranch touches the very wall of my room,\" she went on, creeping always\na little down the hill.  \"If you again will write such things to me,\ntrusting your missive to that branch, I shall receive it, and--will\nanswer.  Oh, it is a bold, unheard-of thing for a girl to do, but I\nshall answer.\"\n\"I should like better that you meet me here each morning at this hour,\"\nsaid Tatsu.\nThe girl looked about her swiftly, gave a little cry, and clasped her\nhands together.  \"See, lord, the day comes fast.  Mata, my old nurse,\nmay already be astir.  I saw a flock of sparrows fly down suddenly to\nthe kitchen door.  And there, above us, on the great camphor tree, the\nsun has smitten with a fist of gold!\"\nTatsu gazed up, and when his eyes returned to earth he found himself\ncompanionless.  He threw himself down, a miserable heap, clasping his\nknees upon the hill.  No longer was the rosy dawn for him.  He found no\ntimid beauty in the encroaching day.  His sullen look fastened itself\nupon the amado beneath the plum tree.  The panels were now tightly\nclosed.  The house itself, soundless and gray in the fast brightening\nspace, mocked him with impassivity.\nA little later, when the neighborhood reverberated to the slamming of\namado and the sharp rattle of paper dusters against taut shoji panes;\nwhen fragrant faggot smoke went up from every cottage, and the street\ncries of itinerant venders signalled domestic buying for the day, Mata\ndiscovered the wild man in the garden, and roused her sleeping master\nwith the news.  She went, too, to Um\u00e8's room, and was reassured to see\nthe girl apparently in slumber within a neat bed, the andon burning\ntemperately in its corner, and the whole place eloquent of innocence\nand peace, Kano shivered himself into his day clothes (the process was\nnot long), and hurried out to meet his guest.\n\"O Haiyo gozaimasu!\" he called.  \"You have found a good spot from which\nto view the dawn.\"\n\"Good morning!\" said Tatsu, looking about as if to escape.\n\"Come, enter my humble house with me, young sir.  Breakfast will soon\nbe served.\"\nTatsu rose instantly, though the gesture was far from giving an effect\nof acquiescence.  He shook his cramped limbs with as little ceremony as\nif Kano were a shrub, and then turned, with the evident intention of\nflight.  Suddenly the instinct of hunger claimed him.  Breakfast!  That\nhad a pleasant sound.  And where else was he to go for food!  He\nwheeled around to his waiting host.  \"I thank you.  I will enter!\" he\nsaid, and attempted an archaic bow.\nMata brought in to them, immediately, hot tea and a small dish of\npickled plums.  Kano drew a sigh of relief as he saw Tatsu take up a\nplum, and then accept, from the servant's hands, a cup of steaming tea.\nThese things promised well for future docility.\nIt could not be said that the meal was convivial.  Um\u00e8-ko had received\norders from her father not to appear.  Tatsu's eyes, even as he ate,\nroamed ever along the corridors of the house, out to the garden, and\npried at the closed edges of the fusuma.  This restlessness brought to\nthe host new apprehension.  Such tension could not last.  Tatsu must be\nenticed from the house.\nAfter some hesitation and a spasmodic clearing of the throat, the old\nman asked, \"Will you accompany me, young sir, upon a short walk to the\ncity?\"\n\"Why should I go to the city?\"\n\"Ah--er--domo! it is, as you know, the centre of the universe, and has\nmany wonderful sights,--great temples, theatres, wide shops for selling\nclothes--\"\n\"I care nothing for these things.\"\n\"There are gardens, too; and a broad, shining river.  Shall we not go\nto the autumn flowering garden of the Hundred Corners?\"\n\"To such a place as that I would go alone,--or with her,\" said the boy,\nhis disconcerting gaze fixed on the other's face.  \"When is the Dragon\nMaiden to appear?\"\nKano looked down upon the matting.  He cleared his throat again,\ndrained a fresh cup of tea, and answered slowly, \"Since she and I are\nof the city,--not the mountains,--and must abide in some degree by the\ncity's social laws, you will not see her any more at all, unless it be\narranged that you become her husband.\"\n\"And then,--if I become what you say,--how soon?\" the other panted.\n\"I shall need to speak with the women of my house concerning this,\"\nsaid Kano in a troubled voice.  He too, though Tatsu must not dream it,\nchafed at convention.  He longed to set the marriage for next\nweek,--next day, indeed,--and have the waiting over.  Kano hated, of\nall things, to wait.  Something might befall this untrained citizen at\nany hour,--then where would the future of the Kano name be found?\nHe had scarcely noted how the boy crouched and quivered in his place,\nas an animal about to spring.  This indecision was a goad, a barb.  Yet\nhe was helpless!  The memory of Um\u00e8's whispered words came back: \"He,\ntoo, has power of the gods. . . .  Believe, sir, that you, as I, are\nsubject to his will.\"  How could it be permitted of the gods that two\nbeings like themselves,--fledged of divinity, touched with ethereal\nfire,--were under bondage to this wrinkled fox!\nTatsu flung himself sidewise upon the floor, and made as if to rise;\nthen, in a dull reaction, settled back into his place.  \"You say she is\nnot to come before me in this house to-day?\"\n\"No, nor on other days, until your marriage.\"\n\"Then I go forth into the city,--alone,\" said the boy.  He rose, but\nKano stopped him.\n\"Wait!  I shall accompany you, if but a little way.  You do not know\nthe roads.  You will be lost!\"\n\"I could return to this place from the under-rim of the world,\" said\nTatsu.  \"Bound, crippled, blindfold,--I should come straight to it.\"\n\"Maybe, maybe,\" said Kano, \"nevertheless I will go.\"\nTatsu would have defied him, outright, but Um\u00e8's words remained with\nhim.  Nothing mattered, after all, if he was some day to gain her.  He\nmust be patient, put a curb upon his moods!  This was a fearful task\nfor one like him, but he would strive for self-control just as one\nthrows down a tree to bridge a torrent.  After the Dragon Maid was\nwon,--well then,--this halting insect man need not trouble them.  They\nleft the house together, Tatsu in scowling silence at the unwelcomed\ncomradeship, Kano hard put to it to match his steps with the boy's\nlong, swinging mountain stride.\n\"What am I to do with this wild falcon for a month?\" thought Kano, half\nin despair, yet smiling, also, at the humor.  \"He must be clothed,--but\nhow?  I would sooner sheathe a mountain cat in silks!  The one hope of\nexistence during this interval is to get him engrossed in painting; but\nwhere is he to paint?  I dare not keep him in the house with Um\u00e8, nor\nwith old Mata, neither, for she might poison him.  If only Ando Uchida\nhad not gone away, leaving no address!\"\nMeantime, in the Kano home, Mata and Um\u00e8 moved about in different\nplanes of consciousness.  The elder was still irritated by the\nmorning's event.  She considered it a personal indignity, a family\noutrage, that her master should walk the streets of Yeddo with a\nvagabond possessing neither hat nor shoes, and only half a kimono.\nEach tended, as usual, her allotted household tasks.  There was no\nchange in the outer performance of the hours, but Mata remained alert,\ndisturbed, and the girl tranquilly oblivious.  The old face searching\nwith keen eyes the young noted with troubled frown the frequent smile,\nthe intervals of listless dreaming, the sudden starts, as by the prick\nof memory still new, and dipped in honey.  There seemed to be in Um\u00e8-ko\na gentle yearning for a human presence, though, to speak truly, Mata\ncould not be certain that she was either heard or seen for fully one\nhalf of the time.  The hour had almost reached the shadowless one of\nnoon.  Um\u00e8-ko's work was done.  She had taken up her painting, only to\nput it listlessly to one side.  The pretty embroidery frame met the\nsame indignity.  She sat now on the kitchen ledge, while Mata made the\nfire and washed the rice, toying idly with a white pebble chosen for\nits beauty from thousands on the garden path.  Something in the\nchildlike attitude, the placid, irresponsible face, brought the old\nservant's impatience to a climax.  She deliberately hurled a dart.\n\"I suppose you know, Miss Um\u00e8, that your father may actually adopt this\ngoblin from Kiu Shiu!\"\n\"Ah, do you mean Sir Tatsu?  Yes, I know.  He, my father, has always\nlonged to have a son.\"\n\"A son is desirable when the price is not too great,\" said the old\ndame, nodding sagely.  \"You are old enough to realize also, Miss Kano\nUm\u00e8-ko, what is the meaning of adoption into a family where there is a\ndaughter of marriageable age.\"\nUm\u00e8's face drooped over until the pebble caught a rosy glow.  The old\nservant chuckled.  \"Eh, young mistress, you know what I mean?  You are\nthinking of it?\"\n\"I am trying very hard not to think of it,\" said Um\u00e8.\n\"Ma-a-a!  And I have little wonder for that fact!  Your father will\nsacrifice you without a tear,--he cares but for pictures.  And Mata is\nhelpless,--Mata cannot help her babe!  Ar\u00e0!  It is a world of dust!\"\n\"How old was my mother when she came here, Mata?\"\n\"Just eighteen.  Younger than you are now, my treasure.\"\n\"She was both beautiful and happy, you have said.\"\n\"Yes, both, both!  Ah, how time speeds for the old.  It seems but a\nshort year or more that we two entered here together, she and I.  From\nchildhood I had nursed her.  I thought your father old for her, in\nspite of his young heart and increasing fame.  But he loved her truly,\nand has mourned for her.  Even now he prays thrice daily before her\nihai on the shrine.  And she loved him,--almost too deeply for a woman\nof her class.  She loved him, and was happy!\"\n\"Only one year!\" sighed Um\u00e8.  \"But it must be a great thing to be happy\neven for one year.  Some people are not happy ever at all.\"\n\"One must not think of personal happiness,--it is wicked.  Does not\neven your old mumbling abbot on the hill tell you so much?  And now, of\nall times, do not start the dreaming.  You will be sacrificed to art,\"\nsaid Mata, gloomily.\n\"Do I look like my mother, Mata San?\"\nThe old dame wiped her eyes on her sleeve that she might see more\nclearly.  Something in the girl's pure, upraised face caught at her\nheart, and the tears came afresh.  \"Wait,\" she whispered; \"stay where\nyou are, and you shall see your mother's face.\"  She went into her tiny\nchamber, and from her treasures brought out a metal mirror given her by\nthe young wife, Uta-ko.  \"Look,--close,\" she said, placing it in Um\u00e8's\nhand.  \"That is the bride of nineteen years ago.  Never have you looked\nso like her as at this hour!\"\nKano came back alone,--tired, dusty, and discouraged.  Tatsu had\nescaped him, he said, at the first glimpse of the Sumida River.  There\nwas no telling when he might return,--whether he would ever return.  To\nattempt control of Tatsu was like caging a storm in bamboo bars.\nMata's eyes narrowed at this recital.  \"Yet I fervently thank the gods\nfor him,\" said the speaker, sharply, in defiance of her look.\nRestored to comparative serenity, Kano, later in the afternoon, sent\nfor his daughter, and condescended to unfold to her those plans in\nwhich she played a vital part.\n\"Um\u00e8-ko, my child, you have always been a good and obedient daughter.\nI shall expect no opposition from you now,\" he began, in the manner of\na patriarch.\nUm\u00e8 bowed respectfully.  \"Thank you, dear father.  What has arisen that\nyou think I may wish to oppose?\"\n\"I did not say that I expected you to oppose anything.  I said, on the\ncontrary, it was something I expected you not to oppose.\"\n\"I await respectfully the words which shall tell me what it is I am not\nto oppose,\" said Um\u00e8-ko, quite innocently, with another bow.  Kano put\non his horn-rimmed spectacles.  There was something about his daughter\nnot altogether reassuring.  His prearranged sentences began to slip\naway, like sand.\n\"I will speak briefly.  I wish you to become the wife of the Dragon\nPainter, that we may secure him to the race of Kano.  He has no name of\nhis own.  He is the greatest painter since Sesshu!\"  The speaker waved\nhis hands.  All had been said.\nIn the deep, following silence each knew that old Mata's ear felt, like\na hand, at the crevice of the shoji.\n\"Father, are you sure,--have you yet spoken to--to--him,\" Um\u00e8-ko\nfaltered at last.  \"Would he augustly condescend?\"\n\"Condescend!\" echoed the old man with a laugh.  \"Why, he demanded it\nlast night, even in the first hour of meeting.  He was angered that I\ndid not give you up at once.  He says you are his already.  Oh, he is\nstrange and wild, this youth.  There are no reins to hold him, but--he\nis a painter!\"\nA grunt of derision came from the kitchen wall.  Um\u00e8 sat motionless,\nbut her face was growing very pale.\n\"Well,\" said her father with impatience, \"do you agree?  And what is\nthe earliest possible date?\"\n\"I must consult with Mata,\" whispered the girl.\n\"She listens at the crack.  Consult her now,\" said Kano.\nThe old dame threw aside the shoji like an armor, and walked in.  \"Yes,\nask me what I think!  Ask the old servant who has nursed Miss Um\u00e8 from\nher birth, managed the house, scrubbed, haggled, washed, and broken her\nold bones for you!  This is my advice,--freely given,--make of the\nyouth her jinrikisha man, but not her husband!\"\n\"Impertinent old witch!\" cried Kano.  \"You are asked for nothing but\nthe earliest possible date for the marriage!\"\n\"Do you give yourself so tamely to a dangerous wild creature from the\nhills?\" Mata demanded of the girl.\n\"Yes, yes, she'll marry him,\" said Kano, before her words could come.\n\"The date,--the earliest possible hour!  Will two weeks be too soon?\"\n\"Two weeks!\" shrieked the old dame, and staggered backward.  \"Is it of\nthe scavenger's daughter that you speak?\"\n\"Four weeks, then,--a month.  It cannot be more.  I tell you, woman,\nfor a longer time than this I cannot keep the youth at bay.  Is a month\ndecent in convention's eyes?\"\nMata began to sob loudly in her upraised sleeve.\n\"I see that it is at least permissible,\" said Kano, grimly.  \"What a\nweak set of social idiots we are, after all.  Tatsu is right to scorn\nus!  Well, well, a month from this date, deep in the golden heart of\nautumn, will the wedding be.\"\n\"If the day be propitious and the stars in harmony,\" supplemented Mata.\n\"She shall not be married in the teeth of evil fortune, if I have to\nmurder the Dragon Painter with my fish-knife!\"\n\"Oh, go; have the stars arranged to suit you.  Here's money for it!\"\nHe fumbled in his belt for a purse of coin, threw it to the mats, and,\nover the old dame's stooping back, motioned Um\u00e8-ko permission to\nwithdraw.  The girl went swiftly, thankful for the release.\n\"A good child,--a daughter to thank the gods for,\" chuckled Kano, as\nshe left.\nMata looked sharply about, then leaned to her master's ear.  \"You are\nblind; you are an earth-rat, Kano Indara.  This is not the usual\nsubmission of a silly girl.  Um\u00e8 is thinking things we know nothing of.\nDid you not see that her face was as a bean-curd in its whiteness?  She\nkept so still, only because she was shaking in all directions at once.\nThere, look at her now!  She is fleeing to the garden with the\nuncertain step of one drunk with deep foreboding!\"\n\"Bah! you are an old raven croaking in a fog!  Go back to your pots.  I\ncan manage my own child!\"\n\"You have never yet managed her or yourself either,\" was the spoiled\nold servant's parting shaft.\nKano sat watching the slender, errant figure in the garden.  Yes, she\nhad taken it calmly,--more calmly than he could have hoped.  How\nbeautiful was the poise, even at this distance, of the delicate throat,\nand the head, with its wide crown of inky hair!  Each motion of the\nslow-strolling form in its clinging robes was a separate loveliness.\nKano drew a long sigh.  He could not blind himself to Tatsu's savagery.\nThis was not the sort of husband that Um\u00e8 had a right to expect from\nher father's choice,--a youth not only penniless, and without family\nname, but in himself unusual, strange, with look, voice, gesture,\ncoloring each a clear contrast to the men that Um\u00e8-ko had seen.  He\ncould not bear the thought of her unhappiness, and yet, at any\nsacrifice, Tatsu must be kept an inmate of their home.\nThe girl had stopped beside the sunlit pond, leaning far over.  She did\nnot seem to note the clustering carp at all, but rather dwell upon her\nown image, twisted and shot through with the gold of their darting\nbodies.  Now, with dragging feet she went to the moon-viewing hill,\nremaining in the shadow of it, and pausing for long thought.  Her eyes\nwere on the cliff, now raised to the camphor tree.  Suddenly she\nshivered and hid her face.  What was the tumult of that ignorant young\nbreast?\nThe old man rose and went to an inner room where hung the Butsudan, the\nshrine.  He stood gazing upon the ihai of his wife.  His lips moved,\nbut the breath so lightly issued that the flame on the altar did not\nstir.  \"She, our one child, has come now to the borders of that\nwoman-land where I cannot go with her,\" he was saying.  \"Thou art the\nsoul to guide, and give her happiness, thou, the dear one of my\nlife,--the dead young mother who has never really died!\"  He folded his\nhands now, and bowed his head.  The small flame leaned to him.  \"Namu\nAmida Butsu, Namu Amid a Butsu,\" murmured the old man.\nOut by the hill, a butterfly, snow white, rested a moment on the young\ngirl's hair.  She was again looking at the cliff, and did not notice it.\nV\nAndo Uchida, from his green seclusion among the bamboo groves of Meguro,\nsent, from time to time, a scout into the city.  First an ordinary hotel\nkotsukai or man-servant was employed.  This experiment proved costly as\nwell as futile.  The kotsukai demanded large payment; and then the\ncreature's questions to Mata were of a nature so crude and undiplomatic\nthat they aroused instant suspicion, causing, indeed, the threat of a\ndipper of scalding water.\nThe next messenger was an insect peddler, Katsuo Takanaka by name.  It\nwas the part of this youth to search daily among the bamboo stems and\nhillside grasses of Meguro for the musical suzu-mushi, the hataori, and\nthe kirigirisu.  These he incarcerated in fairy cages of plaited straw,\nthreaded the cages into great hornets' nests that dangled from the two\nends of his creaking shoulder-pole, and started toward the city in a\nperfect storm of insect music.  The noise moved with him like a cloud.\nIt formed, as it were, a penumbra of fine shrilling, and could be heard\nfor many streets in advance.  This itinerant merchant was commissioned to\nhaunt the Kano gate until impatience or curiosity should fling it wide\nfor him.  Then, after having coaxed old Mata into making a purchase, he\nwas to engage her in conversation, and extract all the domestic\ninformation he could.  Unfortunately for the acquisition of paltry news,\nit was Um\u00e8-ko, not Mata, who came out to purchase.  The seller, watching\nthose slim, white fingers as they fluttered among his cages, the delicate\near bent to mark some special chime, forgot the words of Ando Uchida,\notherwise, Mr. S. Yetan, of Chikuzen, forgot everything, indeed, but the\nbeauty of the girlish face near him.\nHe left the house in a dream more dense than the multitudinous clamor of\nhis burden.  \"Alas!\" thought Katsuo, as he stumbled along, unheeding the\nbeckoning hands of mothers, or the arresting cries of children in many\ngateways, \"Had I been born a samurai of old, and she an humble maiden!\nEven as an Eta, an outcast, would I have loved and sought her.  Now in\nthis life I am doomed to catch insects and to sell them.  Perhaps in my\ncoming rebirth, if I am honest and do not tell to the ignorant that a\ncommon mimi is a silver-voiced hataorimushi,--perhaps----\"\nAndo's third envoy was chosen with more thoughtful care.  This time it\nwas none other than a young priest from the temple of Fudo-Bosatsu in\nMeguro.  He was an acolyte sent forth with bowl and staff to beg for aid\nin certain temple repairs.  Ando promised a generous donation in return\nfor information concerning the Kano family.  Being assured that the\nmotive for this curiosity was benevolent rather than mischievous, the\npriest consented to make the attempt.  He reached the Kano gate at noon,\nwithin a few days after Tatsu's arrival.  Mata opened to his call.  Being\nherself a Protestant, opposed to the ancient orders and their methods,\nshe gave him but a chilly welcome.  Her interest was aroused, however, in\nspite of herself, by the fact that he neither chanted his refrain of\nsupplication nor extended the round wooden bowl.\n\"I shall not entreat alms of money in this place,\" he said, as if in\nanswer to her look of surprise, \"I am weary, and ask but to rest for a\nwhile in the pleasant shade of your roof.\"\nWithout waiting for Mata's rejoinder, Um\u00e8-ko, who had heard the words of\nthe priest, now came swiftly to the veranda.  \"Our home is honored, holy\nyouth, by your coming,\" she said to him.  \"Enter now, I pray, into the\nmain guest-room, where I and my father may serve you.\"\nThe priest refused this homage (much to Mata's inward satisfaction),\nsaying that he desired only the stone ledge of the kitchen entrance and a\ncup of cold water.\nAfter his first swift upward look he dared not raise his eyes again.  The\nsweetness of her young voice thrilled and troubled him.  But for his\npromise to Uchida he would have fled at once, as from temptation.\nUm\u00e8-ko, seeing his embarrassment, withdrew, but not until she had made an\nimperious gesture to old Mata, commanding her to serve him with rice and\ntea.\nAfter a short struggle with himself the priest decided to accept the\noffer of food.  Old Mata, he knew, was to be his source of information.\nThe old dame served him in conscious silence.  Her lips were compressed\nto wrinkled metal.  The visitor, more accustomed to old women than to\nyoung, smiled at the rigid countenance, knowing that a loquacity\nrequiring so obvious a latch is the more easily freed.  He planned his\nfirst question with some care.\n\"Is this not the home of an artist, Kano by name?\"\nMata tossed her gray hair.  \"Of the only Kano,\" she replied, and shut her\nlips with a snap.\n\"The only Kano, the only Kano,\" mused the acolyte over his tea.\n\"So I said, young sir.  Is it that your hearing is honorably\nnon-existent?\"\n\"Then I presume he is without a son,\" said the priest as if to himself,\nand stirred the surmise into his rice with the two long wooden chopsticks\nMata had provided.\nThe old dame's muscles worked, but she kept silence.\nUm\u00e8-ko, now in her little chamber across the narrow passage, with a bit\nof bright-colored sewing on her knees, could hear each word of the\ndialogue.  Mata's shrill voice and the priest's deep tones each carried\nwell.  The girl smiled to herself, realizing as she did the conflict\nbetween love of gossip and disapproval of Shingon priests that now made a\npaltry battlefield of the old dame's mind.  The former was almost sure to\nwin.  The priest must have thought this, too, for he finished his rice in\nmaddening tranquillity, and then stirred slightly as if to go.  Mata's\nspeech flowed forth in a torrent.\n\"My poor master has no son indeed, no true son of his house; but\nlately,--within this very week----\"  She caught herself back as with a\nrein, snatched up the empty tea-pot, hurried to the kitchen and returned\npartly self-conquered, if not content.  She told herself that she must\nnot gossip about the master's affairs with a beggarly priest.\nDetermination hardened the wrinkles of her face.\nIf the priest perceived these new signs of taciturnity, he ignored them.\n\"Your master being verily the great artist that you say, it is a thing\ndoubly to be regretted that he is without an heir,\" persisted the\nvisitor, with kind, boyish eyes upon old Mata's face.  The old woman\nblinked nervously and began to examine her fingernails.  \"Alas!\" sighed\nhe, \"I fear it is because this Mr. Kano is no true believer, that he has\nnot prayed or made offerings to the gods.\"\nMata had a momentary convulsion upon the kitchen floor, and was still.\nThe priest kept gravity upon his mouth, but needed lowered lids to hide\nthe twinkles in his eyes.  \"True religion is the greatest boon,\" he\ndroned sententiously.  \"Would that your poor master had reached\nenlightenment!\"\nUm\u00e8-ko in her room forgot her sewing, and leaned a delicate ear closer to\nthe shoji.\nOld Mata's wall of reserve went down with a crash.  \"He believes as you\nbelieve!\" she cried out shrilly.  \"All your Shingon chants and\ninvocations and miracles he has faith in.  Is that not what you call\nenlightenment?  He and Miss Um\u00e8 worship together almost daily at the\ngreat temple above us on the hill.  The two finest stone lanterns there\nare given in the name of my master's dead young wife.  Her ihai is in\nthis house, and an altar, and they are well tended, I assure you!  My\nmaster is a true believer, poor man, and what has his belief brought him?\nMa-a-a! all this mummery and service and what has come of it?\"\n\"I perceive with regret that you are not of the Shingon sect,\" remarked\nthe priest.\n\"Me?  I should say not!\" snorted Mata.  \"I am a Protestant, a good\nShinshu woman,--that's what I am, and I tell you so to your face!  When I\npray, I know what I am praying for.  I trust to my own good deeds and the\nintercession of Amida Butsu.  No muttering and mummery for me!\"\n\"Ah!\" said the priest, a most alluring note of interest now audible in\nhis voice, \"your master has so zealously importuned the gods, and, you\nsay, with no result?\"\n\"Ay, a result has come,\" answered the old dame, sullenly.  \"Within this\nweek the gods--or the demons--have heard my master, for a wild thing from\nthe hills is with us!\"\n\"Wild thing?  Do you mean a man?\"\n\"A semblance of a man, though none such will you see in the streets of a\nrespectable town.\"\n\"But does your master----\" began the priest, in some perplexity.\nMata cut him short.  \"Because he can smear ink on paper with a brush, my\nmaster dotes on him and says he will adopt him!\"\nThe woman's fierce sincerity transmitted vague alarm.  Slipping his hands\nwithin his gray sleeves, the acolyte began fingering his short rosary as\nhe asked, \"Is the--wild man now under this very roof?\"\n\"Not under a roof when he can escape it, you may be sure!  He comes to us\nonly when driven by hunger of the stomach or the eyes.  Doubtless at this\nmoment he wallows among the ferns and sa-sa grass of the mountain side,\nor lies face down in the cemetery near my mistress' grave.  He is mad, my\nmaster is mad, and Miss Um\u00e8, if she really gives herself in marriage to\nthe mountain lion, madder than all the rest!\"\n\"That beautiful maiden whom I saw will be given to such a one?\" asked the\npriest, in a startled way.\n\"Such are the present plans,\" said the other in deep despair, and huddled\nherself together on the floor.\nUm\u00e8-ko, in her room across the hallway, had half risen.  It really was\ntime to check the old servant's vulgar garrulity.  But the silence that\nfollowed the last remark checked her impulse.  After all, what did it\nmatter?  No one could understand or needed to understand.\nMeanwhile Mata, at first unconscious of anything but her own dark\nthoughts, became gradually aware of a strange look in the face of the\npriest.  He, on his part, was wondering whether, indeed, the beauty of\nUm\u00e8-ko were not the sole cause of his patron's interest in the Kano\nfamily.  After watching him intently for a few moments the old woman\nwriggled nearer and whispered in a tone so low that Um\u00e8 could not catch\nthe words, \"Perhaps, after all, Sir Priest, you, being of their belief,\nperceive this to be a case where charms and spells are advisable.  I am\nconvinced that this house is bewitched, that the Dragon Painter has a\ntrain of elementals in attendance.  Now, if we could only drive him\nforever from the place.  Have you, by any chance, a powder, or an amulet,\nor a magic invocation you could give me?\"\n\"No, no!  I dare not!\" said the other, in an agitated voice.  He reached\nout for his bowl and, with a single leap, was down upon the earth.  Mata\ncaught him by his flying skirts.  \"See here,\" she entreated, \"I will make\nit worth your while, young sir, I will give donations to your temple----\"\n\"I dare not.  I have no instructions to meddle with such things.  Let me\nnow give the house a blessing, and withdraw.  But I can tell you for your\ncomfort,\" he added, seeing the disappointment in her wrinkled face, \"if,\nas you assure me, this is a house of faith, no presence entirely evil\ncould dwell within it.\"\nHe got away before she could repeat her importunities; and the old dame\nreturned to the kitchen, muttering anathemas against the mystic powers\nshe had just attempted to invoke.\nOn the priest's return, Ando questioned him eagerly.  He gained, almost\nwith the first words, certainty of his own freedom.  With Tatsu safely\narrived, and the betrothal to Kano Um\u00e8-ko an outspoken affair, then had\nthe time come for him--Ando Uchida--to reassume the pleasant role of\nfriend and benefactor.\nHe moved into Yeddo before nightfall.  His first visit was, of course, to\nKano.  Elaborately he explained to the sympathetic old man how he had\nbeen summoned by telegram into a distant province to attend the supposed\ndeath-bed of a relative, how that relative had, by a miracle, recovered.\n\"So now,\" he remarked in conclusion, \"I am again at your service, and\nshall take the part not only of nakodo in the coming marriage, but of\ntemporary father and social sponsor to our unsophisticated bridegroom.\"\nCertainly nothing could have been more opportune than Uchida's\nreappearance, or more welcome than his proposed assistance.  Mata,\nindeed, hastened to give a whole koku of rice to the poor in\nthank-offering that one sensible person besides herself was now\nimplicated in the wedding preparations.\nUchida justified, many times over, her belief in him.  In the district\nnear the Kano home he rented, in Tatsu's name, a small cottage, paying\nfor it by the month, in advance.  With Mata's assistance, not to mention\na small colony of hirelings, the floors were fitted with new mats, the\nwoodwork of the walls, the posts, and veranda floors polished to a\nmirror-like brightness, and even the tiny garden set with new turf and\nflowering plants.  Tatsu was lured down from the mountain side and\npersuaded to remain at night and part, at least, of each day, in this\nlittle haven of coming joy.\nA secluded room was fitted up as a studio, for his sole use.  Here were\ngreat rectangles of paper, rolls of thin silk, stretching frames, water\nholders, multitudinous brushes, and all the exquisite pigment that\nJapanese love of beauty has drawn from water, earth, and air; delicate\ninfusions of sea-moss, roots, and leaves, saucers of warm earth ground to\na paste, precious vessels of powdered malachite, porphyry, and lapis\nlazuli.  But the boy looked askance upon the expensive outlay.  His wild\nnature resented so obvious a lure.  It seemed unworthy of a Dragon\nPainter to accept this multitude of material devices.  He had painted on\nflakes of inner bark, still quivering with the life from which he had\nrudely torn them.  Visions limned on rock and sand had been the more\nprecious for their impermanence.  Here, every stroke was to be recorded,\neach passing whim and mood registered, as in a book of fate.\nFor days the little workroom remained immaculate.  Kano began to fret.\nAndo Uchida, the wise, said, \"Wait.\"  It was Mata who finally\nprecipitated the crisis.  One rainy morning, being already in an ill\nhumor over some trifling household affair, she was startled and annoyed\nby the sudden vision of Tatsu's head thrust noiselessly into her kitchen.\nRudely she had slammed the shoji together, calling out to him that he had\nbetter be off doing the one thing he was fit to do, rather than to be\nskulking around her special domain.  Tatsu had, as rudely, reopened the\nshoji panels, tearing a large hole in the translucent paper.  \"He had\ncome merely for a glimpse of the Dragon Maid,\" he told the angry dame.\n\"In a few days more she was to be his wife, and this maddening convention\nof keeping him always from her was eating out his vitals with red fire,\"\nso declared Tatsu, and let the consuming passion blaze in his sunken eyes.\nBut Mata, undismayed, stood up in scornful silence.  She was gathering\nherself together like a storm, and in an instant more had hurled upon him\nthe full terror of her vocabulary.  She called him a barbarian, a\nmountain goat,--a Tengu,--better mated to a fox spirit or a she-demon\nthan to a decent girl like her young mistress.  She denounced her\nerstwhile beloved master as a blind old dotard, and the idolized Um\u00e8, she\ndeclared a weak and yielding idiot.  Tatsu's attempts at retort were\nswept away with a hiss.  For a while he raged like a flame upon the\ndoorstep, but he was no match for his vigorous opponent.  It was\nsomething to realize his own defeat.  Gasping, he turned to the friendly\nrain and would have darted from the gate when, with a swoop like a\nfalcon, Mata was bodily upon him.  He threw his right arm upward as if to\nescape a blow, but the old dame did not belabor him.  She was trying to\nthrust something hard and strange into his other hand.  He glanced toward\nit.  The last indignity of an umbrella!  \"Open it, madman!\" she cried\nshrilly after him, \"and hold your robe up; it is one of your new silk\nones!\"\nTatsu had never used an umbrella in his life.  Now he opened it eagerly.\nAnything to escape that frightful voice!  In the windy street he clutched\nat his fluttering skirts as he had seen other men do, and, with a last\nterrified backward glance, ran breathlessly toward the haven of his\ntemporary home.\nThe little house was empty.  Tatsu was thankful for so much.  The rooms\nwere already pre-haunted by dreams of Um\u00e8-ko.  Tatsu felt the peace of it\nsink deep into his soul.  Instinctively his wandering feet led him into\nthe little painting room.  As usual, the elaborate display of artist\nmaterials chilled him.  After his recent exasperation he longed to ease\nhis heart of a sketch, but obstinacy held him back.  He sat down in the\ncentre of the space.  A bevy of small, squeaking sounds seemed to enclose\nhim.  It took him some moments to recognize them as the irritating\nrustling of his silken dress.  He sprang to his feet, tore off the new\nand expensive girdle of brocade, flung it into one corner and the\noffending robe into another, and remained standing in the centre of the\nsmall space clad only in his short white linen under-robe.\nHe looked about, now, for a more congenial sheathing.  If he could but\nfind the tattered blue kimono worn during that upward journey from Kiu\nShiu!  Stained by berries and green leaves, torn by a thousand graceful\nvines,--for laundering only a few vigorous swirls in a running stream\nwith a quick sun-drying on the river stones,--yet how comfortable, how\ncompanionable it was!  There had been a blue something folded on the\nshelf of his closet.  He found it, opened it wide in the air and would\nhave uttered a cry of joy but for the changed look of it.  Even this had\nnot escaped Mata's desecrating hands!  It was mended everywhere.  The\nwhite darning threads grinned at him like teeth.  Also it was washed and\nironed, and smelled of foreign soap.  For an instant he tore at it\nangrily, and was minded to destroy it, but the sense of familiarity held\nhim.  He wrapped it about him slowly and, with bent head, again seated\nhimself upon the floor.\nThe rain now fell in quivering wires of dull light.  The world was strung\nwith them like a harp, and upon them the wind played a monotonous\nrefrain.  Against the wall near Tatsu stood a light framework of wood\nwith the silk already stretched and dried for painting.  At his other\nhand a brush slanted sidewise from a bowl of liquid ink.  The boy's\npulses leaped toward these things even while his lips curled in disdain\nat the shallow decoy.  \"So they expect to trap me, these geese and\njailers who have temporary dominance over my life,\" thought he, in scorn.\nNo, even though he now desired it of himself, he would not paint!  Let\nhim but gain his bride--then nothing should have power to sting or fret\nhim.  But, oh, these endless days and hours of waiting!  They corroded\nhis very thought as acid corrodes new metal.  He felt the eating of it\nnow.\nA spasm of pain and anger distorted his face.  He gave a cry, caught up\nsuddenly the thick hake brush, and hurled it across the room toward the\nupright frame of silk.  It struck the surface midway, a little to the\nleft; pressed and worked against it as though held by a ghost, and then,\nfalling, dragged lessening echoes of stain.\nTatsu's mirthless laugh rang out against the sound of dripping rain.  The\nchildish outburst had been of some relief.  He looked defiantly toward\nthe white rectangle he had just defaced.  Defaced?  The boy caught in his\nbreath.  He thrust his head forward, leaning on one hand to stare.  That\nbold and unpremeditated stroke had become a shadowed peak; the trailing\nmarks of ink a splendid slope.  Had he not seen just such a one in Kiu\nShiu,--had he not scaled it, crying aloud upon its summit to the gods to\nyield him there his bride?\nTrembling now, and weak, he crawled on hands and knees toward the frame.\nHe had forgotten Kano, Uchida, Mata,--forgotten even Um\u00e8-ko.  Fingers not\nhis own lifted the fallen brush.  The wonderful cold wind of a dawning\nfrenzy swept clean his soul.  He shivered; then a sirocco of fire\nfollowed the void of the wind.  The spot where his random blow had struck\nstill gleamed transparent jet.  He dragged the blackened brush through a\nvessel of clear water, then brandished it like the madman Mata thought\nhim.  With the soft tuft of camel hair he blurred against the peak pale,\nluminous vapor of new cloud.  Turning, twisting sidewise, this way, then\nthat, the yielding implement, he seemed to carve upon the silk broad\nsilver planes of rock, until there rose up a self-revealing vision, the\ngranite cliff from which a thin, white waterfall leaps out.\n[Illustration: \"With the soft tuft of camel hair he blurred against the\npeak pale, luminous vapor of new cloud.\"]\nBut this one swift achievement only whetted the famished appetite to more\ncreative ardor.  Sketch after sketch he made, some to tear at once into\nstrips, others to fling carelessly aside to any corner where they might\nchance to fall, others, again, to be stored cunningly upon some remote\nshelf to which old Kano and Uchida and Mata could not reach, but whence\nhe, Tatsu, the Dragon Painter, should, in a few days more, withdraw them\nand show them to his bride.  The purple dusk brimmed his tiny garden, and\nyet he could not stop.  Art had seized him by the throat, and shook him,\nas a prey.  Uchida, peering at him from between the fusuma, perceived the\nglory and turned away in silence; nor for that day nor the next would he\nallow any one to approach the frenzied boy.  The elder man had, himself\nin youth, fared along the valleys of art, and knew the signals on the\npeaks.\nTatsu, unconscious that the house was not still empty, painted on.\nSometimes he sobbed.  Again an ague of beauty caught him, and he needed\nto hurl himself full length upon the mats until the ecstacy was past.\nJust as the daylight went he saw, upon the one great glimmering square of\nsilk as yet immaculate, a dream of Um\u00e8-ko, the Dragon Maiden, who had\ndanced before him.  This was an apparition too holy to be limned in\nartificial light.  When the sun came, next day, he knew well what there\nwas for him to do.  He placed the frame upright, where the first pink\nbeam would find it.  Brushes, water vessels, and paints were placed in\nreadiness, with such neatness and precision that old Kano's heart would\nhave laughed in pleasure.  That night the shoji and amado were not\nclosed.  Tatsu did not sleep.  It was a night of consecration.  He walked\nup and down, sometimes in the narrow room, sometimes in the garden.\nOften he prayed.  Again he sat in the soft darkness, before the ghostly\nglimmer of the silk, tracing upon it visions of ethereal light.  When, at\nlast, the dawn came in, Tatsu bowed to the east, with his usual prayer of\nthankful piety, then, with the exaltation still upon him, lifted the\nsilver thread of a brush and drew his first conscious outline of the\nwoman soon to be his wife.\n[Illustration: \"He walked up and down, sometimes in the narrow room,\nsometimes in the garden.\"]\nVI\nThrough all these busy days Um\u00e8-ko moved as one but little interested.\nKano and Uchida noticed nothing unusual.  To them she was merely the\nconventional nonenity of maidenhood that Japanese etiquette demanded.\nIt never entered their heads that she would not have agreed with equal\nreadiness to any other husband of their choosing.\nMata knew her idol and nursling better.  Hints of character and of\ndeep-sea passion had risen now and again to the surface of the girl's\nplacid life.  There were currents underneath that the father did not\nsuspect.  Once, during her childhood, a pet bird had been injured in a\nfit of anger by old Kano.  Um\u00e8-ko, with her ashen face under perfect\ncontrol, had killed the suffering creature and carried it, wrapped in\nwhite paper, to her own room.  The father, ashamed now, and filled with\ngenuine remorse, had stormed up and down the garden paths, reviling\nhimself for an impatient ogre, and promising more restraint in future.\nMata, silent for once, had crept to her child-mistress' close-shut\nwalls, heard the last sobbing words of a Buddhist prayer for the dead,\nand burst through the shoji in scant time to catch back the stroke of a\ndagger from the girl's slim, upraised throat.  Her terrified screams\nsummoned Kano and the neighbors as well.  A priest hurried down from\nthe temple on the hill.  In time the culprit was reduced to a condition\nof tearful penitence, and gave her promise never again to attempt so\ncowardly and wicked a thing as self-destruction, unless it were for\nsome noble and impersonal end.\nThe good old priest, to comfort her, chanted a sutra over the bier of\nher lost playmate, and bestowed upon it a high-sounding Buddhist kaimyo\nwhich Kano carved, in his finest manner, upon a wooden grave post.  In\ntime, the artist forgot the episode.  Mata never forgot.  Often in the\nlong hours she thought of it now as she watched the girl's face bent\nalways so silently above the bridal sewing.  No impatience or regret\nwere visible in her.  Yet, thought Mata, surely no maiden in her senses\ncould really wish to become the wife of an ill-mannered, untamed\nmountain sprite!  Could Death be the secret of this pale tranquillity?\nWas Um\u00e8-ko to cheat them all, at the last, by self-destruction?\nIn such wise did the old servant fret and ponder, but no assurance\ncame.  A true insight into art might have opened many doors to her.\nYet, through a life devoted to the externals of it, Mata had been\ntolerant of beauty, rather than at one with it.  The impractical view\nof life which art seemed to demand of its devotees was enough to arouse\nsuspicion, if not her actual dislike.  Uchida was a hero because he had\nbeen bold enough to shake himself free from lethargic influences, and\nachieve a shining and substantial success.\nBut even had the key of art been thrust into the old dame's groping\nhand, and even had her master guided her, there was an inner chamber of\nUm\u00e8's heart which they could not have found.  Um\u00e8 herself had not known\nof it until that first instant when, now three weeks ago, a strange\nyoung face, hung about with shadows, had peered into her father's gate.\nWith the first sound of his voice, she had entered in, had knelt before\na shrine whereon, wrapped in fire, a Secret lay.  Ever since she had\nneeded to guard that shrine, not, indeed, for fear that the light would\nfalter, but rather that it might not leap up, and lay waste her being.\nAs one guards a flame, so Um\u00e8-ko, with silence and prayer and\nself-enforced tranquillity, guarded the sacred spark from winds of\npassion.  Each day at dawn, and again at twilight of each day, it\nflamed high and was hard to conquer, for with dawn a letter was\nhers--held in the night-wet branches of her dragon-plum, and each night\nwhen Mata and her father thought her sleeping, an answer was written,\nand committed to the keeping of the tree.\nWhen Tatsu did not paint, or rest from sheer exhaustion, he was\nwriting.  Um\u00e8, bending above his words, shivering at times, or weeping,\nmarvelled that the tissue had not charred beneath the thoughts burned\ninto it.  Tatsu's phrases were like his paintings, unusual, vital,\nalmost demoniac in force, shot through and through at times with the\nbolt of an almost unbearable beauty.  Her own words answered his, as\nthe tree-tops answer storm, with music.  Verse alone could ease the\ngirl of her ecstacy, and each recorded and triumphed in the demolition\nof yet another day.  \"Another stone, beloved, thrust down from the\ndungeon wall that severs us!\"\nSwiftly the heap of wedding garments grew.  There were delicate\nkimonos, as thin and gray as mist, with sunset-colored inner robes of\nsilk; gowns of linen and cotton for indoor wear; bath and sleeping\nrobes with great designs of flowers, birds, or landscapes; silken\nbed-quilts and bright floor cushions; great sashes crusted like bark\nwith patternings of gold; dainty toilet accessories of hairpins,\ngirdles, collarettes, shopping-bags, purses, jewel-cases,--and new\nsandals of various sorts, each with velvet thongs of some delicate hue.\nThe sewing was, of course, done at home.  Mata would have trusted this\nsacred rite to no domination but her own.  She worked incessantly,\nplanning, cutting, scolding,--hurrying off to the shopping district for\nsome forgotten item, conferring with Ando Uchida about the details of\nTatsu's outfit, then returning, flushed with success and importance, to\nnew home triumphs.\nUm\u00e8 sewed steadily all day.  Her painting materials had been put meekly\naside, and, as a further precaution at old Mata's hands, hidden under\nthe kitchen flooring.  Toward the last it was found necessary to employ\nan assistant, a seamstress, known of old to Mata.  Her companionship,\nas well as her sewing, proved a boon.  Seated upon the springy matting,\nwith waves of shimmering silk tumultuous about them, the old dames\nchatted incessantly of other brides and other wedding outfits they had\nknown.  Marvellous were their tales of married life, some of them\ndesigned to cheer, others to warn the silent little third figure, that\nof the bride-to-be.  As a matter of fact, Um\u00e8 never listened.  The\nnoise and buzz of incessant conversation affected her pleasantly, but\nremotely, as the chatter of distant sparrows.  The girl had too much\nwithin herself to think of.\n\"May Kwannon have mercy upon my young mistress,\" sighed the nurse, one\nday, as Um\u00e8 left the room.\n\"Does she require mercy?  I thought--she appears to me\nhonorably--er--undisturbed,\" ventured the seamstress, with one swift\nupward look of interest.\n\"Yes, she appears,--many of us appear,--but can she be happy?  That is\nwhat I wish to know.  The creature she is being forced to marry is more\nlike a mountain-lion than a man!\"\n\"Ma-a-a!  Is he dangerous?  Will he bite her?\" questioned the other,\nhopefully.\n\"Amida alone knows what he will do with her,\" croaked Mata, in a\nsepulchral voice.\nThe subject was one not to be readily relinquished.  \"The facts being\nhonorably as you relate,\" began the hired seamstress, her needle held\ncarefully against the light for threading, \"how is it that the august\nfather of the illustrious young lady permits such a marriage?\"\nMata's eyes gleamed sharp and bright as the needle.  \"Because he is as\nmad as the wild man, and all for pictures!  They would strip their own\nskins off if that made better parchment.  Miss Um\u00e8 has been influenced\nby them, and now is to be sacrificed.  Alas! the evil day!\" and Mata\nwiped away some genuine tears on the hem of a night-robe she had\nfinished.\n\"O kinodoku Sama, my spirit is poisoned by your grief,\" murmured the\nother, sympathetically.  \"Yet, in your place, I should find great\ncomfort in the outfit of your mistress.  Never, even in the sewing\nhalls of princes, could more beautiful silks be gathered.\"  She looked\nabout slowly, with the air of a professional who sees something really\nworthy of regard.\nMata's face cleared.  \"Since the gods allow it, I should not complain,\"\nshe admitted.  \"Indeed, Mr. Uchida and I are doing well by the young\ncouple in the matter of silks and house furnishings.  And--whisper this\nnot--no one but he and I dream from what source these splendid fabrics\ncome!\"\nMata had thrust a poisoned arrow of curiosity into her listener, and\nknew it.  Some day, perhaps the very day before the wedding, she might\nreveal it.  For the present, as she said, no one but herself and Uchida\nknew.\nMore than once during sewing hours, Um\u00e8-ko herself had wondered how her\nfather was able to give her silks of such beauty and variety.  With the\nunthrift of the true artist, Kano was always poor.  The old man would\nhave been as surprised and far angrier than his daughter, had he known\nthat Tatsu's pictures, stolen craftily by the confederates, Uchida and\nMata, and sold in Yokohama for about a tenth of their true value, were\nthe source of this sudden affluence.  Tatsu remained ignorant, also.\nBut, provided they took no image of Um\u00e8's face, he would not have cared\nat all.  New garments, new mats, dainty household furnishings, were\nshowered upon him, too; but they might have been autumn leaves, for all\nthe interest he showed.\nTo gain his Dragon Maid,--to know that in this life she was irrevocably\nhis,--that was Tatsu's one conscious thought.\nThe wedding day came at last.  Um\u00e8-ko had written no letter on the eve\nof it, but all night long she felt that he was near her, leaning on the\nbreast of the plum tree, scaling the steeps above her, wandering, a\nrestless ghost of joy, about the moon-silvered cemetery, speaking\nperhaps, as equal, to his primeval gods.  So close, already were these\ntwo, that even in absence, each felt always something of the other's\nmood.  It was a sleepless night to the girl, also.  She cowered close\nabout the Secret, until its fierce light scorched her.  She pressed\ndown her lids with strong, white fingers, but the glory streamed\nthrough.  So, tortured by intolerable bliss, she suffered, until the\ndawn came in.\nQuite early in the day the bride's trousseau and gifts were sent to\nTatsu's home.  They made a train that filled the neighbors' eyes with\nwonder and Mata's swelling heart with pride.  There were lacquered\nchests and cases of drawers, all filled with clothing.  Each great\nsquare package was covered with a decorated cloth, and swung from a\ngilded staff borne on the shoulders of two stout coolies.  There were\nboxes of cakes, fruit, and eggs; and jinrikishas piled with a medley of\ngifts.  Even Kano was impressed.  Uchida rubbed his two fat hands\ntogether and laughed at everything.  Um\u00e8-ko, watching the moving\nshadows pass under her father's gate-roof, closed her eyes quickly and\ncaught her breath.  The next gift from the Kano home was to be herself.\nBy this time autumn was upon the year.  A few early chrysanthemums\nopened small golden suns in the garden.  Dodan bushes and maples hinted\nat a crimson splendor soon to follow.  The icho trees stood like\npyramids of gold; and suzuki grass upon the hillsides brushed a\ncloudless blue sky with silken fingers.  In the garden, autumn insects\nsang.  Um\u00e8-ko's kirigirisu which, some weeks before, she had released\nfrom its cage, had, as if in gratitude made a home among the lichens of\nthe big plum tree.  Um\u00e8 believed that she always knew its voice from\namong the rest, no matter how full the chorus of silver chiming.\nShe had gone back to her room, and sat now, in the centre of it,\nstaring toward the garden.  Noon had crept upon it, devouring all\nshadow.  Her eyes saw little but the golden blur.  A fusuma opened\nsoftly, and two women, Mata and the attendant seamstress, came mincing\nand smirking toward her, each with an armful of white silk.  Um\u00e8 rose\nlike an automaton.  They began her toilet, talking the while in low\nvoices.  They robed her in white with a thin lining-edge of crimson,\nand threw over her shining hair a veil of tissue.  Some one outside\ncalled that the bride's kuruma was at the gate.  Old Kano entered the\nroom, smiling.  His steps creaked and rustled with new silk.  Um\u00e8\nturned for one fleeting glimpse of her plum tree.  It seemed to stir\nand wave green leaves toward her.  With head down-bent, the girl\nfollowed her father through the house.\nMata helped them into the two new, shining jinrikishas, a dragon-crest\nblazoned on the one for Um\u00e8's use.  She scolded the kuruma men in her\nshrill voice, giving a dozen instructions in one sentence, and\npretending anger at their answering jests.  On the doorstep stood the\nlittle seamstress ready to cast a handful of dried peas.  When Kano and\nUm\u00e8-ko were off, Mata scrambled excitedly into her own vehicle.  Her\nhuman steed, turning round for an impudent and good-natured stare,\ndrawled out an unprintable remark.  The seamstress shrieked \"sayonara\"\nand pelted space with the peas.  Afterward she ran on foot down the\nslope of the hill and joined the smiling crowd of lookers-on.  Soon it\nwas over.  The peddler picked up his pack, and the children their toys.\nGates opened or slid aside in panels to receive their owners.  The\njangling of small gate-bells made the hillside merry for an instant,\nthen busy silence again took possession.\nNo one at all was left in the Kano home.  The little cottage of Um\u00e8's\nbirth, of her short, happy life and dawning fame, drew itself together\nin the unusual silence.  Sunshine fell thick upon the garden, and\nwarmed even the lazy gold-fish in their pigmy lake.  In the plum-tree\nbranch that touched Um\u00e8-ko's abandoned chamber, the cricket chirped\nsoftly to himself.  He knew the Secret!\nVII\nSix days were gone.  The marriage was a thing accomplished, yet old\nKano sat, lean, dispirited, drowned apparently in depths of fathomless\ndespair, in the centre of his corner room.  Mata, busy about her\nhousehold tasks, sometimes passed across the matting, or flaunted a\ndusting-cloth within a partly opened shoji.  At such moments her look\nand gesture were eloquent of disdain.  Her patience, long tried by the\nkindly irritable master, was about at an end.  Surely a spoiled old\nman-child like the crouching figure yonder would exhaust the\nforbearance of Jizo Sama himself!\nSix days ago he had been happy,--indeed, too happy! for he and Uchida\nhad drunk themselves into a condition of giggling bliss, and had needed\nto be taken away bodily from the bridal bower, hoisted into a double\njinrikisha, and driven off ignominiously, still embracing, still\npledging with tears an eternity of brotherhood.  Yes, on that day Kano\nhad hailed the earth as one broad, enamelled sak\u00e8-cup, the air, a new\ninfusion of heavenly brew.  But now----\n\"Mata!\" the thin voice came, \"are you certain that this is but the\nsixth day of my son's wedding?\"\n\"It is but the sixth day, indeed, since your daughter's sacrifice to a\nbarbarian, if that is what you mean,\" returned Mata, with a belligerent\nflourish of her paper duster.\n\"That is what I meant,\" said the other, passively.  \"Then the week is\nnot to be finished until to-morrow at noon.  Twenty-four hours of\ntorture to me!  I suppose that the ingrates will count time to the last\nshadow!  Oh, Mata, Mata, you once were a faithful servant!  Why did you\nlet me make that foolish promise of giving them an entire week?  A day\nwould have been ample, then Tatsu and I could have begun to paint.\"\n\"Ara!\" said Mata, uttering a sound more forcible than respectful.  \"Had\nit been a decent person thus married to my young mistress, instead of a\nmountain sprite, they should have had a month together!\"\nKano groaned under the suggestion.  \"Then, heartless woman, at the end\nof the month you would have been without a master; for surely my\nsufferings would, in a month, have shrunk me to an insect gaki chirping\nfrom a tree.\"\n\"It is to me a matter of honorable amazement that in one week you are\nnot already a gaki, with your incessant complaints,\" retorted the old\ndame, still unrelenting.\n\"If I could be sure he is painting all this interminable time,\" said\nKano to himself, wringing the nervous hands together.\n\"You may be augustly sure he is not,\" chuckled the cruel Mata.\nThe old man got hastily to his feet.  \"Mata, Mata, your tongue is that\nof a viper,--a green viper, with stripes.  I will go from its reach\ninto the highway.  Of course my son is painting.  What else could he be\ndoing?\"\nThe old dame's laugh fell like salt upon a wound.  Kano caught up a\nbamboo cane and, hatless, went into the street.  It was odd, how often\nduring this week he found need of walking; still stranger, how often\nhis wanderings led him to the dodan hedge enclosing Tatsu's cottage.\nHe paused at the gate now, tormented by the reflection that he himself\nhad drawn the bolt.  How still it was in there!  Not even a sparrow\nchirped.  Could something be wrong?  Suddenly a laugh rang out,--the\nlow spontaneous laugh of a happy girl.  Kano clutched the gate-post.\nIt was not the sort of laugh that one gives at sight of a splendid\npainting.  It had too intimate, too personal, a ring.  But surely Tatsu\nwas painting!  What else did he live for, if not to paint?  The old man\nbore a heavy homeward heart.\nNext day, exactly at the hour of noon, the culprits tapped upon Kano's\nwooden gate.  During the morning the old man had been in a condition of\nfeverish excitement, but now that the agony of waiting had forever\nceased, he assumed a pose of indifference.\nTatsu entered first, as a husband should.  In mounting the stone which\nserved as step to the railless veranda, he shook off, carelessly, his\nwooden shoes.  Um\u00e8-ko lifted them, dusted the velvet thongs, and placed\nthem with mathematical precision side by side upon the flat stone.  She\nthen entered, placing her small lacquered clogs beside those of her\nhusband.\nKano, from the tail of his eye, marked with approval these tokens of\nwifely submission.  From a small aperture in the kitchen shoji, however\n(a peephole commanding a full view of the house), dour mutterings might\nhave been heard, and a whispered lament that \"she should have lived to\nsee her young mistress wipe a Tengu's shoes!\"\nWhen the various genuflections and phrases of ceremonial greeting were\nat last accomplished, the old artist broke forth, \"Well, well, son\nTatsu, how many paintings in all this time?\"\nTatsu looked up startled, first at the questioner, then at his wife.\nShe gave a little, convulsive giggle, and bent her shining eyes to the\nfloor.\n\"I have not painted,\" said Tatsu, bluntly.\n\"Not painted?  Impossible!  What then have you done with all the golden\nhours of these interminable days?\"\nA sullen look crept into the boy's face.  Again he turned questioning\neyes upon his wife.  From the troubled silence her sweet voice reached\nlike a caress: \"Dear father, the autumn days, though golden, have held\nunusual heat.\"\n\"Heat!  What are cold and heat to a true artist?  Did he not paint in\nAugust?  I am old, yet I have been painting!\"\nAgain fell the silence.\n\"I said that I had been painting,\" repeated the old man, angrily.\nUm\u00e8-ko recovered herself with a start.  \"I am--er--we are truly\noverjoyed to hear it.  Shall you deign to honor us with a sight of your\nillustrious work?\"\n\"No, I shall not deign!\" snapped the old man.  \"It is his work that you\nnow are concerned with.\"  Here he pointed to the scowling Tatsu.  \"Why\nhave you not influenced him as you should?  He must paint!  It is what\nyou married him for.\"\nUm\u00e8-ko caught her breath.  A flush of embarrassment dyed her face, and\nshe threw a half-frightened look towards Tatsu.  Answering her father's\nunrelenting frown, she murmured, timidly, \"To-morrow, if the gods will,\nmy dear husband shall paint.\"\nTatsu's steady gaze drew her.  \"Your eyes, Um\u00e8-ko.  Is it true that for\nthis--to make me paint--you consented to become my wife?\"\nUm\u00e8 tried in vain to resist the look he gave her.  Close at her other\nhand, she knew, her father hung upon her face and listened, trembling,\nfor her words.  To him, art was all.  But to her and Tatsu, who had\nfound each other,--ah!  She tried to speak but words refused to form\nthemselves.  She tried to turn a docile face toward old Kano; but the\ndeepening glory of her husband's look drew her as light draws a flower.\nSullenness and anger fell from him like a cloth.  His countenance gave\nout the fire of an inward passion; his eyes--deep, strange, strong,\nmagnetic--mastered and compelled her.\n\"No, no, beloved,\" she whispered.  \"I cannot say,--you alone know the\nsoul of me.\"\nA fierce triumph flared into his look.  He leaned nearer, with a smile\nthat was almost cruel in its consciousness of power.  Under it her eyes\ndrooped, her head fell forward in a sudden faintness, her whole lithe\nbody huddled into one gracious, yielding outline.  Even while Kano\ngasped, doubting his eyes and his hearing, Tatsu sprang to his feet,\nwent to his wife, caught her up rudely by one arm, and crushed her\nagainst his side, while he blazed defiant scorn upon Kano.  \"Come\nDragon Wife,\" he said, in a voice that echoed through the space; \"come\nback to our little home.  No stupid old ones there, no prattle about\npainting.  Only you and I and love.\"\n[Illustration: \"'Come, Dragon Wife,' he said, 'come back to our little\nhome.'\"]\nNow in Japan nothing is more indelicate, more unpardonable, or more\ninsulting to the listener than any reference to the personal love\nbetween man and wife.  At Tatsu's terrible speech, Um\u00e8-ko, unconscious\nof further cause of offense, hid her face against his sleeve, and clung\nto him, that her trembling might not cast her to the floor.  Kano, at\nfirst, was unable to speak.  He grew slowly the hue of death.  His\nbrief words, when at last they came, were in convulsive spasms of\nsound.  \"Go to your rooms,--both.  Are you mad, indeed,--this\nimmodesty, this disrespect to me.  Mata was right,--a Tengu, a\nbarbarian.  Go, go, ere I rise to slay you both!\"\nThe utterance choked him, and died away in a gasping silence.  He\nclutched at his lean chest.  Um\u00e8 would have sped to him, but Tatsu held\nher fast.  His young face flamed with an answering rage.  \"Do you use\nthat tone to me--old man--to me, and this, my wife,\" he was beginning,\nbut Um\u00e8 put frantic hands upon his lips.\n\"Master, beloved!\" she sobbed.  \"You shall not speak thus to our\nfather,--you do not understand.  For love of me, then, be patient.\nEven the crows on the hilltops revere their parents.  Come there, to\nthe hills, with me, now, now--oh, my soul's beloved--before you speak\nagain.  Wait there, in the inner room, while I kneel a moment before\nour father.  Oh, Tatsu, if you love me----\"\nThe agony of her face and voice swept from Tatsu's mind all other\nfeeling.  He stood in the doorway, silent, as she threw herself before\nold Kano, praying to him as to an offended god: \"Father, father, do not\nhold hatred against us!  Tatsu has been without kindred,--he knows not\nyet the sacred duties of filial love.  We will go from your presence\nnow until your just anger against us shall have cooled.  With the night\nwe shall return and plead for mercy and forgiveness.  No, no, do not\nspeak again, just yet.  We are going, now, now.  Oh, my dear father,\nthe agony and the shame of it!  Sayonara, until the twilight.\"  She\nhurried back to Tatsu, seized his clenched hand with her small, icy\nfingers, and almost dragged him from the room.\nKano sat as she had left him, motionless, now, as the white jade vase\nwithin the tokonoma.  His anger, crimson, blinding at the first\npossession, had heated by now into a slow, white rage.  All at once he\nbegan to tremble.  He struck himself violently upon one knee, crying\naloud, \"So thus love influences him!  Ara!  My Dragon Painter!  Other\nmethods may be tried.  Such words and looks before me, me,--Kano\nIndara!  And Um\u00e8's eyes set upon him as in blinding worship.  Could I\nhave seen aright?  He caught my child up like a common street wench, a\nthing of sale and barter.  And she,--she did not scorn, but trembled\nand clung to him.  Is the whole world on its head?  I will teach them,\nI will teach them.\"\n\"Have my young mistress and her august spouse already taken leave?\"\nasked Mata at a crack of the door.\n\"Either they or some demon changelings,\" answered the old man, rocking\nto and fro upon the mats.\nThe old servant had, of course, heard everything.  Feigning now, for\nher own purposes, a soothing air of ignorance, she glided into the\nroom, lifted the tiny tea-pot, shook it from side to side, and then\ncocked her bright eyes upon her master.  \"The tea-pot.  It is honorably\nempty.  Shall I fill it?\"\n\"Yes, yes; replenish it at once.  I need hot tea.  Shameless,\nincredible; he has, indeed, the manners of a wild boar.\"\n\"Ma-a-a!\" exclaimed the old woman.  \"Now of whom can my master be\nspeaking?\"\n\"You know very well of whom I am speaking, goblin!  Do you not always\nlisten at the shoji?  Go, fill the pot!\"\nMata glided from the room with the quickness of light and in an instant\nhad returned.  Replacing the smoking vessel and maintaining a face of\ndecorous interest, she asked, hypocritically, \"And was my poor Miss Um\u00e8\nmortified?\"\n\"Mortified?\" echoed the artist with an angry laugh; \"she admired him!\nShe clung to him as a creature tamed by enchantment.  My daughter!\nNever did I expect to look upon so gross a sight!  Why, Mata----\"\n\"Yes, dear master,\" purred the old dame encouragingly as she seated\nherself on the floor near the tea-pot.  \"One moment, while I brew you a\ncup of fresh, sweet tea.  It is good to quiet the honorable nerves.  I\ncan scarcely believe what you tell me of our Um\u00e8-ko, so modest a young\nlady, so well brought up!\"\n\"I tell you what these old eyes saw,\" repeated Kano.  Once more he\ndescribed the harrowing sight, adding more details.  Mata, well used to\nhis outbursts of anger, though indeed she had seldom seen him in his\npresent condition of indignant excitement, drew him on by degrees.  She\nwell knew that an anger put into lucid words soon begins to cool.  Some\nof her remarks were in the nature of small, kindly goads.\n\"Remember, master, the poor creatures are married but a week to-day.\"\n\"Had I dreamed of such low conduct, they should never have been married\nat all!\"\n\"Of course he is n't worthy of her,\" sighed the other, one eye on\nKano's face.\n\"Nonsense!  He is more than worthy of any woman upon earth if he could\nbut learn to conduct himself like a human being.\"\n\"That would take a long schooling.\"\n\"He is the greatest artist since Sesshu!\" cried the old man, vehemently.\nMata bowed over to the tea-pot.  \"You recognize artists, master; I\nrecognize fools.\"\n\"Do you call my son a fool?\"\n\"If that wild man is still to be considered your son, then have I\ncalled your son a fool,\" answered Mata, imperturbably.\nThe new flush left the old man's face as quickly as it had come.\n\"Mata, Mata,\" he groaned, too spent now for further vehemence, \"you are\nan old cat,--an old she-cat.  You cannot dream what it is to be an\nartist!  What one will endure for art; what one will sacrifice, and joy\nin the giving!  Why, woman, if with one's shed blood, with the barter\nof one's soul, a single supreme vision could be realized, no true\nartist would hesitate.  Yes, if even wife, child, and kindred were to\nbe joined in a common destruction for art's sake, the artist must not\nhesitate.  At the thought of one's parents, the ancestors of one's\nhouse, it might be admissible to pause, but at nothing else, nothing\nelse, whatever!  Life is a mere bubble on the stream of art, fame is a\nbubble--riches, happiness, Death itself!  Would that I could tear these\nold limbs into a bleeding frenzy as I paint, if by doing so one little\nline may swerve the nearer to perfection!  Often have I thought of this\nand prayed for the opportunity, but such madness does not benefit.\nOnly the torn anguish of a soul may sometimes help.  And with old\nsouls, like old trees, they do not bleed, but are snapped to earth, and\nlie there rotting.  He, Tatsu, the son of my adoption, could with one\nstrong sweep of his arm make the gods stare, and he spends his hours\nfondling the perishable object of a woman, while I, who would give all,\nall,--give my own child that he loves,--I remain impotent!  Alas!  So\ntopsy-turvy a world are we born in!\"\nHe bowed his head in a misery so abject that Mata forbore to jibe.  She\ntried to speak again, to comfort him, but he motioned her away, and\nsat, scarcely moving in his place, until the night brought Tatsu and\nhis young wife home again.\nVIII\nThus under, as it were, a double ban of displeasure, did the new\ngeneration of Kano, Tatsu and Um\u00e8-ko, begin life in the little cottage\nbeneath the hill.  They were given Um\u00e8's chamber near which the plum\ntree grew, an adjoining room having been previously fitted up for\nTatsu's painting.  As in the other cottage, inviting rectangles of\nsilk, already stretched and sized, stood in blank rows against the\nwalls.  Even the fusuma were of new paper, offering, it would seem, to\nany inspired young artist, a surface of alluring possibilities.\nPaints, brushes, and vessels without number made an array to tempt, if\nonly the tempting were not so obvious.\nUm\u00e8-ko, watching closely the expression of her husband's face as he was\nfirst led into this room, drew old Kano aside, and urged that more tact\nand delicacy be used in leading Tatsu back to a desire for creative\nwork.  She herself, she hinted with deprecating sweetness, might do\nmuch if only allowed to follow her own loving instincts.  But Kano had\nlost confidence in his daughter and bluntly told her so.  Tatsu had\nbeen adopted and married in order to make him paint, and paint he\nshould!  Also it was Um\u00e8-ko's duty to influence him in whatever way and\nmethod her father thought best.  Let her succeed,--that was her sole\nresponsibility.  So blustered Kano to himself and Mata, and not even\nthe malicious twinkle of the old servant's eye pointed the way to\nwisdom.\nNaturally Um\u00e8-ko did not succeed.  Tatsu merely laughed at her flagrant\nefforts at duplicity.  He felt no need of painting, no desire to paint.\nHe had won the Dragon Maiden.  Life could give him no more!  There was\nno anger or resentment in his feeling toward Kano, or even the old\nscourge Mata.  No, he was too happy!  To lie dreaming on the fragrant,\nmatted floor near Um\u00e8, where he could listen to her soft breathing and\nat times pull her closer by a silken sleeve,--this was enough for\nTatsu.  Nothing had power to arouse in him a sense of duty, of\nobligation to himself, or to his adopted father.  He would not argue\nabout it, and could scarcely be said to listen.  He lived and moved and\nbreathed in love as in a fourth dimension.  To the old man's frequent\nremonstrances he would turn a gentle, deprecating face.  He had\npromised Um\u00e8-ko never again to speak rudely to their father.  Besides,\nwhy should he?  The outer world was all so beautiful and sad and\nunimportant.  A sunset cloud, or a bird swinging from a hagi spray\ncould bring sharp, swift tears to his eyes.  Beauty could move him, but\nnot old Kano's genuine sufferings.  Yet, the old man, bleating from the\narid rocks of age, was doubtless a pathetic spectacle, and must be\nlistened to kindly.\nFinding the boy thus obdurate, Kano turned the full force of his\ndiscontent on Um\u00e8-ko.  She endured in silence the incessant railing.\nEach new device urged by the distracted Kano she carried out with\nscrupulous care, though even with the performance of it she knew\nhopelessness to be involved.  For hours she remained away from home,\nhidden in a neighbor's house or in the temple on the hill, it being\nKano's thought that perhaps, in this temporary loss of his idol, Tatsu\nmight seek solace in the paint room.  But Tatsu, raging against the\nconditions which made such tyranny possible, stormed, on such\noccasions, through the little house, and up and down the garden,\npelting the terrified gold-fish in their caves, stripping leaves and\ntips from Kano's favorite pine-shrubs, or standing, long intervals of\ntime, on the crest of the moon-viewing hillock, from which he could\ncommand vistas of the street below.\n\"There 's your jewel of a painter,\" old Mata, indoors, would say.\n\"Look at him, master,--a noble figure, indeed, standing on one leg like\na love-sick stork!\"  And Kano, helpless before his own misery and the\nold dame's acrid triumph, would keep silence, only muttering\ninvocations to the gods for self-control.\nOften the young wife pretended a sudden desire for her own artistic\nwork.  She would go hurriedly to the little painting chamber, gather\ncomplex paraphernalia, and assume the pose of eager effort.  Tatsu\nalways followed her but, once within the room, bent such laughing eyes\nof comprehension that she dared not look into his face.  Nevertheless\nshe would paint; tracing, mechanically, the bird and flower studies in\nwhich she had once taken delight.  Just in the midst of some specially\ndelicate stroke, Tatsu would snatch her hands away, press them against\nhis lips, his eyes, his throat, hurl the painting things to the four\ncorners of the room, drag her down to his strong embrace, and triumph\nopenly in the victory of love.  The young wife, longing from the first\nto yield, attempted always to repel him, protesting in the words her\nfather had bade her use, and urging him to rouse himself and paint, as\nshe was doing.  Then the young god would laugh magnificent music,\ndrowning the last pathetic echo of old Kano's remembered voice.\nCatching her anew he would crush her against his breast, fondling her\nwith that tempestuous gentleness that surely no mere man of earth could\nknow, would drag up her faint soul to him through eyes and lips until\nshe felt herself but a shred of ecstacy caught in a whirlwind of\nimmortal love.\n  \"So that we be together,\n    Even the Hell of the Blood Lake,\n  Even the Mountain of Swords,\n    Mean nothing to us at all!\"\nHe would sing, in the words of an old Buddhist folk-song.  At such\nsupreme heights of emotion she knew, consciously, that Kano's grief and\ndisappointment were nothing.  She did not really care whether Tatsu\never touched a brush again,--whether, indeed, the whole visible world\nfretted itself into dust.  She and Tatsu had found each other!  The\nrest meant nothing at all!\nSuch moments were, however, the isolated and the exceptional.  As the\ndays went by they became less frequent, and, by a strange law of\ncontrasts, with diminution exacted a heavier toll.  The strain of\nantagonisms within the little home became almost unbearable.  Neither\nKano nor Tatsu would yield an inch, and between them, like a white\nflower between stones, little Um\u00e8-ko was crushed.  A new and\nthreatening trouble was that of poverty.  Tatsu would not paint; Kano,\nin his wretchedness could not.\nThe young wife went often now to the temple on the hill.  Tatsu\ngenerally went with her, remaining outside in the courtyard or at the\nedge of the cliff, under the camphor tree, while she was praying\nwithin.  Her entreaties were all for divine guidance.  She implored of\nthe gods a deeper insight into the cause of this strange trouble now\nupon them, and besought, too, that in her husband, Tatsu, should be\nawakened a recognition of his duties, and of the household needs.  Kano\nvisited the temple, also, and spent long hours in conference with his\npersonal friend, the abbot.  Even old Mata, abandoning for the moment\nher Protestantism and reverting to the yearning (never entirely\nstifled) for mystic practises, went to an old charlatan of a\nfortune-teller, and purchased various charms and powders for driving\nthe demons from the unconscious Tatsu.  Um\u00e8-ko soon discovered this,\nand the fear that Tatsu would be poisoned added to a load of anxiety\nalready formidable.\nBy the end of October, Yeddo's most golden and most perfect month, no\nhours brought happiness to the little bride but those stolen ones in\nwhich she and her husband were wont to take long walks together,\nsometimes into the country, again through the mazes of the great\ncapital.  Even at these times of respite she was only too well aware\nhow Kano and the old nurse sat together at home, lamenting the gross\nselfishness of the young,--deciding, perhaps, upon the next loved\npainting or household treasure to be sold for buying rice.  Tatsu, now\nas unreasonable and obstinate as Kano himself, still refused to admit\nunhappiness or threatened destitution.  He and Um\u00e8-ko could go to the\nmountains, he said.  \"The mountains were, after all, their true home.\nOnce there the Sennin and the deities of cloud would see that they did\nnot suffer.\"\nOn an afternoon very near the end of the month the young couple took\nsuch a walk together.  Their course lay eastward, crossing at right\nangles the main streets of the great city, until they reached the\nshores of the Sumida River, winding down like a road of glass.  They\nhad emerged into the famous district of Asakusa, where the great temple\nof Kwannon the Merciful attracts daily its thousands of worshippers.\nHere the water course is bounded by fashionable tea-houses, many\nstories high, and here the great arched bridges are always crowded.\nLeaving this busy heart of things, they sauntered northward, finding\nlonelier shores, and soon wide fields of green, until they reached a\nbank whereon grew a single leaning willow.  The body of this tree,\nbending outward, sent its long, nerveless leaves in a perpetual green\nrain to the surface of the stream, where sudden swarms of minnows, like\nshivers in a glass, assailed the deceptive bait.  The roots of the\ntree--great yellowish, twisted ropes of roots--clutched air, earth, and\nwater in their convolutions.  Among them the current, swifter here than\nin mid-stream, uttered at times a guttural, uncanny sound as of\nspectral laughter.\nUm\u00e8-ko stood, one slender arm about the trunk, looking out, with\nmournful eyes, upon the passing river show.  On the farther bank grew a\ncontinuous wall of cherry trees in yellowing leaf, and above them\nglowed the first hint of the coming sunset.  Rising against the sky a\ntemple roof, tilted like the keel of a sunken vessel, cut sharp lines\ninto the crimson light.\nTatsu flung himself full length upon the bank.  He patted the soil with\nits springing grasses, and felt his heart flow out in love to it.  Then\nhe reached up, caught at the drifting gauze of Um\u00e8's sleeve, and made\nas if to pull her down.  Um\u00e8 clasped the tree more tightly.\n\"Tatsu,\" she said, \"I implore you not to think always of me.  Look,\nbeloved, the thin white sails of the rice-boats pass, and, over yonder,\nchildren in scarlet petticoats dance beneath the trees.\"\n\"I have eyes but for my wife,\" said wilful Tatsu.\nUm\u00e8-ko drew the sleeve away.  She would not meet his smile.  \"Alas,\nshall I forever obscure beauty!\"\n\"There is no beauty now but in you!  You are the sacred mirror which\nreflects for me all loveliness.\"\n\"Dear lord, those words are almost blasphemy,\" said Um\u00e8, in a\nfrightened whisper.  \"Look, now, beloved, the light of the sun sinks\ndown.  Soon the great moon will come to us.\"\n\"What care I for a distant moon, oh, Dragon Maid,\" laughed Tatsu.\nUm\u00e8's outstretched arm fell heavily to her side.  \"Alas!\" she said\nagain.  \"From deepest happiness may come the deepest pain.  You dream\nnot of the hurt you give.\"\n\"I give no hurt at all that I cannot more than heal,\" cried Tatsu, in\nhis masterful way.  But Um\u00e8's lips still quivered, and she turned her\nface from him.\nIn the silence that followed, the water among the willow roots gave out\na rush and gurgle, a sound of liquid merriment,--perhaps the laugh of a\n\"Kappa\" or river sprite, mocking the perplexities of men.  Um\u00e8-ko\nleaned over instantly, staring down into the stream.\n[Illustration: \"Um\u00e8-ko leaned over instantly, staring down into the\nstream.\"]\n\"How deep it is, and strong,\" she whispered, as if to her own thought\n\"That which fell in here would be carried very swiftly out to sea.\"\nTatsu smiled dreamily upon her.  In his delight at her beauty, the\ndelicate poise of body with its long, gray drifting sleeves, he did not\nrealize the meaning of her words.  One little foot in its lacquered\nshoe and rose-velvet thong, crushed the grasses at the very edge of the\nbank.  Suddenly the earth beneath her shivered.  It parted in a long\nblack fissure, and then sank, with sob and splash, into the hurrying\nwater.  Um\u00e8 tottered and clung to the tree.  Tatsu, springing up at a\nsingle bound, caught her back into safety.  The very branches above\nthem shook as if in sentient fear.  Um\u00e8 felt herself pressed,--welded\nagainst her husband's side in such an agony of strength that his\nbeating heart seemed to be in her own body.  She heard the breath rasp\nupward in his throat and catch there, inarticulate.  He began dragging\nher backward, foot by foot.  At a safe distance he suddenly\nsank--rather fell--to earth bearing her with him, and began moaning\nover her, caressing and fondling her as a tiger might a rescued cub.\n\"Never go near that stream again!\" he said hoarsely, as soon as he\ncould speak at all.  \"Hear me, Um\u00e8-ko, it is my command!  Never again\napproach that tree.  It is a goblin tree.  Some dead, unhappy woman,\ndrowned here in the self-death, must inhabit it and would entice you to\ndestruction.  Oh, Um\u00e8, my wife,--my wife!  I saw the black earth\ngrinning beneath your feet.  I cannot bear it!  Come away from this\nplace at once,--at once!  The river itself may reach out snares to us.\"\n\"Yes, lord, I will come,\" she panted, trying to loosen the rigid arms,\n\"but I am faint.  This high bank is safe, now.  And, lord, when you so\nembrace and crush me my strength does not return.\"\nTatsu grudgingly relaxed his hold.  \"Rest here then, close beside me,\"\nhe said.  \"I shall not trust you, even an inch from me.\"\nThe river current in the tree roots laughed aloud.\nAcross and beyond the road of glass, the sky grew cold now and blue,\nlike the side of a dead fish.  A glow subtle and unmistakable as\nperfume tingled up through the dusk.\n\"The Lady Moon,\" whispered Um\u00e8, softly.  Freeing her little hands she\njoined them, bent her head, and gave the prayer of welcome to O Tsuki\nSama.\nTatsu watched her gloomily.  \"I pray to no moon,\" he said.  \"I pray to\nnothing in this place.\"\nA huge coal barge on its way to the Yokohama harbor glided close to\nthem along the dark surface of the tide.  At the far end of the barge a\nfire was burning, and above it, from a round black cauldron, boiling\nrice sent up puffs of white, fragrant steam.  The red light fell upon a\nring of faces, evidently a mother and her children; and on the broad,\nnaked back of the father who leaned far outward on his guiding pole.\nUm\u00e8 turned her eyes away.  \"I think I can walk now,\" she said.\nTatsu rose instantly, and drew her upward by the hands.  A shudder of\nremembered horror caught him.  He pressed her once more tightly to his\nheart.  \"Um\u00e8-ko, Um\u00e8-ko, my wife,--my Dragon Wife!\" he cried aloud in a\nvoice of love and anguish.  \"I have sought you through the torments of\na thousand lives.  Shall anything have power to separate us now?\"\n\"Nothing can part us now, but--death,\" said Um\u00e8-ko, and glanced, for an\ninstant, backward to the river.\nTatsu winced.  \"Use not the word!  It attracts evil.\"\n\"It is a word that all must some day use,\" persisted the young wife,\ngently.  \"Tell me, beloved, if death indeed should come--?\"\n\"It would be for both.  It could not be for one alone.\"\n\"No, no!\" she cried aloud, lifting her white face as if in appeal to\nheaven.  \"Do not say that, lord!  Do not think it!  If I, the lesser\none, should be chosen of death, surely you would live for our\nfather,--for the sake of art!\"\n\"I would kill myself just as quickly as I could!\" said Tatsu, doggedly.\n\"What comfort would painting be?  I painted because I had you not.\"\n\"Because--you--had--me--not,\" mused little Um\u00e8-ko, her eyes fixed\nstrangely upon the river.\n\"Come,\" said Tatsu, rudely, \"did I not forbid you to speak of death?\nToo much has been said.  Besides, the fate of ordinary mortals should\nhave no potency for such as we.  When our time comes for pause before\nrebirth we shall climb together some high mountain peak, lifting our\narms and voices to our true parents, the gods of storm and wind.  They\nwill lean to us, beloved,--they will rush downward in a great passion\nof joy, catching us and straining us to immortality!\"\nBy this they were from sight and hearing of the river, and had begun to\nthread the maze of narrow city streets in which now lamps and tiny\nelectric bulbs and the bobbing lanterns of hurrying jinrikisha men had\nbegun to twinkle.  In the darker alleys the couple walked side by side.\nUm\u00e8, at times, even rested a small hand on her husband's sleeve.  In\nthe broad, well-lighted thoroughfares he strode on some paces in\nadvance while Um\u00e8 followed, in decorous humility, as a good wife\nshould.  Few words passed between them.  The incident at the willow\ntree had left a gloomy aftermath of thought.\nIn the Kano home the simple night meal of rice, tea, soup, and pickled\nvegetables was already prepared.  Mata motioned them to their places in\nthe main room where old Kano was already seated, and served them in the\ngloomy silence which was part of the general strain.  Throughout the\nwhole place reproach hung like a miasma.\nThis evening, almost for the first time, Tatsu reflected, in full\nmeasure, the despondency of his companions.  The elder man, glancing\nnow and again toward him, evidently restrained with difficulty a flow\nof bitter words.  Once he spoke to his daughter, fixing sunken eyes\nupon her.  \"The crimson lacquered wedding-chest that was your mother's,\nto-day has been sold to buy us food.\"  Um\u00e8 clenched her little hands\ntogether, then bowed far over, in token that she had heard.  There were\nno words to say.  For weeks now they had lived upon such money as\nthis,--namida-kane,--\"tear-money\" the Japanese call it.\nTatsu, helpless in his place, scowled and muttered for a moment, then\nrose and hurried out, leaving the meal unfinished.  Um\u00e8 watched him\nsadly, but did not follow.  This was so unusual a thing that Tatsu,\nalone in their chamber, was at first astonished, then alarmed.  For ten\nminutes or more he paced up and down the narrow space, pride urging him\nto await his wife's dutiful appearance.  In a short while more he felt\nthe tension to be unbearable.  A sinister silence flooded the house.\nHe hurried back to the main room to find that Um\u00e8 and old Kano were not\nthere.  He began searching the house, all but the kitchen.\nInstinctively he avoided old Mata's domain, knowing it to be the lair\nof an enemy.  At last necessity drove him to it also.  Her face leered\nat him through a parted shoji.  He gave a bound in her direction.\nInstantly she had slammed the panels together; and before he could\nreopen them had armed herself with a huge, glittering fish-knife.\n\"None of your mountain wild-cat ways for me!\" she screamed.\nIn spite of wretchedness and alarm the boy laughed aloud.  \"I wish not\nto hurt you, old fool,\" he said.  \"I desire nothing but to know where\nmy wife is.\"\n\"With her father,\" snapped the other.\n\"Yes, but where,--where?  And why did she go without telling me?  Where\ndid he take her?  Answer quickly.  I must follow them.\"\n\"I have no answers for you,\" said Mata.  \"And even if I had you would\nnot get them.  Go, go, out of my sight, you Bearer of Discord!\" she\nrailed, feeling that at last an opportunity for plain speaking had\narrived.  \"This was a happy house until your evil presence sought it.\nDon't glare at me, and take postures.  I care neither for your tall\nfigure nor your flashing eyes.  You may bewitch the others, but not old\nMata!  Oh, Dragon Painter!  Oh, Dragon Painter!  The greatest since\nSesshu!\" she mimicked, \"show me a few of the wonderful things you were\nto paint us when once you were Kano's son!  Bah! you were given my\nnursling, as a wolf is given a young fawn,--that was all you wanted.\nYou will never paint!\"\n\"Tell me where she is or I'll--\" began the boy, raving.\n\"No you won't,\" jeered Mata, now in a transport of fury.  \"Back, back,\nout of my kitchen and my presence or this knife will plunge its way\ninto you as into a devil-fish.  Oh, it would be a sight!  I have no\nlove for you!\"\n\"I care not for your love, old Baba, old fiend, nor for your knife.\nWhere did my Um\u00e8 go?  You grin like an old she-ape!  Never, upon my\nmountains did I see so vicious a beast.\"\n\"Then go back to your mountains!  You are useless here.  You will not\neven paint.  Go where you belong!\"\n\"The mountains,--the mountains!\" sobbed the boy, under his breath.\n\"Yes, I must go to them or my soul will go without me!  Perhaps the\nkindlier spirits of the air will tell me where she is!\"  With a last\ndistracted gesture he fled from the house and out into the street.\nMata listened with satisfaction as she heard him racing up the slope\ntoward the hillside.  \"I wish it were indeed a Kiu Shiu peak he\nclimbed, instead of a decent Yeddo cliff,\" she muttered to herself, as\nshe tied on her apron and began to wash the supper dishes.  \"But, alas,\nhe will be back all too soon, perhaps before my master and Miss Um\u00e8\ncome down from the temple.\"\nIn this surmise the old dame was, for once, at fault.  Tatsu did not\nreturn until full daylight of the next morning.  He had been wandering,\nevidently, all night long among the chill and dew-wet branches of the\nmountain shrubs.  His silken robe was torn and stained as had been the\nblue cotton dress, that first day of his coming.  At sight of his\nsunken eyes and haggard look Um\u00e8-ko's heart cried out to him, and it\nwas with difficulty that she restrained her tears.  But she still had a\nlast appeal to make, and this was to be the hour.\nIn response to his angry questions, she would answer nothing but that\nshe and her father had business at the temple.  More than this, she\nwould not say.  As he persisted, pleading for her motives in so leaving\nhim, and heaping her with the reproaches of tortured love, she suddenly\nthrew herself on the mat before him, in a passion of grief such as he\nhad not believed possible to her.  She clasped his knees, his feet, and\nbesought him, with all the strength and pathos of her soul, to make at\nleast one more attempt to paint.  He, now in equal torment, with tears\nrunning along his bronzed face, confessed to her that the power seemed\nto have gone from him.  Some demon, he said, must have stolen it from\nhim while he slept, for now the very touch of a brush, the look of\npaint, frenzied him.\nUm\u00e8-ko went again to her father, saying that she again had failed.  The\nstrain was now, indeed, past all human endurance.  The little home\nbecame a charged battery of tragic possibilities.  Each moment was a\nseparate menace, and the hours heaped up a structure already tottering.\nAt dawn of the next day, Tatsu, who after a restless and unhappy night\nhad fallen into heavy slumber, awoke, with a start, alone.  A pink\nlight glowed upon his paper shoji; the plum tree, now entirely\nleafless, threw a splendid shadow-silhouette.  At the eaves, sparrows\nchattered merrily.  It was to be a fair day: yet instantly, even before\nhe had sprung, cruelly awake, to his knees, he knew that the dreaded\nSomething was upon him.\nOn the silken head-rest of Um\u00e8's pillow was fastened a long, slender\nenvelope, such as Japanese women use for letters.  Tatsu recoiled from\nit as from a venomous reptile.  Throwing himself face down upon the\nfloor he groaned aloud, praying his mountain gods to sweep away from\nhis soul the black mist of despair that now crawled, cold, toward it.\nWhy should Um\u00e8-ko have left him again, and at such an hour?  Why should\nshe have pinned to her pillow a slip of written paper?  He would not\nread it!  Yes, yes,--he must,--he must read instantly.  Perhaps the\nSomething was still to be prevented!  He caught the letter up, held it\nas best he could in quivering hands, and read:\nBecause of my unworthiness, O master, my heart's beloved, I have been\nallowed to come between you and the work you were given of the gods to\ndo.  The fault is all mine, and must come from my evil deeds in a\nprevious life.  By sacrifice of joy and life I now attempt to expiate\nit.  I go to the leaning willow where the water speaks.  One thing only\nI shall ask of you,--that you admit to your mind no thought of\nself-destruction, for this would heavily burden my poor soul, far off\nin the Meido-land.  Oh, live, my beloved, that I, in spirit, may still\nbe near you.  I will come.  You shall know that I am near,--only, as\nthe petals of the plum tree fall in the wind of spring, so must my\nearthly joy depart from me.  Farewell, O thou who art loved as no\nmortal was ever loved before thee.\nYour erring wife,\n  Um\u00e8-ko.\nIn his fantastic night-robe with its design of a huge fish, ungirdled\nand wild of eyes, Tatsu rushed through the drowsy streets of Yeddo.\nThe few pedestrians, catching sight of him, withdrew, with cries of\nfear, into gateways and alleys.\nAt the leaning willow he paused, threw an arm about it, and swayed far\nover like a drunkard, his eyes blinking down upon the stream.  Um\u00e8-ko's\nwords, at the time of their utterance scarcely noted, came now as an\necho, hideously clear.  \"That which fell here would be carried very\nswiftly out to sea.\"  His nails broke against the bark.  She,--his\nwife,--must have been thinking of it even then, while he,--he,--blind\nbrute and dotard--sprawled upon the earth feeding his eyes of flesh\nupon the sight of her.  But, after all, could she have really done it?\nSurely the gods, by miracle, must have checked so disproportionate a\nsacrifice!  Suddenly his wandering gaze was caught and held by a little\nshoe among the willow roots.  It was of black lacquer, with a thong of\nrose-colored velvet.  With one cry, that seemed to tear asunder the\nphysical walls of his body, he loosed his arm and fell.\nIX\nHis body was found some moments later by old Kano and a bridge keeper.\nIt was caught among the pilings of a boat-landing several hundred feet\nfarther down the tide.  A thin, sluggish stream of blood followed it\nlike a clue, and, when he was dragged up upon the bank, gushed out\nterribly from a wound near his temple.  He had seized, in falling,\nUm\u00e8-ko's lacquered geta, and his fingers could not be unclasped.  In\nspite of the early hour (across the river the sun still peered through\nfolds of shimmering mist) quite a crowd of people gathered.\n\"It is the newly adopted son of Kano Indara,\" they whispered, one to\nanother.  \"He is but a few weeks married to Kano's daughter, and is\ncalled 'The Dragon Painter.'\"\nThe efficient river-police summoned an ambulance, and had him taken to\nthe nearest hospital.  Here, during an entire day, every art was\nemployed to restore him to consciousness, but without success.  Life,\nindeed, remained.  The flow of blood was stopped, and the wound\nbandaged, but no sign of intelligence awoke.\n\"It is to be an illness of many weeks, and of great peril,\" answered\nthe chief physician that night to Kano's whispered question.  The old\nman turned sorrowfully away and crept home, wondering whether now, at\nthis extremity, the gods would utterly desert him.\nMata, prostrated at first by the loss of her nursling, soon rallied her\npractical old wits.  She went, in secret, to the hospital, demanded\naudience of the house physician, and gave to him all details of the\nstrange situation which had culminated in Um\u00e8's desperate act of\nself-renunciation, and induced Tatsu's subsequent madness.  She did not\nask for a glimpse of the sick man.  Indeed she made no pretence of\nkindly feeling toward him, for, in conclusion, she said, \"Now, August\nSir, if, with your great skill in such matters, you succeed in giving\nback to this young wild man the small amount of intelligence he was\nborn with, I caution you, above all things, keep from his reach such\nimplements of self-destruction as ropes, knives, and poisons.  Oh, he\nis an untamed beast, Doctor San.  His love for my poor young mistress\nwas that of a lion and a demon in one.  He will certainly slay himself\nwhen he has the strength.  Not that I care!  His death would bring\nrelief to me, for in our little home he is like the spirit of storm\ncaged in a flower.  Would I had never seen him, or felt the influence\nof his evil karma!  But my poor old master still dotes on him, and,\nwith Miss Um\u00e9 vanished, if this Dragon Painter, too, should die at\nonce, Kano could not endure the double blow!\"  The old woman began to\nsob in her upraised sleeve, apologizing through her tears for the\ndiscourtesy.  The physician comforted her with kind words, and thanked\nher very sincerely for the visit.  Her disclosures did, indeed, throw\nlight upon a difficult situation.\nFrom the hospital the old servant made her way to Uchida's hotel, to\nlearn that he had gone the day before to Kiu Shiu.  With this tower of\nstrength removed Mata felt, more than ever, that Kano's sole friend was\nherself.  The loss of Um\u00e8 was still to her a horror and a shock.  The\neating loneliness of long, empty days at home had not yet begun; but\nMata was to know them, also.\nKano, during the first precarious days of his son's illness,\npractically deserted the cottage, and lived, day and night, in the\nhospital.  His pathetic old figure became habitual to the halls and\ngardens near his son.  The physicians and nurses treated him with\ndelicate kindness, forcing food and drink upon him, and urging him to\nrest himself in one of the untenanted rooms.  They believed the\ndeepening lines of grief to be traced by the loss of an only daughter,\nrather than by this illness of a newly adopted son.  In truth the old\nman seldom thought of Um\u00e8-ko.  He was watching the life that flickered\nin Tatsu's prostrate body as a lost, starving traveller watches a\nlantern approaching over the moor.  \"The gods preserve him,--the gods\ngrant his life to the Kano name, to art, and the glory of Nippon,\" so\nprayed the old man's shrivelled lips a hundred times each day.\nAfter a stupor of a week, fever laid hold of Tatsu, bringing delirium,\ndelusion, and mad raving.  At times he believed himself already dead,\nand in the heavenly isle of Ho-rai with Um\u00e8.  His gestures, his\nwhispered words of tenderness, brought tears to the eyes of those who\nlistened.  Again he lived through that terrible dawn when first he had\nread her letter of farewell.  Each word was bitten with acid into his\nmind.  Again and again he repeated the phrases, now dully, as a wearied\nbeast goes round a treadmill, now with weeping, and in convulsions of a\ngrief so fierce that the merciful opiate alone could still it.\nThe fever slowly began to ebb.  For him the shores of conscious thought\nlay scorched and blackened by memory.  More unwillingly than he had\nbeen dragged up from the river's cold embrace was he now held back from\ndeath.  His first lucid words were a petition.  \"Do not keep me alive.\nIn the name of Kwannon the Merciful, to whom my Um\u00e8 used to pray, do\nnot bind me again upon the wheel of life!\"  Although he fought against\nit with all the will power left to him, strength brightened in his\nveins.  Stung into new anguish he prayed more fervently, \"Let me pass\nnow!  I cannot bear more pain.  I 'll die in spite of you.  Oh, icy men\nof science, you but give me the means with which to slay myself!  I\nwarn you, at the first chance I shall escape you all!\"\n\"Mad youth, it is my duty to give you back your life even though you\nare to use it as a coward,\" said the chief physician.\nOnce when his suffering had passed beyond the power of all earthly\nalleviation, and it seemed as if each moment would fling the shuddering\nvictim into the dark land of perpetual madness, Kano urged that the\nvenerable abbot from the Shingon temple on the hill be summoned.  He\ncame in full regalia of office,--splendid in crimson and gold.  With\nhim were two acolytes, young and slender figures, also in brocade, but\nwith hoods of a sort of golden gauze drawn forward so as to conceal the\nfaces within.  They bore incense burners, sets of the mystic vagra, and\nother implements of esoteric ceremony.  The high priest carried only\nhis tall staff of polished wood, tipped with brass, and surmounted by a\nglittering, symbolic design, the \"Wheel of the Law,\" the hub of which\nis a lotos flower.\nTatsu, at sight of them, tossed angrily on his bed, railing aloud, in\nhis thin, querulous voice, and scoffing at any power of theirs to\ncomfort, until, in spite of himself, a strange calm seemed to move\nabout him and encircle him.  He listened to the chanted words, and the\nsplendid invocations, spoken in a tongue older than the very gods of\nhis own land, wondering, the while, at his own acquiescence.  Surely\nthere was a sweet presence in the room that held him as a smile of love\nmight hold.  He was sorry when the ceremony came to an end.  The abbot,\nwhispering to the others, sent all from the room but himself, Tatsu,\nand the smaller of the acolytes, who still knelt motionless at the head\nof the sick man's couch, holding upward an incense burner in the shape\nof a lotos seed-pod.  The blue incense smoke breathed upward, sank\nagain as if heavy with its own delight, encircling, almost as if with\nconscious intention, the kneeling figure, and then moved outward to\nTatsu and the enclosing walls.\n\"My son,\" began the abbot, leaning gently over the bed, \"I have a\nmessage from--her--\"\n\"No, no,\" moaned the boy, his wound opening anew.  \"Do not speak it.  I\nwas beginning to feel a little peace from pain.  Do not speak of her.\nYou can have no message.\"\n\"I have known Kano Um\u00e8-ko her whole life long,\" persisted the holy man.\n\"She is worthy of a nobler love than this you are giving her.\"\n\"There may be love more noble, but none--none--more terrible than\nmine,\" wailed out the sick man.  \"I cannot even die.  I am quickened by\nthe flames that burn me; fed by the viper, Life, that feeds on my\ndespair.  My flesh cankers with a self-renewing sore!  Could I but\nbathe my wounds in death!\"\n\"Poor suffering one, this flesh is only the petal fallen from a\nperfected bloom!  Whether her tender body, or this racked and twitching\nframe upon your bed, all flesh is illusion.  Think of your soul and its\nimmortal lives!  Think of your wife's pure soul, and for its sake make\neffort to defy and vanquish this demon of self-destruction.\"\n\"Was not her own deed that of self-destruction?\" challenged Tatsu, his\nsunken eyes set in bitter triumph upon the abbot.  \"I shall but go upon\nthe road she went.\"\n\"To compare your present motives with your wife's is blasphemy,\" cried\nthe other.  \"Her deed held the glory of self-sacrifice, that you might\ngain enlightenment; while you, railing impotently here, giving out\naffront against the gods, are as the wild beast on the mountain that\ncannot bear the arrow in its side.\"\n\"And it is true,\" said Tatsu, \"I cannot bear the arrow,--I cannot\nendure this pain.  Show me the way to death, if you have true pity.\nLet me go to her who waits me in the Meido-land.\"\n\"She does not wait you there, oh, grief deluded boy,\" then said the\npriest.  \"The message that I brought is this: bound still to earth by\nher great love for you her soul is near you,--in this room,--now, as I\nspeak, seeking an entrance to your heart, and these wild railings hold\nher from you.\"\nTatsu half started from his pillow, and sank back.  \"I believe you not.\nYou trick me as you would a child,\" he moaned.\nThe priest knelt slowly by the bed.  \"In the name of Shaka,--whom I\nworship,--these words of mine are true.  Here, in this room, at this\nmoment, your Um\u00e8-ko is waiting.\"\n\"But I want her too,\" whispered the piteous lips.  \"Not only her aerial\nspirit!  I want her smile,--her little hands to touch me, the golden\necho of her laughter,--I want my wife, I say!  Oh, you gods, demons,\npreta of a thousand hells!\" he shrieked, springing to a sitting posture\nin his bed, and beating the air about him with distracted hands.\n\"These are the memories that whir down and close about me in a cloud of\nstinging wasps!  I cannot endure!  In the name of Shaka, whom you\nworship, strike me dead with the staff you hold,--then will I bless you\nand believe!\"  In a transport of madness, he leaned out, clutching at\nthe staff, clawing down the stiff robes from the abbot's throat,\nsnarling, praying, menacing with a vehemence so terrible, that the\nlittle acolyte, flinging down the still-burning koro, screamed aloud\nfor help.\nIt was many hours before the nurses and physicians could quiet this\nlast paroxysm.  Exhaustion and a relapse followed.  The long, dull\nwaiting on hope began anew.  After this no visitor but Kano was\nallowed.  He entered the sick chamber only at certain hours, placing\nhimself near the head of the bed where Tatsu need not see him.  He\nnever spoke except in answer to questions addressed him directly by his\nson, and these came infrequently enough.  With this second slow return\nto vitality, Tatsu's most definite emotion seemed to be hatred of his\nadopted father.  He writhed at the sound of that timid, approaching\nstep, and dreaded the first note of the deprecating voice.\nKano was fully aware of this aversion.  He realized that, perhaps, it\nwould be better for Tatsu if he did not come at all; yet in this one\nissue the selfishness of love prevailed.  Age and despair were to be\nkept at bay.  He had no weapons but the hours of comparative peace he\nspent at Tatsu's bedside.  Full twenty years seemed added to the old\nman's burden of life.  His back was stooped far over; his feet shuffled\nalong the wooden corridors with the sound of the steps of one too\nheavily burdened.  He never walked now without the aid of his friendly\nbamboo cane.  The threat of Tatsu's self-destruction echoed always in\nhis ears.  Away from the actual presence of his idol it gnawed him like\na famished wolf, and his mind tormented itself with fantastic and\ndreadful possibilities.  Once Tatsu had hidden under his foreign pillow\nthe china bowl in which broth was served.  Kano whispered his discovery\nto the nurse, and when she wondered, explained to her with shivering\nearnestness that it was undoubtedly the boy's intention to break it\nagainst the iron bedstead the first moment he was left alone, and with\na shard sever one of his veins.  Tatsu grinned like a trapped badger\nwhen it was wrested from him, and said that he would find a way in\nspite of them all.  After this not even a medicine bottle was left in\nthe room, and the watch over the invalid was strengthened.\n\"But,\" as old Kano remonstrated, \"even though we prevent him for a few\nweeks more, how will it be when he can stand and walk,--when he is\nstronger than I?\"  To these questions came no answer.  The second\nconvalescence, so eagerly prayed for, became now a source of increasing\ndread.  Something must be done,--some way to turn his morbid thoughts\naway from self-destruction.  The old man climbed often, now, to the\ntemple on the hill.\nThe hospital room, in an upper story, was small, with matted floors,\nand a single square window to the east.  The narrow white iron bed was\nset close to this window, so that the invalid might gaze out freely.\nTatsu did not ask that it be changed though, indeed, each recurrent\ndawn brought martyrdom to him.  The sound of sparrows at the eaves, the\nsmell of dew, the look of the morning mist as it spread great wings\nabove the city, hovering for an instant before its flight, the glow of\nthe first pink light upon his coverlid, each was an iron of memory\nsearing a soul already faint with pain.  The attendant often marvelled\nwhy, at this hour, Tatsu buried his face from sight, and, emerging into\nclearer day, bore the look of one who had met death in a narrow pass.\nAt noon, when the window showed a square of turquoise blue, he grew to\nwatch with some faint pulse of interest the changing hues of light, and\nthe clouds that shifted lazily aside, or heaped themselves up into\nrounded battlements of snow.  Quite close to the window a single cherry\nbranch, sweeping downward, cut space with a thick, diagonal line.\nSilvery lichens frilled the upper surface of the bark, and at the tip\nof each leafless twig, brown buds--small armored magazines of\nbeauty--hinted already of the spring's rebirth.  Life was all about\nhim, and he hated life.  Why should cherry blooms and sparrows dare to\ncome again,--why should that old man near him wheeze and palpitate with\nlife, why--why--should he, Tatsu, be held from his one friend, Death,\nwhen she, the essence of all life and beauty,--she who should have been\nimmortal,--drifted alone, helpless, a broken white sea-flower, on some\nblack, awful tide?\nIn the midst of such dreary imaginings, old Kano, late in the last\nmonth of the year, crept in upon his son.  He was an hour earlier than\nhis custom.  Also there was something unusual,--a new energy, perhaps a\nnew fear, noticeable in face and voice.  But Tatsu, still bleeding with\nhis visions of the dawn, saw nothing of this.  The premature visit\nirritated him.  \"Go, go,\" he cried, turning his face sharply away.\n\"This is a full hour early.  Am I to have no moments to myself?\"\n\"My son, my son,\" pleaded the old man, \"I have come a little before\ntime, because I have brought--\"\n\"Do not call me son,\" interrupted the petulant boy.  \"It is\nwretchedness to look upon you.  She would be here now, but for you.\nYou killed her!  You drove her to it!\"\n\"No, Tatsu, you wrong me!  As I have assured you, and as her own words\nsay,--she made the sacrifice from her own heart.  It was that her\npresence obscured your genius, my son.  She was unselfish and noble\nbeyond all other women.  She--went--for your sake--\"\n\"For my sake!\" jeered the other.  \"You mean, for the sake of the things\nyou want me to paint!  Well, I tell you again, I will neither live\n_nor_ paint!  Yes, that touches you.  Human agony is nothing to your\nheart of jade.  You would catch these tears I shed to mix a new\npigment!  You do not regret her.  You would think the price cheap, if\nonly I will paint.  I hate all pictures!  I curse the things I have\ndone!  Would that, indeed, I had the tongue of a dragon, that I might\nlick them from the silk!\"\n\"Tatsu, my poor son, be less violent.  I urge nothing!  The gods must\ndo with you as they will, but here is something--a letter--\"  Fumbling,\nwith shaking fingers, in his long, black sleeve, he drew out a filmy,\nwhite rectangle.  The look of it, so like to one pinned to a certain\npillow in the dawn, sent a new thrill of misery through the boy.\n\"A letter!  Who would write me a letter,--unless souls in the\nMeido-land can write!  Back, back,--do not touch me, or ere I kill\nmyself I will find strength to slay you first.  I will drag you with me\nto the underworld, as I journey in searching for my wife, and fling\nyour craven soul to devils, as one would fling offal to a dog!  Speak\nnot to me of painting, nor of her!\"\nAt the sight of extra attendants hurrying in, Tatsu waved them to leave\nhim, threw himself back, stark, upon the pillow, and closed his eyes so\ntightly that the wrinkles radiated in black lines from the corners.  He\npanted heavily, as from a long race.  His forehead twitched and\nthrobbed with purple veins.\nFlung down cruelly from the exhilaration which a moment before had been\nhis, old Kano seated himself on a chair directly in sight of Tatsu's\nbed.  The nurses stole away, leaving the two men together.  Each\nremained motionless, except for hurried breathing, and the pulsing of\ndistended veins.  A crow, perched on the cherry branch outside the\nwindow, tilted a cold, inquisitive eye into the room.\nTatsu was the first to move.  The reaction of excitement was creeping\nupon him, drawing the sting from pain.  He turned toward his visitor\nand began to study, with an impersonal curiosity, the aspect of the\npathetic figure.  Kano was sitting, utterly relaxed, at the edge of the\ncane-bottomed foreign chair His head hung forward, and his lids were\nclosed.  For the first time Tatsu noted how scanty and how white his\nhair had grown; how thin and wrinkled the fine old face.  Something\nakin to compassion rose warm and human in the looker's throat.  He had\nopened his lips to speak kindly (it would have been the first gentle\nword since Um\u00e8's loss) when the sight of his name, in handwriting, on\nthe letter, froze the very air about him, and held him for an instant a\nprisoner of fear.  The envelope dangled loosely from Kano's fingers.\nOn it was traced, in Um\u00e8-ko's beautiful, unmistakable hand, \"For my\nbeloved husband, Kano Tatsu.\"\n\"The letter, the letter,\" he cried hoarsely, pointing downward.  \"It is\nmine,--give it!\"\nKano raised his head.  The reaction of excitement was on him too, and\nit had brought for him a patient hopelessness.  It did not seem to\nmatter a great deal just now what Tatsu did or thought.  He would never\npaint.  That alone was enough blackness to fill a hell of everlasting\nnight.\n\"Give it to me,\" insisted the boy, leaning far out over the bed.  \"Did\nyou bring it only to torture me?  Quick, quick,--it is mine!\"\n\"I brought it to give, and you repulsed me.  I had found it but this\nmorning, in your painting room, pinned to a silken frame on which you\nhad begun her picture!  She must have put it there before--before--\"\n\"If you have a shred of pity or of love for me, give it and go,\" gasped\nthe boy.\nKano rose with slow dignity.  \"Yes, it is for you, and I will give it\nand leave, as you ask, if I can have your promise--\"\n\"Yes, yes, I promise everything,--anything,--I will not strive to slay\nmyself,--at least until after your return--\"\n\"That is enough,\" said the old man, and with a sigh held the missive\nout.  Tatsu snatched it through the air.  The perfume of plum blossoms\nwas stealing from it.  Once alone he crushed the delicate tissue\nagainst eyes and lips and throat.  He rolled upon the bed in agony,\nonly to press again to his heart this balm of her written words.  It\nseemed to him, then, that the letter might really have come from the\nMeido-land.  Could it be true, as the old priest said, that her soul\ncontinually hovered near, waiting only for him to give it recognition?\n\"Um\u00e8, Um\u00e8,--my wife!  Come back to me!\" he cried aloud in an agony so\ngreat that it should drag her backward through that dark\nshadow-world,--not only the phantom of what she was, but Um\u00e8-ko\nherself, with the flower-like body, and the smile of light.  He opened\nthe missive slowly, that not a shred should be torn, and spread the\nthin tissue smoothly on his foreign pillow.\n\"This, beloved, being the forty-ninth day,--the seven-times-seventh-day\nafter my passing,--when souls of those departed are given special\nprivilege to return to earth, I speak thus, dumbly, to my lord.\nAlthough the fingers tracing now these timid lines are not permitted to\ntouch you, oh, believe that, as you read, I wait at the door of your\nheart.  O thou who art so dear, give to me, I pray, a shelter and a\nhabitation.  Then, because of my great love, I shall be one with you,\nbringing you comfort and myself great blessedness.  O thou, who art\nstill my husband, I beseech you to realize that any act on your part of\nviolence and self-destruction will hurl our lives apart to the full\nwidth of the ten existences; so that, through another thousand years of\nunfulfilment we shall be groping in the dark, like children who have\nlost their way, calling ever, each on the name of the other.\n\"The birds of the air know, when storms arise, where to find their\nnests.  Even the fox has shelter in the hill.  Shall the soul of Um\u00e8-ko\nseek and find no shelter?  Send me not forth again in lonely travail!\nOpen your heart to me, O thou who art loved as no man was ever loved\nbefore thee!  Um\u00e8-ko.\"\nKano, listening at the door, thought that the boy had fainted.  One\nnurse, then another, crept near.  At last the old man, unable to endure\nthe strain, peered through a crevice.  He fell back instantly, pressing\nboth hands upon his mouth to stifle the cry of joy.  Tatsu alive,\nawake, with eyes opened wide, gazed upward smiling, as into the face of\nBuddha.\nX\nThe New Year festival, Shogatsu, had come and gone: white-flower buds\ngleamed like pearls on the lichen-covered, twisted limbs of the old\n\"dragon-plum\" by Um\u00e8's chamber ledge, when Tatsu and his adopted father\nentered once more together the little Kano home.  If the young husband\nhad realized, all along, what this coming ordeal might mean, he had\ngiven no sign of it.  Kano and the physicians feared for him.  The last\ntest, it was to be, of sanity and of endurance.  The actual hour of\ndeparture from the hospital fell late in January.  More than once\nbefore a day had been decreed, only to be postponed because of a sudden\nphysical weakening--mysterious and apparently without cause--on the\npart of the patient.\n\"I will return with you as soon as I may,\" Tatsu had assured his father\non the day of reading Um\u00e8's letter.  \"I will try to live, and even to\npaint.  Only, I pray you, speak not the name of--her I have lost.\"\nThis promise was given willingly enough.  Kano's chief difficulty now\nwas to hide his growing happiness.  It was much to his interest that\nthe subject of Um\u00e8 be avoided.  Even a dragon painter from the\nmountains must know something of certain primitive obligations to the\ndead, and for Um\u00e8 not even an ihai had been set up by that of her\nmother in the family shrine.  When Tatsu learned this he would marvel,\nand probably be angry.  If by his own condition of silence he were\ndebarred from attacking Kano, so much the better for Kano.\nIt was this disgraceful and unheard-of negligence--a matter already of\ncommon gossip in the neighborhood--that added the last measure of\nbitterness to old Mata's grief.  Was her master demented through sorrow\nthat he so challenged public censure, and was willing to cast dishonor\nupon the name of his only child?  Hour after hour in the lonely house\ndid the old dame seek to piece together the broken edges of her\nshattered faith.  The master had always been a religious man,\nover-zealous, she had thought, in minute observances.  Yet now he was\nwilling to neglect, to ignore, the very fundamental principles of\nsocial decency.  Personally he had seemed wretched enough after Um\u00e8's\nloss.  The kindly neighbors had at first marvelled aloud at his\nwhitening hair and heavily burdened frame.  Mata, pleased at the\nsympathy, did nothing to distract it; but in her heart she knew that it\nwas Tatsu's illness, not his daughter's death, that bore upon old Kano\nlike the winter snow upon his pines.\nOn that most sacred period of mourning, the seven-times-seventh day\nafter \"divine retirement,\" when the spirit is privileged to enter most\nclosely into the hearts of those that pray, Mata had believed that,\nbeyond doubt, the full ceremony would be held.  Surely the sweet,\nwandering soul was now to be given its kaimyo, was to be soothed by\nprayer, and be refreshed by the ghostly essence of tea and rice and\nfruit, placed before its ihai upon the shrine!  What must the dead\ngirl's mother have been thinking all this time?  Mata woke before the\ndawn to pray.  Kano, too, was awake early.  She hurried to him, her\nfirst words a petition.  But, no, he had no thought, even on this day\nof all days, for his child.  He was off without his breakfast, an hour\nearlier than usual, to the hospital, a letter in his hand.  Mata\nliterally fell upon her knees before him, importuning him for the honor\nof the family name, if not in love for Um\u00e8-ko, to give orders at the\ntemple for the holding of religious ceremonies.  But Kano, himself\nalmost in tears, eager, excited, though obviously in quite another\nwhirlpool of emotions, urged her to be patient just a little longer.\n\"I think all will yet be well,\" he assured her.  \"I have some hope\nto-day!\"\n\"All will yet be well!\" mocked the old dame through clenched teeth,\nwatching the bent old figure hurrying from her.  \"As if anything could\never again be well, with my young mistress dead, and not even her body\nrecovered for burial!\"\nIn spite of her dislike for Tatsu, the lonely woman found herself\nwatching, with some impatience, for the day of his actual return.\nSuccessive postponements had fretted her, and sharpened curiosity.  She\nhad not seen him since his illness.  Upon that January noon when his\nkuruma rolled slowly in under the gate-roof, followed by anxious Kano\nand one of the male nurses from the hospital, she had turned toward him\nthe old look of resentment: but, instead of the brief and chilling\nglance she had thought to use, found herself staring, gaping, in\namazement and incredulity.  She did not believe, for the first moment,\nthat the wreck she saw was Tatsu.  This bowed and shrunken ghost of\nsuffering,--this loose, pallid semblance of a man, the beautiful,\ndefiant, compelling demigod of the mountains that had swept down upon\nthem!  No! sorrow could wreak miracles of the soul, but no such\nphysical transformation as this!\nShe continued to watch furtively, in a sort of terror, the tall figure\nas it was assisted from the kuruma and led, shambling, through the\nhouse.  The three moved on to the wing containing Um\u00e8's chamber, and\nthe painting room.  Mata heard the fusuma close gently, the nurse's\nvoice give admonition to \"keep his spirit strong for this last stress,\"\nheard old Kano falter, \"Farewell, my son, no one shall disturb you in\nthese rooms,\" and had barely time to regain her presence of mind as the\ntwo men, Kano and the nurse, entered her kitchen.  The former spoke:\n\"Mata, your young master is to remain, unmolested, in that part of the\nhouse.  Do not offer him rice, or tea, or anything whatever.  When he\nneeds and desires it he will himself emerge and ask for food.  Above\nall things, do not knock upon his fusuma or call his name.  These are\nthe physician's orders.\"\n\"Exactly!\" corroborated the nurse, with a professional air.\n\"Kashikomarimashita!\" muttered the old dame in sullen acquiescence.\n\"You need not have feared that I should intrude upon him!\"\nFor three days and nights Tatsu remained to himself.  The anxious\nlisteners heard at times the sound of restless pacing up and down,--the\nthin, sibilant noise of stockinged feet sliding on padded straw.  Again\nthere would be a thud, as of a body fallen, or sunken heavily to the\nfloor.  Kano, on the second day, pale with apprehension, went early to\nthe hospital for a revocation, or at least a modification of the\ninstructions.  The doctor's mandate was the same, \"Do not go near him.\nLife, as well as reason, may depend upon this battle with his own\ndespair.  Only the gods can help him.\"  To the gods, then, Kano went as\nwell; climbing the long, steep road to the temple, where he made\nofferings and poured out from his anxious heart the very essence of\nloving prayer.\nOn the third day, Kano being thus absent, and old Mata alone in her\nkitchen as nervous, she would have told you, as a fish with half its\nscales off, she heard the fusuma of the distant room shudder, and then,\nwith a sound of feeble jerks, begin to separate.  She knew that it was\nTatsu, and rallied herself for the approach.  Through the shaded\ncorridor came a figure scarcely animate, moving it would seem in answer\nto a soundless call.  It entered the kitchen halting, and looking about\nas one in an unfamiliar place.  On a square stone brasier, fed with\nglowing coals, the rice-pot steamed.  The delicate vapor, tinged with\naroma of the cooking food, made a fine mist in the air.  Suddenly he\nthrust an arm out toward the fire.  \"Rice!--I am faint with hunger,\" he\nwhispered.  As if the few words had taken his last store of strength,\nhe sank to the floor.  Mata sprang to him.  He had swooned.  His face,\nyoung and beautiful in spite of the centuries of pain upon it, lay\nback, helpless, on her arm.  She stared strangely down upon him,\nwondering where the old antipathy had gone, and striving (for she was\nan obstinate old soul, was Mata) consciously to recall it,--but the\ncore of her hate was gone.  Like a true woman she began to make\nself-excuses for the change.  \"It may have been because of this poor\nboy and his unhappy karma that my nursling had to die,\" said she.\n\"But, look what love has done to him!  Death is only another name for\nparadise compared with the agony sunken deep into this young face!\"\nShe placed him gently, at full length, upon the padded floor.  She\nchafed the flaccid wrists, the temples, the veins about his ears, and\nthen, leaning over, blew on the heavy lids.  \"Um\u00e8-ko, my wife, my\nwife,\" he whispered, and tried to smile.\nA wave of pity swept from the old dame's mind the last barrier of\nmistrust.  \"Yes, Master, here is Um\u00e8's nurse,\" she said in soothing\ntones.  \"Not Um\u00e8-ko,--she has gone away from us,--but the poor old\nnurse who loves her.  I will serve you for her sake.  Here, put your\nhead upon this pillow,--she has often used it,--and now lie still until\nold Mata brings you rice and tea.\"  She bustled off, her hands\nclattering busily among the cups and trays.  As she worked, thankful,\nthrough her great agitation, for the familiar offices, she fought down,\none by one, those great, distending sobs that push so hard a way upward\nthrough wrinkled throats.\nTatsu was still a little dazed.  His eyes followed her about the room\nwith a plaintive regard, as if not entirely sure that she was real.\n\"Did you say that you were--Um\u00e8's--nurse,\" he asked.\n\"Yes.  Don't you remember me, Master Tatsu?  I am Mata, the old\nservant, and your Um\u00e8's nurse.  I--I--was not always kind to you, I\nfear.  I opposed your marriage, fearing for her some such sorrow as\nthat which came.  But it is past.  The gods allowed it.  I will now,\nfor her sake, love and serve you,--my true master you shall be from\nthis day, because I can see that your heart is gnawed forever by that\nblack moth, grief, as mine is.  Old Kano does not grieve,--he is a man\nof stone, of mud!\" she cried.  \"But I must not speak of his sins, yet;\nhere is the good tea, Master, and the rice.\"  She fed him like a child,\nallowing, at first, but a single sip of tea, a grain or two of rice.\nHe, in his weakness, was gentle and obedient, like a good child, eating\nall she bade him, and refraining when she told him that he had enough.\nIt was a new Tatsu that sorrow had given to the Kano home.\nBut more wonderful than the transformation in him was, in Mata's\nthought, the complete reversal of her own emotions.  Even in the midst\nof service she stopped to wonder how, so soon, it could be sweet to\nserve him,--to minister thus to the man she had called the evil genius\nof the house.  In some mysterious way it seemed that through him the\ndead young wife was being served.  In the smile he bent upon her, the\nold nurse fancied that she caught a tenderness as of Um\u00e8's smile.\nPerhaps, indeed, the homeless soul, denied its usual shelter in the\nshrine, made sanctuary of the husband's earthly frame.  Perhaps, too,\nKano had hoped for this, and so refused the ihai.  However these high\nthings might be, Mata knew she had gained strange comfort in the very\nfact of Tatsu's presence, in the companionship of his suffering.\nWhen, being nourished, Tatsu insisted on sitting upright, and had\nrecalled the scene about him, his first question was of Um\u00e8's shrine,\nwhere the ihai had been set, and what the kaimyo.  This loosened Mata's\ntongue, and, with a sensation of deep relief, she began to empty her\nheart of its pent-up acrimony.  Tatsu listened now, attentively; not as\nwould have been his way three months before with gesticulations and\nfrequent interruptions, but gravely, with consideration, as one intent\nto learn the whole before forming an opinion.  Even at the end he would\nsay nothing but the words, \"Strange, strange; there must be a reason\nthat you have not guessed.\"\n\"But we will get the ihai, will we not, Master?  Together, when you are\nstrong, we will climb the long road to the temple?\" she questioned\ntremulously.\n\"Indeed we shall,\" said Tatsu, with his heartrending smile; \"for at\nbest, the thoughts of Kano Indara cannot be our thoughts.  He let her\ndie.\"\nAt this the other burst into such a passion of tears that she could not\nspeak, but rocked, sobbing, to and fro, on the mats beside him.  He\nwondered, with a feeling not far from envy, at this open demonstration\nof distress.\n\"I cannot weep at all,\" he said.  Then, a little later, when she had\nbecome more calm, \"Are your tears for me or for Um\u00e8-ko?\"\n\"For both, for both,\" was the sobbing answer.  \"For her, that she had\nto die,--for you, that you must live.\"\n\"Both are things to weep for,\" said the boy, and stared out straight\nbefore him, as one seeing a long road.\nKano, returning later and finding the two together, marking as he did,\nat once, with the quick eye of love, how health already cast faint\npremonitions of a flush upon the boy's thin face, had much ado to keep\nfrom crying aloud his joy and gratitude.  By strong effort only did he\nsucceed in making his greeting calm.  He used stilted, old-fashioned\nphrases of ceremony to one recently recovered from dangerous illness,\nand bowed as to a mere acquaintance.  Tatsu, returning the bows and\nphrases, escaped in a few moments to his room, and emerged no more that\nday.  Kano sighed a little, for the young face had been cold and stern.\nNo love was to be looked for,--not yet, not yet.\nFor a few days Tatsu did nothing but lie on the mats; or wander,\naimlessly, over the house and garden.  He came whenever Mata summoned\nhim to meals, and ate them with old Kano, observing all outer\nsemblances of respect.  But it seemed an automaton who sat there,\neating, drinking, and then, at the last, bowing over to the exact\nfraction of an inch, each time, and moving away to its own rooms.  The\nold artist, mindful of certain professional warnings from the hospital\nphysicians, never spoke in Tatsu's presence of paintings, or of\nanything connected with art.  Within a few days it seemed to him that\nTatsu had begun to watch him keenly, as if expecting, every instant,\nthe broaching of that subject which he knew was always uppermost in the\nother's mind.  But the old man, for the first time in his whole life,\nhad begun to use tact.  He never followed Tatsu to his rooms, never\nintruded into those long conversations now held, many times a day,\nbetween Mata and her young master; never even commented to Mata upon\nher change of attitude.  About five days after his first appearance in\nthe kitchen, Tatsu and the old servant left the house together, giving\nKano no hint of their destination.  He watched them with a curious\nexpression on his face.  He knew that they were to climb together to\nthe temple, and that it was a pilgrimage from which he was\ncontemptuously debarred.  They returned, some hours later, and were\nbusied all the afternoon with the placing and decorations of an\nexquisite \"butsu-dan,\" or Buddhist shelf, on which the ihai of the dead\nare placed.  At the abbot's advice (and yet against all precedent) this\nwas put, not beside the butsu-dan, where Kano's young wife had for so\nmany years been honored, but in Tatsu's own bed-chamber, thus making of\nit a \"mita-yama,\" or spirit room.\nKano, visiting it, unperceived, next day, noted with the same curious,\nhalf-quizzical, half-pathetic look that no Buddhist kaimyo or\nafter-name had been given to his daughter.  It was the earth-name, Kano\nUm\u00e8-ko, which the old abbot had written upon the lacquered tablet of\nwood.  Added to it, as a sort of title, was the phrase, \"To her who\nloves much.\"  \"That is true enough,\" thought old Kano, and touched his\neyes an instant with his sleeve.\nDuring the following week Tatsu, of himself, drew out his painting\nmaterials and tried to work.  An instant later he had hurled the things\nfrom him with a cry, had slammed together the walls of his chamber, and\nlay in silence and darkness for many hours.  At the time of the\nnight-meal he came forth.  Kano, to whom sorrow was teaching many\nthings, made no comment upon his exclusion; and even old Mata refrained\nfrom searching his face with her keen eyes.\nThe next day he made the second attempt.  His fusuma were opened, and\nMata could see how his face blanched to yellow wax, how the lips\nwrithed until they were caught back by strong, cruel teeth, and how the\nthin hands wavered.  Notwithstanding this inward torture, he persisted.\nAt first the lines of his brush were feeble.  His work looked like that\nof a child.\nThrough subsequent days of discouragement and brave effort his power of\npainting grew with a slow but normal splendor of achievement.  His fame\nbegan to spread.  The \"New Kano\" and \"The Dragon Painter of Kiu Shiu\"\nthe people of the city called him.  Not only his work but his romantic,\nmiserable story drew sympathy to him, and bade fair to make of him a\npopular idol.  Older artists wished to paint his portrait.\nPrint-makers hung about his house striving to catch at least a glimpse\nof him, which being elaborated, might serve as his likeness in the\nweekly supplement of some up-to-date newspaper.  Sentimental maidens\nwrote poems to him, tied them with long, shining filaments of hair, and\nsuspended them to the gate, or upon the bamboo hedges of the Kano home.\nBut against all these petty, personal annoyances Tatsu had the double\nguard of Kano and old Mata San.  The pride of the latter in this \"Son\nof our house\" was unbounded.  One would have thought that she\ndiscovered him, had rescued him from death and that it was now through\nher sole influence his reputation as an artist grew.  Noble patrons\ncame to the little cottage bearing rolls of white silk, upon which they\nentreated humbly, \"That the illustrious and honorable young painter,\nKano Tatsu, would some day, when he might not be augustly\ninconvenienced by so doing, trace a leaf or a cloud,--anything, in\nfact, that fancy could suggest, so that it was the work of his own\ninimitable hand.  For the condescension they trusted that he would\nallow them to give a present of money,--as large a sum as he was\nwilling to name.\"\n\"A second Sesshu!  A second Sesshu!\" old Kano would murmur to himself,\nin subdued ecstacy.  \"So did they load his ship with silk, four\ncenturies ago!\"\nOf most of these commissions, Tatsu never heard.  Kano did not wish the\nboy's work to be blown wide over the great city as it had been blown\nalong the mountain slopes of Kiu Shiu.  Nor did he wish the thought of\ngain or of personal ambition to creep into Tatsu's heart.  Now he spent\nmost of the day-lit hours secluded in his little study, painting those\nscenes and motives suggested by the keynote of his mood.  Of late he\nhad begun to read, with deep interest, the various essays on art,\ngathered in Kano's small, choice library.  He would sometimes talk with\nhis father about art, and let the eager old man demonstrate to him the\ndifferent brush-strokes of different masters.  The widely diversified\nschools of painting as they had flourished throughout the centuries of\nhis country's social and religious life aroused in him an impersonal\ncuriosity.  He began to try experiments, realizing, perhaps, that to a\ngenius strong and sane as his even fantastic ventures in technique were\nlittle more than bright images flecking, for an instant, the immutable\nsurface of a mirror.\nAll methods were essayed,--the liquid, flowing line of the Chinese\nclassics, Tosa's nervous, shattered lightning-strokes of painted\nmotion, the soft, gray reveries of the great Kano school of three\ncenturies before, when, to the contemplative mind all forms of nature,\nwhether of the outer universe or in the soul of man, were but\nreflecting mirrors of a single faith; the heaped-up gold and malachite\nof Korin's decoration, sweet realistic studies of the Shijo school,\neven down to the horrors of \"abura-y\u00e8,\" oil-painting, as it is\npractised in the Yeddo of to-day, each had for him its special interest\nand its inspiration.  He leaned above the treasure-chests of time,\nchoosing from one and then another, as a wise old jewel-setter chooses\ngems.  Because ambition, art, existence had come to be, for him, gray\nwebs spun thin across the emptiness of his days, because all hope of\nearthly joy was gone, he had now the power to trace, with almost\nsuperhuman mimicry and skill, the shadow-pictures of his shadow-world.\nYet gradually it became not merely a dull necessity to paint, the one\nbarrier that held from him a devastating grief, but also something of a\nsolace.  The room where Um\u00e8's ever-lighted shrine was kept came more\nand more to seem the expression of herself.  This the old priest had\npromised; Um\u00e8's letter had assured him that thus she would be near.  In\nthe blurred, purple hour of dusk when paints must be laid aside, and\nthe heart given over to dreaming, the little room became her very\nearthly entity, the soft, smoke-tinted walls her breathing, the elastic\nmatted floor but the remembered echoes of her feet, the sliding sliver\nfusuma her sleeves, the butsudan, with its small, clear lamp, its white\nwood, and its flowers, her face.\nNow always he kept the walls that used to separate their chamber and\nhis painting room removed; so that a single essence filled both rooms.\nAnd here, as he worked silently day after day, it seemed to him that\nshe had learned to come.  At first shy, undecided, in some far corner\nof the space she watched him; then, taking courage, would drift near.\nShe leaned now by his shoulder, as he worked.  Always it was the left\nshoulder.  He could feel her breath--colder indeed than from a living\nwoman--upon his bared throat.  Sometimes a little hand, light as the\ndust upon a moth's wing, rested the ghost of a moment on his robe.\nOnce, he could have sworn her cheek had touched his hair.  So strong\nwas this impression that an ague shivered through him, and his heart\nstopped, only to beat again with violent strokes.  When the physical\ntremor was over he arose, took up her round metal mirror, and went to\nthe veranda to see by strong light whether any trace of the spirit\ntouch remained.  No, there was only, as usual, the tossed, black locks\nof hair through which sorrow had begun to weave her silver strands.\nJanuary, with its snows, had passed.  The plum-tree buds had opened,\none by one, in the chill, early winds of spring, giving at times\nunwilling hospitality to flakes of snow whiter than themselves.  In\nFebruary, under warmer sunshine, the blossoms showed in constellations,\na myriad on a single branch.  Then, all too soon, the falling of wan\npetals made a perfumed tragedy of snow upon the garden paths.\nTatsu grew to love the old dragon plum as Um\u00e8-ko had loved it.  She was\nits name-child, Um\u00e8, and he felt its sweetness to be one with her.  At\nnight the perfume crept in to him through crannies of the close-shut\namado and shoji, revivifying, to keen agony, his longing for his wife.\nThere were moonlit nights he could not rest for it, but would rise,\npacing the cold, wet pebbles of the garden, or wandering, like a\ndistracted spirit that had lost its way, through the thoroughfares of\nthe sleeping town.\nHis whole life now, since he had cheated death, was blurred and vague.\nTo himself he seemed an unreal thing projected, like a phantom light,\nupon the wavering umbra of two contrasting worlds.  The halves of him,\nbody and animating thought, fitted each other loosely, and had a\nstrange desire to drift apart.  The quiet, obedient Tatsu, regaining\nday by day the strength and beauty that his clean youth owed him, was\nto the inner Tatsu but a painted shell.  The real self, clouded in\neternal grief, knew clarity and purpose only before a certain\nflower-set shrine.  He believed now, implicitly, that Um\u00e8's soul dwelt\nnear him, was often with him in this room.  A resolve half formed, and\nbut partially admitted to himself,--for things of the other world are\nnot well to meddle with,--grew slowly in him, to compel, by worship and\nnever-relaxing prayer, the presence of her self,--her insubstantiate\nbody, outlined upon the ether in pale light, or formed in planes of\nghostly mist.  Others had thus drawn visions from the under-world, and\nwhy not he?\nEven now she was, for him, the one fact of the ten existences.  She\nknew it and he knew it.  Why should not sight be added to the\nunchallenged datum of the mind.  Living, they had often read each\nother's thoughts.  They held, he knew, as yet, their separate\nintelligences,--still they could bridge a blessed duality by love.\nEven now it would have surprised him little to hear the very sound of\nher voice echo from the inner shrine, to feel a little white hand pass\nlike a cloud across his upraised brow.  At such moments he told himself\nthat he was satisfied, she was his until death and beyond.  No one\ncould separate them now!\nThese were, alas, the higher peaks of love.  There waited for him, as\nhe knew too well, steep hillsides set with swords, and valleys terrible\nwith fire.\n  \"So that we be together,\n    Even the Hell of the Blood Lake,\n  Even the Mountain of Swords,\n    Mean nothing to us at all!\"\nSo they had sung.  So that we be together!  Ah, together,--that was the\nessence of it, that the key!  \"And this is what I want!\" groaned the\nsuffering man.  \"This ghostly resignation is a self-numbing of the\nheart.  I care not for the ghost, the spirit, however pure.  I want the\nwife I have lost,--her smile, her voice, her little hands to touch me!\nOh, Um\u00e8-ko, my wife, my wife!\"  If, as the abbot said, this phase of\ngrief were bestial, were unworthy of the woman who had died for him,\nthen why did not the listening soul of her shrink?  He knew that it was\nnot repelled, whatever the frenzy of his grief.  Indeed, at such times\nof agony she leaned down closer, longing to comfort him.  If it were\ngiven her to speak she would have cried, \"My husband!\"  Wherever she\nmight drift,--in the black ocean, in the Meido-land, yes, even in the\nsmile of Buddha on his throne,--she yearned for her lover as he for\nher, with a human love; she stretched out arms of mist to him, and\ntinged the pale ether of the spirit world with love's rosy flame.\nOne such night, during the time of plum-tree falling, when the boy,\ntortured by the almost human sweetness of the flowers, had risen from\nhis bed to flee memory across the wide, cold plains of night, he had\nleft, in his hurried going, the doors and shutters of his room spread\nwide.  Mata and old Kano, accustomed to these midnight sounds, merely\nturned on their lacquered pillows, murmured \"Poor tormented Tatsu,\" and\nwent to sleep again.  It had been a day of power for the young artist,\nbut not a day of peace.  The picture he had worked on he would have\ncalled one of his \"nightmare fancies.\"  It showed a slender form in\ngray with one arm about a willow.  She and the tree both leaned above\nswift, flowing water, and her eyes were fixed in sombre brooding.  On\nthe bank, in abrupt foreshortening, lay the figure of a man.  He looked\nat her.  From the river, unmarked as yet by either, rose the gray face\nand long, red hair of a Kappa, or malicious river sprite.  This sketch,\nunfinished, for the Kappa was a mere indication of red locks and a\ntall, thin form, stood against a pillar of the tokonoma at just the\nangle where the soft light of the butsu-dan shed a pale glow across it.\nBrushes, paints, and various small saucers littered the floor.  Tatsu\nhad stopped his work abruptly, overcome by the very power of his own\ndelineation.\nHe was absent from the house for several hours.  The long walk through\nunseen streets and over unnoticed bridges had given the boon, at least,\nof physical fatigue.  Now, perhaps, he could get to sleep before the\nblack ants of thought had rediscovered him.  Entering the room quietly\nhe closed the shoji, smoothed the bed-clothes with an impatient hand,\nand knelt, for an instant, before the shrine.  Perhaps, after all, rest\nwas not to come.  The air was sweet and heavy with Um\u00e8-ko.  The faint\nperfume of sandalwood which, living, always hung about her garments,\nflowed in with the odor of the plum.  She must be near,--Um\u00e8 herself,\nin mortal garments.  In the next room, the veranda, hiding in the\ncloset to spring out merrily upon him!  He groaned and strove to plunge\nhis mind into prayer.\nThe unfinished picture stood close at hand.  Suddenly he noticed it,\nand, with a gasp, stooped to it.  Something had changed; the whole\nvibration of its lines were subtly new.  There was the girl's figure,\nthe leaning willow, the man,--content, insensate, sprawling upon the\nbank,--but the Kappa!  Buddha the Merciful, could it be true?  Where he\nhad left a Kappa, waiting until to-morrow to give the triumph, the\nleering satisfaction at the human grief it fed on, rose the white form\nand pitying face of Kwannon Sama,--she to whom his Um\u00e8 loved to pray.\nThe eyes, soft, humid with compassion, looked directly out to his.\nThey were Um\u00e8's eyes!  He caught up one brush after the other.  All had\nbeen used, and Um\u00e8's touch was upon them.  Her aura permeated them.\nHe rushed now to the veranda.  In leaving the rooms, three hours\nbefore, he had not taken the usual stone step which led into the garden\nunder the branches of the plum, but had leaped directly from the low\nflooring, not caring where he trod.  He remembered now that the stone\nhad been white in the moonlight.  It was now swept clean of petals, as\nthough by the hurried trailing of a woman's dress.  Was this the way in\nwhich she was to manifest herself?  And would a spirit-robe brush\nsurfaces so vehemently?  And would a ghostly hand use brushes and\npigments of ground-earth?\nUnable to endure the room, he went again into the night, no further\nthis time than the little garden.  In the neighborhood dogs were\nbarking fiercely, as though in the wake of a presence.  By sound he\nfollowed it, and it moved up the hill.  The very garden now was tinged\nwith sandalwood.\nUntil the dawn, and after, he walked the pebbled paths, not thinking,\nindeed not fearing, hoping, or giving conscious form to speculation.\nHe was dazed.  But the young blood in his veins ran alternate currents\nof fire and ice.\nWith the first sun-ray he perceived a companion in the dewy solitude.\nHe had noticed the figure before, but always, until this hour, at\ntwilight.  It was the form of a nun standing, high above him on the\ntemple cliff, with one arm about a tree.\nAfter this nothing mysterious broke the quiet routine of his life.  The\npresence of Um\u00e8 in the chamber seemed to fade a little, but, for some\nreason inexplicable to himself, this brought now no poignant grief.  He\ndid not tell the wonderful thing to Mata or old Kano, but hid the still\nunfinished picture where no one but himself could see it.\nSo February passed, and March.\nXI\nWith April came the cherry-flowers, wistaria, and peonies; with iris in\nthe bud, and shy hedge-violets; wonder of yama buki shrubs that played\ngold fountains on the hills, and the swift, bright contagion of young\ngrass.  Even from old Kano's moon-viewing hillock one might see, in\nlooking out across the desert of gray city roofs, round tops of cherry\ntrees rising like puffs of rosy smoke.  From out the face of the temple\ncliff long, supple fronds of ferns unrolled, bending uncertain arms\ntoward the garden.  The tangled sasa-grass rustled new sleeves of silk;\nand the great camphor tree, air-hung in blue, seemed caught in a\njewelled mesh of chrysoprase and gold.\nDown in the lower level of the garden, too, springtime busied itself\nwith beauty.  The potted plants, once Um\u00e8-ko's loved charges, had\nbecome now, quite mysteriously to himself, Tatsu's companions and his\nspecial care.  Among the more familiar growths a few foreign bushes had\nbeen given place, a rose, a heliotrope, and a small, frightened\ncyclamen.  Slips of chrysanthemum needed already to be set for the\nautumn yield.  Tatsu, watering and tending them, thought with wistful\nsadness upon these plans for future enjoyment.  \"We are all bound upon\nthe wheel of life,\" he said to them.  \"Would that with me, as you, the\nturning were but for a single season!\"\n\"My son,\" the elder man began abruptly, at a certain noonday meal about\nthe middle of the month, \"how is it that you never go with me to the\ntemple on the hill?\"\nTatsu looked up from his rice-bowl in some surprise.  The relations\nbetween these two, though externally kind, had never approached\nintimacy.  Kano indeed idolized his adopted son with pathetic and\nundisguised fervor; but with Tatsu, though other things might have been\nforgiven, the old man's continued disrespect to his daughter's memory,\nhis refusal to join even in the simplest ceremony of devotion, kept\nboth him and old Mata chilled and distant.  The one possible\nexplanation,--aside from that of wanton cruelty,--was a thing so\nmarvellous, so terrible in implied suggestion, that the boy's faint\nsoul could make for it no present home; let it drift, a great luminous\nnebula of hope, a little longer on the rim of nothingness.\nThe answer now to Kano's question betrayed a hint of the more rational\nanimosity.\n\"You had never seemed to desire it.  And I have my place of worship\nhere.\"\n\"Yes, I know.  Of course I knew that!\" the other hurried on in some\nagitation.  Then he paused, as if uncertain how to word the following\nthought.  \"I do wish it!\" he broke forth, with an effort.  \"I make\nrequest now that you go with me, this very day, at twilight.\"\n\"If it is your honorable desire,\" said Tatsu, bowing in indifferent\nacquiescence.  A moment later he had finished his meal, and rose to go.\nKano moved restlessly on the mats.  He drew out the solace of a little\npipe, but his nervous fingers fumbled and shook so, that the slim rod\nof bamboo tipped with silver escaped him, and went clattering down\namong the empty dishes of the tray.  Mata's apprehensive face showed\ninstantly at a parting of the kitchen fusuma.  She sighed aloud, as she\nnoted a great triangle chipped from the edge of an Imari bowl.  Only\ntwo of those bowls had remained; now there was but one.\n\"Tatsu, my son, may I depend upon you?  This day, as soon as the light\nbegins to fail?\"\nTatsu, in the doorway, paused to look.  Evidently the speaker struggled\nwith a strong excitement.  Something in the twitching face, the eager,\nshifting eyes, brought back a vision of that meal on the evening that\npreceded Um\u00e8's death, when she and her father had leaned together,\nwhispering, ignoring him, and afterward had left the house, giving him\nno hint of their errand.  He felt with dread a premonition of new\nbitterness.\n\"I shall be ready at the twilight hour,\" he said, and went to his room.\nThat afternoon Tatsu did little painting.  Silent and motionless as one\nof the frames against the wall, he sat staring for long intervals out\nupon the garden.  The sunshine gave no pleasure, only a blurring of his\nsight.  Beauty was not there for him, this day.  He was thinking of\nthose hours of October sunlight, when the whole earth reeled with joy,\nfor Um\u00e8-ko was of it!  Where was she now?  And what had there been in\nKano's look and voice to rouse those sleeping demons of despair?  Could\nany new sorrow await him at the temple?  No, his present condition had\nat least the negative value of absolute void.  From nothing, nothing\ncould be taken; and to it, nothing be supplied!\nIn spite of this colorless assurance it was with something of\nreluctance, of shrinking, that he prepared to leave the house.  Few\nwords were spoken between the two.  Catching up the skirts of narrow,\nsilken robes a little higher, they tucked the folds into their belts,\nand side by side began the long, slow climbing of the road.\nThe city roofs beneath them hurried off to the edge of the world like\nripples left in the gray sand-bed of a stream.  Above the plain the\nmist drew in its long, horizontal lines of gray.\nAbout half the distance up the steep the temple bell above them sounded\nsix slow, deliberate strokes.  First came the sonorous impact of the\nswinging beam against curved metal, then the \"boom,\" the echo,--the\nechoes of that echo to endless repetition, sifting in layers through\nthe thinner air upon them, sweeping like vapor low along the hillside\nwith a presence and reality so intense that it should have had color,\nor, at least, perfume; settling in a fine dew of sound on quivering\nferns and grasses, permeating, it would seem, with its melodious\nvibration the very wood of the houses and the trunks of living trees.\nReaching at last the temple court, old Kano took the lead, crossed the\nwide-pebbled space, and halted with his companion at the edge of the\ncliff.  A cry of wonder came from Tatsu's lips; that low, inimitable\ncry of the true artist at some new stab of beauty.  Delicately the old\nman withdrew, and hid himself in the shadow of the temple.\nTatsu stared out, alone.  He saw the round bay like a mirror,--like\nUm\u00e8's mirror; and to the west the peak of Fuji, a porphyry cone against\nthe sunset splendor.  No wonder that the gray nuns came here at this\nhour, or that she, the slender, isolated one, lingered to drain the\nlast bright drop of beauty!  He looked about now to discover her tree.\nYes, there it was, quite close; not a willow as he had sometimes\nthought, but a young maple, unusually upright of growth.  It had been\nleafless, but now the touch of spring had lighted every twig with a\npale flame-point of red.  He recalled that in the autumn it had made a\ncrimson heart against the sky; and later had sent down into the Kano\ngarden frail alms of ruby films.  Um\u00e8 had loved to catch them in her\nhands, wondering at their brightness, and trying to make him wonder,\ntoo.  Love-letters of the passing year, she called them; songs dyed\nwith the autumn's heart's-blood of regret that he must yield the sweet,\nwarm earth to his gray rival, winter.  She had pretended that the\nsmall, crossed veinlets of the leaves were Chinese ideographs which it\nwas given her to decipher.  Holding him off with one outstretched arm\nshe would have read to him,--fantastic, exquisite interpreter of\nlove,--but he, mad brute, had caught the little hands, the autumn\nleaves, and crushed them to one hot glow, crying aloud that nature,\nbeauty, love were all made one in her.  Such grief he must have given\nmany times.\nHe threw his head hack as in sudden hurt, a gesture becoming habitual\nto him, and drew a long, impatient, tremulous sigh.  As if to cast\naside black thought, he strode over quickly to the maple tree, flung an\narm around it, and leaned over to stare down into his garden with the\ngray nun's eyes.  There it was, complete, though in miniature;--rocks,\npines, the pigmy pool, the hillock squatting in one corner like an old,\ngray garden toad, and in another corner, scarcely of larger size, the\ncottage.\nKano plucked nervously at his sleeve.  \"You lean too far.  Come, Tatsu,\nI have a--a--place to show you.\"\nTatsu wheeled with a start.  Try as he would he shivered and grew\nfaint, even yet, at the sound of Kano's voice breaking abruptly in upon\na silence.  He gave a nod of acquiescence and, with downbent head,\nfollowed his guide diagonally across the temple court, past the wide\nportico where sparrows and pigeons fought for night-quarters in the\ncarved, open mouths of dragons, along the side of the main building\nuntil, to Tatsu's wonder, they stopped before a little gate in the\nnunnery wall.\n\"I thought it was almost death for a man to enter here!\" exclaimed the\nboy.\n\"For most men it is,\" said Kano, producing a key of hammered brass\nabout nine inches long.  \"But I desired to go the short path to the\ncemetery, and it lies this way.  As I have told you, the abbot was my\nboyhood's friend.\"\nWithin the convent yard,--a sandy space enclosed in long, low buildings\nof unpainted wood,--Tatsu saw a few gray figures hurrying to cover; and\nnoticed that more than one bright pair of eyes peered out at them\nthrough bamboo lattices.  Over the whole place brooded the spirit of\nunearthly peace and sweetness which had been within the gift of the\nholy bishop and his acolytes even at that time of torment in the\nhospital cell.  The same faint Presence, like a plum tree blossoming in\nthe dark, stole through the young man's senses, luring and distressing\nhim with its infinite suggestions of lost peace.\nAt the farther wall of the court they came to an answering door.  This\nwas already unlocked and partially ajar.  It opened directly upon the\nhighest terrace of the cemetery which led down steeply in great,\ncurved, irregular steps to a plain.  The crimson light in the west had\nalmost gone.  Here to the north, where rice-fields and small huddled\nvillages stretched out as far as the eye could see, a band of hard,\nwhite light still rested on the horizon, throwing back among the\nhillside graves a pale, metallic sheen.  Each shaft of granite was thus\ndivided, one upright half, blue shadow, the other a gray-green gleam.\nAll looked of equal height.  A gray stone Buddha on his lotos pedestal,\nor the long graceful lines of a standing Jizo, only served to emphasize\nthe uniformity.\nThis was a place most dear to Kano, and had been made so to his child.\nHe even loved the look of the tombs.  \"Gray, splintered stalagmites of\nmemory,\" he had called them, and when the child Um\u00e9 had learned the\nmeaning of the simile she had put her little finger to a spot of lichen\nand asked, \"Then are these silver spots our tears?\"\nThe old man stepped down very softly to the second tier.  A nightingale\nwas calling low its liquid invocation, \"Ho-ren-k-y-y-o-o-o!\"  Perhaps\nold Kano moved so softly that he might not lose the echoes of this cry.\nThe two men seemed alone in the silent scene.  Once Tatsu thought his\neye caught a swift flicker, as of a gray sleeve, but he was not sure.\nAt any rate he would not think of it, or speculate, or marvel!  He was\nbeginning to tremble before the unknown.  The sense of shrinking, of\nmiracle, of being, perhaps, too small to contain the thing decreed,\nbore hard upon him.  With it came a keen impression of the unreality of\nthe material universe,--of Buddhist illusion.  Even these adamantine\nrecords of death, rising on every side to challenge him,--even these\nmight recombine their particles before his very eyes,--might shiver\ninto mist and float down to the plain to mingle with the smoke of\ncooking as it rose from the peasant huts.  Anything might happen, or\nnothing!\nKano had stopped short before a grave.  For once Tatsu was glad to hear\nhis voice.\n\"Here lie the clean ashes of my young wife, Kano Uta-ko,\" said the old\nman, without preface or explanation.\n\"In former days, before--before my illness, I came here often,\" said\nthe other.  His eyes hung on the written words of the kaimyo.  \"If you\ngrieved deeply, it must have been great solace that you could come thus\nto her grave,\" he added wistfully.  Then, as Kano still remained\nsilent, he read aloud the beautiful daishi, \"A flower having blossomed\nin the night, the Halls of the Gods are Fragrant.\"\nKano drew a long sigh.  \"For nineteen years I have mourned her,\" he\nwent on slowly.  \"As you know, a son was not given to us.  She died at\nUm\u00e8's birth.  I could not bring myself to replace her, even in the dear\nlonging for a son.\"\n\"A son!\"  Tatsu knew well what the old man meant.  He lifted his eyes\nand stared out, mute, into the narrowing band of light.  The old man\ndrew his thin form very straight, moved a few feet that he might look\nsquarely into the other's face, and said deliberately.  \"So did I mourn\nthe young wife whom I loved, and so, if I know men, will you mourn,\nKano Tatsu.  Of such enduring stuff will be your grief for Um\u00e8-ko.\"\nIt was said.  The old man's promise had been torn like a leaf,--not to\nbe mended or recalled,--torn and flung at his listener's feet.  Yet\nsuch was the simplicity of utterance, such the nobility of poise, the\nbeauty of the old face set like a silver wedge into the deepening mist,\nthat Tatsu could only give him look for look, with no resentment.  The\nyoung voice had taken on strangely the timbre of the old as, in equal\nsoberness, he answered,\n\"Such, Kano Indara, though I be burdened with years as many as your\nown,--will be the never-ceasing longing for my lost wife, Um\u00e8-ko.\"\nA little sob, loosed suddenly upon the night, sped past them.  \"What\nwas it?  Who is there?\" cried Tatsu, sharply, wheeling round.\nKano began to shake.  \"Perhaps--perhaps a night-bird,\" he stammered out.\n\"A bird!\" echoed Tatsu.  \"That sound was human.  It is a woman, the\nPresence that has hung about me!  Put down your arms,--you cannot keep\nme back!\"\n\"Be still!\" cried out old Kano in the voice of angry kings.  \"Nothing\nwill happen,--nothing, I say, if you act thus like the untamed creature\nthat you were!  Your fate is still in my hands, Kano Tatsu!\"\nTatsu fell down upon his knees, pulling at the old man's sleeves.\n\"Father, father, have pity!  I will be self-controlled and docile as I\nhave been these long, long months.  But now there is a thing so great\nthat would possess me, my soul faints and sickens.  Father, I ask your\nhelp, your tenderness.  I think I have wronged you from the first,--my\nfather!\"\nSuddenly the old man hurled his staff away and sank weeping into the\nstronger arms.  \"I fear, I fear!\" he wailed.  \"It may be still too\nearly.  But she said not,--the abbot counselled it!  O gods of the Kano\nhome!\"\n\"Father,\" asked Tatsu, rising slowly to his feet, his arms still close\nabout the other, \"can it be joy that is to find me, even in this life?\"\n\"Wait, you shall see,\" cried the old man, now laughing aloud, now\nweeping, like a hysterical girl.  \"You shall see in a moment!  My dead\nwife takes me by the hand and leads me from you,--just a little way,\ndear Tatsu, just here among the shadows.  No longer are the shadows for\nyou,--joy is for you.  Yes, Uta-ko, I 'm coming.  The young love\nsprings like new lilies from the old.  Stand still, my son; be hushed,\nthat joy may find you.\"\nHe faltered backward and was lost.  Upon the hillside came a stillness\ndeeper than any previous interval of pause.  From it the nightingale's\nlow note thrust out a wavering clew.  The day had gone, and a few stars\ndotted the vault of the sky.  Tatsu threw back his head.  There was no\npain in the gesture now; he was trying to make room in his soul for an\nunspeakable visitor.  The arch of heaven had grown trivial.  Eternity\nwas his one boundary.  The stars twinkled in his blood.\nHe heard the small human sob again, just at his elbow.  All at once he\nwas frozen in his place; he could not turn or move.  His arms hung to\nhis sides, his throat stiffened in its upward lines.  And then a little\nhand, stealing from a nun's gray sleeve, slipped into his, and in a\npause, a hush, it was before the full splendor of love's cry, he turned\nand saw that it was Um\u00e8-ko, his wife.\n[Illustration: \"Then a little hand, stealing from a nun's gray sleeve,\nslipped into his.\"]\nYeddo and modern Tokyo alike give entertainment to the traditional nine\ndays' wonder.  Sometimes the wonder does not fade at all, and so it was\nwith the case of Tatsu and his wife.  If he had been an idol, he was\nnow a demigod, Um\u00e8-ko sharing the sweet divinity of human tenderness\nwith him.\nHad it all happened a century before, the people would have built for\nthem a yashiro, with altar and a shrine.  Here they would have been\nworshipped as gods still in the flesh, and lovers would have prayed to\nthem for aid and written verses and burned sweet incense.\nBeing of modern Tokyo, most of this adulation went into newspaper\narticles.  Old men envied Kano his dutiful daughter, young men envied\nTatsu his beautiful and loving wife.  The print-makers, indeed,\nperpetrated a series of representations that put old Kano's artistic\nteeth on edge.  First there was Um\u00e8 at the willow; then Tatsu, in the\nsame place, taking his mad plunge for death's oblivion; Um\u00e8, the hooded\nacolyte, kneeling in the sick chamber at the head of her husband's bed;\nUm\u00e8, the nun, standing each day at twilight on the edge of the temple\ncliff to catch a glimpse of him she loved; and, at the last, Tatsu and\nUm\u00e8 rejoined beside the tomb of Kano Uta-ko.  Fortunately these\npictures were never seen by the two most concerned.\nThey went away on a second bridal journey, this time to Tatsu's native\nmountains in Kiu Shiu.  While there, the good friend Ando Uchida was to\nbe sought, and made acquainted with the strange history of the previous\nmonths.\nMata and her old master remained placidly at home.  They had no fears.\nAt the appointed date--only a week more now--the two would come back,\nas they had promised, to begin the long, tranquil life of art and\nhappiness.  There were to be great pictures!  Kano chuckled and rubbed\nhis lean hands together, as he sat in his lonely room.  Then the\nthought faded, for a tenderer thought had come.  In a year or more, if\nthe gods willed, another and a keener blessedness might be theirs.\nTo dream quite delicately enough of this, the old man shut his eyes.\nOh, it was a dream to make the springtime of the world stir at the\nroots of being!  A tear crept down from the blue-veined lids, making\nits way through wrinkles, those \"dry river-beds of smiles.\"  If the\nbaby fingers came,--those small, fearless fingers that were one's own\nyouth reborn,--they would press out all fretful lines of age, leaving\nonly tender traceries.  He leaned forward, listening.  Already he could\nhear the tiny feet echo along the rooms, could see small, shaven heads\nbowing their first good morning to the O Ji San,--revered, beloved\npatriarch of the home!  How old Mata would idolize and scold and pet\nthem!  A queer old soul was Mata, with faults, as all women have, but\nin the main, a treasure!  Good times were coming for the old folks in\nthat house!  So sat Kano, dreaming, in his empty chamber; and unless we\nhave eternity to spare, nodding beside him on the mats, we must bow,\nmurmuring, \"Sayo-nara!\"", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  The Dragon Painter\n"},
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1934, "culture": " English\n", "content": "E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading\nDARING WINGS\nby\nGRAHAM M. DEAN\nAuthor of\n_Sky Trail_\n_Circle 4 Patrol_\nThe Goldsmith Publishing Co.\nChicago\nCopyright 1931 by\nThe Goldsmith Publishing Co.\nMade in U.S.A.\n\"Some of our biggest news stories will break above the clouds. The\nskyways are going to unfold great tales of romance, of daring, possibly\nof banditry, but whatever it may be, we must have the stories. Do you\nwant the job of getting them?\" George Carson, the sandy-haired managing\neditor of the Atkinson News, fired the question at the reporter standing\nat the other side of his desk.\n\"Do I want the job?\" There was amazement in Tim Murphy's voice. \"Give me\na plane and I'll bring you some of the best yarns you ever printed.\" His\nclean-cut features were aglow with interest.\n\"All right Tim,\" said Carson. \"This afternoon the News will announce the\nfirst flying reporter. I thought you'd like the job. That's why we sent\nyou to an aviation school--so we can have the jump on the Times and the\nJournal. They can hire plenty of aviators but it will take them time to\ntrain a first class reporter to fly.\"\nTim grinned and his blue eyes snapped. Even though he was one of the\nstar reporters on the staff he liked the managing editor's indirect\ncompliment.\n\"We've got a plane all ready for you at the municipal airport,\" went on\nthe managing editor. \"It's one of those new Larks with a Wasp motor that\nwill take her along at 150 miles an hour. She's all ready to go. The\nsky's your assignment--go the limit to get your stories.\"\nTim hurried back to his desk where the half completed story of a\ndown-town fire was still in his typewriter. He picked up a pad of notes\nbeside his machine and turned to the reporter at the next desk.\n\"Finish up this fire story for me, will you Ralph? Here's all the dope\nand the city editor wants it for the noon edition.\"\n\"What's the big idea?\" Ralph Parsons wanted to know.\n\"Big idea is right,\" fairly exploded Tim. \"I've got a new job--flying\nreporter. Carson has just bought a dandy new plane and I'm going to\npilot it and write the stories.\"\n\"Good, Tim. I don't blame you for being excited. It's a great chance.\nI'll finish up the fire story for you. Will you give me a ride if I run\nout after I'm through this afternoon?\"\n\"Sure, Ralph, a dozen if you want them,\" and with that Tim seized his\nhat and dashed through the door of the big news room, down the stairs\nand into the street where he found one of the flivvers used by the\nreporters.\nFifteen minutes later Tim tucked his elongated legs into the cockpit of\nthe trimmest little plane he had ever laid eyes on. He ran the motor up\nand down the scale, then gave it the gun, darted over the surface of the\nfield, flipped the tail up--and the flying reporter was in the air.\nIt was a glorious feeling to be in the air--to be free of the smoke and\nsmell of the city and for an hour Tim circled over Atkinson. High, then\nlow, he dived, banked, zoomed and looped--did everything to test the\nflying qualities of the little plane. At the end of the test flight he\nwas more than pleased. It was perfectly rigged.\nTim, an orphan who had joined the News after school days, had worked up\nfrom cub reporter to the police run and then up to special assignment\nwriter. He had been sent to an aviation school three months before and\nwhile there had written a series of Sunday features on learning how to\nfly. Tim hadn't dreamed of being given a flying assignment but he had\nmastered the intricacies of an airplane with the same wholesome\nenthusiasm which characterized everything he did. That was one of the\nreasons why he was a star reporter in spite of his comparative youth,\nfor Tim had just turned twenty-one.\nThe Lark was still swooping over the field when one of the cars used by\nNews reporters dashed through the main gate of the big airport. Tim cut\nthe motor, made a three point landing, and climbed out of the cockpit.\nRalph Parsons hopped out of the car and ran toward the plane. He shoved\nan extra into Tim's hands.\n\"TRANSCONTINENTAL AIR MAIL ROBBED; $200,000 TAKEN.\" The headlines, in\nheavy, black type, fairly screamed the story at Tim. In brief clear\nsentences he read how the eastbound mail plane, which had left Atkinson\nat midnight, had been found a hundred miles east near Auburn, a village\nin the valley of the Cedar River. The plane was a mass of tangled\nwreckage, its pilot dead, the registered mail sacks looted.\n\"Carson says for you to hump yourself and get over there before dark,\"\nsaid Ralph. \"He wants a lot of copy for the early editions tomorrow. The\nroads over that way are practically impassable and we can't get enough\nof the details over the telephone. The air mail people are sending out a\nship but we don't know when they'll be back. It's bad country to fly\nover, Tim, so be careful.\"\nRalph's well meant warning was lost on Tim. Calling a mechanic, the\nlanky young flyer swung his ship around, opened up the powerful motor,\nand sped down the field and into the air. The flying reporter was off on\nhis first assignment.\nThe air was smooth and cool. The late winter sun glinted through the\nlazy clouds in the west and flashed off the crimson wings of the little\nplane. Tim headed straight east. Far behind him the Great Smokies reared\ntheir heads in a dim outline while a hundred miles ahead of his whirling\npropeller the Cedar River carved its way.\nAtkinson, with its bustling streets, its busy factories and 200,000\ninhabitants, was soon left behind. For almost an hour Tim held to his\ncourse. When he sighted the silver ribbon that was the Cedar River, he\nswung south until he picked up the village of Auburn. It was little more\nthan a cluster of houses on the right bank of the mighty river.\nThere was no regular landing field at the village but Tim found a\npasture a mile back from the river that looked large enough for his\npurpose. He stalled down, taking his time. There was no use risking a\ncrackup with his new ship. The pasture was cuppy and there was a slough\non one side but Tim killed his speed quickly after he set the Lark down\nand pulled up less than twenty feet from a fence.\nTim had sighted the wreck of the air mail in a timber patch half way to\nthe village. After landing his own craft it took him less than ten\nminutes to find what was left of the mail. There was little in the pile\nof wreckage to resemble the sturdy, silver craft which had left the\nAtkinson airport the night before. It was just a heap of tangled wires\nand struts, scraps of canvas and twisted rods. It looked like a crackup,\nwith the mail looted after the smash, but to Tim's carefully trained\nnews sense there was something more. He couldn't have defined his\nfeelings in so many words but he played his hunch and examined the\nremains of the big plane. He had almost completed his examination when\nsomething on the motor caught his attention. He bent over it and when he\nstraightened up there was a new gleam of interest in his eyes.\nWith the aid of a farm boy Tim managed to get a fence post under the\nmotor and half rolled it over. A few minutes more of hard work and he\nsucceeded in removing several parts from the engine.\nBy the time the flying reporter had completed his task the light was\nfading fast and, satisfied with his survey of the wrecked plane, Tim\nhurried toward the village.\nAuburn was small but friendly and he soon found out what little the\nresidents of the valley knew.\nThe east bound mail usually roared over the village about 1 o'clock in\nthe morning, speeding through the night at better than one hundred miles\nan hour. But that morning the mail plane had failed to go over. That, in\nitself, was not unusual, for occasionally bad weather forced the\ncancellation of the trip. Tim, by careful inquiries, learned that one\nold man, living about two miles from the village, had heard the sound of\na motor. His attention had been attracted by the high-pitched drone for\nthe song of the mail was a heavy throbbing that once heard is seldom\nforgotten.\nIt had been mid-day before a farmer had found the wreckage of the mail,\nits pilot trapped in the cockpit, the registered mail sacks, with a big\nshipment of currency, looted.\nTim had enough material for his first story. Using the one long distance\ntelephone wire in the village, he got in touch with the News office in\nAtkinson and dictated a detailed story. To spice it up, he added a hint\nabout a mystery plane. It would make good reading.\nThe flying reporter had scarcely finished telephoning when the heavy\nthrobbing of the motor of a plane echoed from the clouds. Hurrying out\ninto the street from the telephone office, Tim could discern the riding\nlights of a mail plane as the pilot, hunting for a place to land,\ncircled over the village.\nTim hired a car and sped toward the make-shift field where he had\nmanaged to land his own plane. When he reached the pasture he hastily\npiled some brush at one end of the field and set it afire. Then he raced\nfor the other end and swung the car around so that its headlights\noutlined the far boundary of the pasture.\nThe roar of the mail plane's motor lessened as its pilot cut his\nthrottle and brought his craft down to earth. The big ship bounced and\nswayed, threatening once or twice to nose over, but the mail flyer\njammed his wheel brakes on hard and succeeded in stopping before he\ncrashed into the fence.\nTim left the car and hurried to meet the newcomer.\n\"That you, Tim?\" boomed a deep voice from the cockpit of the mail ship\nas the new arrival shut off his motor.\nTim smiled. The voice was familiar and Tiny Lewis, who weighed some 250\npounds, eased his bulk gently to the ground.\n\"Thanks a lot, Tim,\" he roared. \"I was sure in a pickle. Figured on\ngetting here before dark but made a forced landing about 50 miles back\nwhen two of the spark plugs fouled and I had to replace them.\"\nBefore starting for the village, Tim and Lewis put tarpaulins over the\nmotors of their planes and staked them securely lest some freakish wind\nupset their craft.\nWhen they reached the little hotel and had ordered their dinner, Tim\ntold Lewis all he knew about the wreck of the air mail. When he had\ncompleted his story, Tiny whistled.\n\"Looks bad,\" he admitted, \"and I guess there isn't much that I can do\nexcept make arrangements here for them to crate up what's left of the\nplane and ship it in to Atkinson. The post office inspectors will be\nhere sometime tomorrow and they'll take charge of the investigation.\"\n\"I expected they'd be on hand,\" said Tim, \"but I've got a little hunch\nall my own I'm going to see through to the finish. If it works out as I\nhope, it will be a real scoop for the News.\"\n\"Here's wishing you luck, Tim,\" said Tiny. \"I'm going to roll in now. I\nflew in from the west today with the mail and then they sent me on out\nhere. It's been a long day but I'll see you the first thing in the\nmorning. Good night.\"\n\"Good night, Tiny,\" replied Tim.\nAfter the mail flyer had lumbered up to his room, Tim went out to the\nhotel porch where he had laid the salvaged parts from the engine. He\npicked them up and lugged them up to his room. There, under the yellow\nlight from a kerosene lamp, he strained over the broken bits. When he\nfinally completed his minute examination, there was a grim smile on his\nlips.\nAfter breakfast with Lewis the next morning, Tim phoned the News office,\nand putting a bug in the managing editor's ear that he had stumbled onto\na real clue, got permission to free lance for the rest of the day.\nTim carefully wrapped up the engine parts and carried them to the field\nwhere he loaded them into his plane. Lewis was busy supervising\noperations for the crating and shipping of the remains of the mail plane\nand with a wave of his hand, Tim dodged over the trees that bordered the\npasture and headed for Prairie City, two hundred miles away, where the\nstate university was located.\nNoon found Tim closeted with the head of the engineering school of the\nuniversity, an international authority on electricity. Tim told his\nstory in quick, clear sentences and in less than fifteen minutes the\nfamous scientist had a graphic picture of what must have taken place in\nthe midnight sky over the Cedar River valley.\nFor two hours the flying reporter and the scientist worked behind closed\ndoors while messenger boys hurried to and from the telegraph offices,\ndelivering telegrams that were eagerly grasped and hastily opened.\nBy late afternoon Tim was winging his way back to Atkinson, a smile of\nconquest lighting up his face. In his pocket was a paper with the secret\nof the destruction of the air mail plane, in his mind was a plan to\ncatch the sky bandits.\nWhen Tim reached Atkinson and entered the big editorial office of the\nNews, he found it deserted for it was early evening and the staff on an\nafternoon newspaper completes its work before 6 o'clock. A scrub woman,\nbusy at one end of the long room, paid no attention to the flying\nreporter as he sat down at his desk.\nTim sat before his battered typewriter until far into the night,\nrecording his strange story. He told how the mail plane, speeding\nthrough the night over the valley of the Cedar River, had fallen\nearthward in a death spin, its motor silent, its pilot paralyzed in his\nseat while over the twisting, falling plane hovered its destroyer.\nIn glowing language he pictured the scene that must have taken place. A\nplane loitering in the night over the hills and valleys of the Cedar\nRiver in the path of the air mail. Then the red and green lights of the\nmail as it flashed out of the west, a quickening of the vulture's motor,\na short dash through the night, a flash of invisible death, the mail\nplane careening down--a dead and fluttering thing.\nAnd Tim wrote more, much more--of how he had found the motor of the mail\nplane a congealed mass, the pilot's body a husk of a man, burned by a\npowerful but invisible electric ray.\nStill Tim went on. He told how the invisible ray recently invented and\nof which little was known, could be shot from a small gun. He described\nhow he had consulted the famous scientist at the state university and\nhow together they had found that one of the few invisible ray guns in\nexistence had been stolen. This, concluded Tim, must be the weapon of\nthe sky pirates.\nFrom then on Tim conjectured as to how one of the men in the bandit\nplane must have taken to his parachute and followed the mail earthward,\nrobbed the registered pouches of their fortune in currency, and escaped\nin a waiting car.\nHe had just completed his story and was reading it over for corrections\nwhen the lights all over the editorial room flashed on and the managing\neditor, who had dropped in on his way home from a theater, trotted up to\nhis desk.\nCarson was reputed to be capable of scenting a good story a mile away\nand he devoured Tim's copy, but not without evident astonishment and\nseveral open expressions of his admiration for the flying reporter's\nwork.\n\"It's great stuff, Tim, great stuff,\" exclaimed the managing editor when\nhe had finished reading the story. \"I'm glad I dropped in tonight. I'll\nedit it now and schedule it for the early mail editions tomorrow. It\nwill certainly set the town talking.\"\n\"I wish you wouldn't print that story tomorrow, Mr. Carson,\" said Tim.\nThe managing editor, who had started for his desk, spun on his heels.\n\"And why not?\" he demanded. \"Didn't you just tell me it was all right?\"\n\"The story is all right, Mr. Carson,\" explained Tim? \"but if you print\nit tomorrow the gang responsible for the robbery of the air mail will\nnever be captured. If you'll hold the story for twenty-four hours\nthere's a good chance that they can be apprehended.\"\n\"Not much,\" snorted the managing editor, \"at least not as long as they\nhave the death ray machine.\"\n\"You're wrong there,\" persisted Tim. \"It's not only possible that they\ncan be captured, but if you'll give me permission to use the News' plane\nI think I can turn the trick.\"\nCarson was too surprised for words and before the managing editor could\nregain his poise Tim continued, driving his argument home. For over an\nhour they talked in low, strained voices, with Carson openly protesting\nat times as Tim explained his plan. Finally the managing editor gave his\nconsent and Tim arose to go.\n\"Good luck, Tim,\" said Carson, \"I'll see the air mail people the first\nthing in the morning and fix everything up for you.\"\nDead tired, Tim went to his room and turned in, but sleep would not\ncome. Through the rest of the night his mind pictured the lurking bandit\nplane, the helpless mail flyer, the death ray fired from the gun, and\nthen the bandit drifting earthward to feast on the spoils of the\nwreckage. Tim turned and tossed, enraged that men should stoop to such\nvillainy, that an achievement of science should be turned to such low\nends.\nAll next day Tim and a crew of mechanics at the municipal field worked\ndesperately on the Lark in a secluded hangar. Carefully they sheathed\nthe motor cowling and the fuselage with thin layers of lead and zinc,\nalternately spreading them on for they were as thin as paper. By\nnightfall the crimson plane was half gray with the cockpit and its vital\nparts protected by the thin sheathing of metal.\nThe Lark was ready for the test and the chances were that it would come\nthat night. The two previous nights had been clear as crystal with a\nfull moon riding the sky. The pilots of the mysterious vulture of the\nair would not be abroad on such nights for the risk of detection would\nbe too great. Now, however, a thin cloud film at high altitude had\nspread over the heavens, making an ideal night for another raid on the\nair mail. And there was no doubt in Tim's mind but that they would raid\nagain. They had not the slightest reason to believe that their secret\nhad been discovered and certainly the valuables carried nightly by the\nmail plane would lure them into further attacks.\nWell, Tim was ready for them, but the thought of actually doing battle\nin the air gave him many a nervous chill as he waited that evening for\nthe time to go into action.\nA figure hurried across the field and toward the hangar.\n\"Tim! Tim!\" called an anxious voice.\n\"Who is it?\"\n\"It's Ralph. Where are you?\"\n\"Here at the southeast corner of the hangar. Look out you don't fall\ninto the ditch.\"\n\"Say Tim, what are you up to to-night?\" demanded Ralph as he panted up\nto the hangar. \"There are all kinds of wild rumors floating around the\noffice. Carson's sitting at his desk watching the clock and getting\nwhiter every minute.\"\n\"I'm going to catch the gang that robbed the mail the other night,\" said\nTim quietly. He hoped that his voice did not betray his emotion for\ninwardly he was seething with excitement. The waiting was what got on\nhis nerves. He was tense, eager to be in the air and away.\n\"I had a sneaking idea that's what you were up to,\" said Ralph. \"Count\nme in on the expedition,\" he continued. \"I stopped at the police station\nand borrowed one of Chief Flaherty's riot guns.\" From beneath the\ntopcoat which protected him from the raw night air, Ralph produced a\nsawed-off shot gun, capable of scattering a veritable hail of lead in\nwhatever direction it was aimed.\nTim laughed heartily at his friend's determination but his next words\nwere not easy to say. Ralph and Tim had worked on many a story together\nand their bond of friendship was close, but Tim could not afford to risk\nany life other than his own.\n\"I'm sorry, Ralph,\" he said, \"but I can't take you along tonight. You're\nnot used to flying, and, besides, this is a one man game.\"\n\"But Tim, something might happen to you,\" protested Ralph.\n\"Something might,\" conceded Tim, \"and then what would you do a couple of\nthousand feet up in the air and traveling at 100 miles an hour? No,\nRalph, not to-night.\"\nThe roar of the mail coming in from the west halted their conversation\nand Tim turned to direct the work of the mechanics while Ralph,\nrealizing his helplessness, watched the final preparations.\nJust as the mail trundled to a stop the lights on the field blinked out.\nThere were shouts and calls for flashlights and a minute or two later\nthe mechanics started their work of servicing the plane. In ten minutes\nit was ready to continue its eastward flight.\nThe pilot, slouched in his cockpit, waved for the mechanics to pull the\nblocks and gave his ship full throttle. Down the field he sped, then\nleaped into the air. His riding lights were disappearing in the east\nwhen the field beacons flashed on again.\nSpeeding into the night at one hundred miles an hour, Tim looked back\nand chuckled. In place of the regular mail plane, his own trim, fast\nlittle craft was rocketing eastward with dummy sacks of mail. It had\nbeen carefully camouflaged to look like the regular plane and when the\nlights went out, the larger ship had been pushed into a hangar and Tim's\nwheeled out in its place.\nIn less than another hour Tim would know just how good his theory and\nplans had been. He was willing to stake his life on them. The night air\nwas exhilarating. Tim didn't want to die; in fact, he had no intention\nof doing so. As he raced through the scudding clouds, he carefully\nchecked his plans. Ahead of him two long black machine guns peered over\nthe edge of the cockpit.\nFor nearly an hour the racy little ship flew through the half clear\nnight. When Tim sighted the curving light line that was the Cedar River,\nhe eased the throttle. His greatest assignment was just ahead--if the\nair raiders were waiting!\nTim cut his speed to that of the regular mail plane. His riding lights\nglowed brightly. The young flyer tensed; eager for the test.\nWhrrrrrrr! A roaring black plane flashed from the clouds above, it\npowerful motor spitting flame. Tim's heart leaped. His mind was racing\nmadly.\nThe black plane bore down on him. Tim ducked, and the vulture of the\nskies stormed past. Tim's own plane held its course. He had escaped from\nthe invisible death. Instead of falling, a wisp of humanity in a\nlifeless plane, he was hard on the tail of the bandits' plane.\nTim pushed his little craft hard. The bandits, amazed that the first\nattempt had failed, were startled when the usually sluggish mail doubled\nits speed and took after them.\nThe gap between the two planes closed rapidly. Tim, crouched behind his\nguns and protected from the invisible rays by the lead and zinc which\ncovered the cockpit, waited. Ahead loomed the black plane, its two\nastonished occupants glancing back at him.\nTim tripped his machine guns and a stream of tracer bullets, singing\ntheir song of death, streaked the blackness of night with threads of\nsparkling crimson as they coursed through the sky.\nThe black plane dodged this way and that, but always Tim was at their\nheels. He flew with the fury of a man possessed. Again and again it\nseemed as though the black plane must be destroyed by the leaden hail\nbut each time its pilot managed to escape.\nTim zoomed quickly, the nose of his ship pointing into the belly of the\nbandit craft. Suddenly, with a grinding chatter, his guns jammed and his\nexultation became maddening disappointment. The chased became the\nchaser, and Tim was now on the defensive.\nHis plane had withstood one attack of the death ray but a second time\nthe bandits might find a vulnerable spot. The pilot of the black ship\nquickly realized that Tim's guns had jammed and that his nervy pursuer\nwas at his mercy. He lost no time in banking swiftly to make quick work\nof Tim.\nThe flying reporter, a desperate plan in his mind, cut his motor and\ndrifted. It was his only chance and Tim staked the success of his\nmidnight venture on a slender possibility. The bandit plane was storming\ndown on him.\nAgain Tim ducked, again the breathless moment and again the thin\ncovering of lead and zinc saved him from death.\nThe bandits, completely bewildered by the plane and pilot who defied\ndestruction, slowed down. It was Tim's chance. Savagely he jammed the\nthrottle on full. The Lark leaped and quivered, a roaring, pulsating\nking of the air. It was eating up the space separating the two planes.\nTim's brain was in a whirl. Did he dare, would he succeed, what would\nhappen if he failed? But the die was cast; he was almost on the black\ndestroyer.\nHastily he loosened his safety belt, climbed to the edge of the cockpit\nand before the startled bandits could aim their death ray gun at him,\nleaped into space.\nThen the planes crashed. As Tim floated downward, his parachute\nbillowing out above, he heard the scream of breaking wires, the crash of\nstruts, the last wild, defiant roar of speeding motors as his own plane\nate its way into the other. To his left Tim could see two other\nparachutes drifting earthward. The bandits had not been caught in the\ncrash!\nWhile the parachutes floated down through the night, Tim realized that\nthings were not turning out the way he had expected. He hoped the posse\nwhich was supposed to be in readiness at Auburn had seen the battle in\nthe sky and was ready to do its part now.\nTim spilled some of the air from his parachute to speed his descent. He\nmust reach the ground ahead of the bandits. If the posse wasn't on the\njob, he might be able to handle the situation alone. Below him a heavy\npatch of timber loomed in the night. He jerked hard on the chute cords\nand, kicking desperately with his legs, swung away from the trees and\ndropped into a small clearing. Over to his right he could see the other\ntwo parachutes settling to earth.\nThe flying reporter unsnapped his parachute harness, made sure that his\ngun was ready, and then sprinted toward the place where he had last seen\nthe parachutes.\nThere was a rushing, moaning sound that stopped Tim in his tracks. For\nthe moment he had forgotten the two planes. Locked together, they had\nswung in great circles in the sky and the flyers, who had leaped in the\nchutes, had beaten them to the ground. Now, in a last tragic circle, the\nplanes were hovering over the trees. For a moment they hung in the sky.\nThen, with a final flirt of their tails, stuck their noses down and the\nnext moment struck the ground with terrific impact. There was a flash of\nfire and the roar of bursting fuel tanks. In a moment both planes were\nmasses of flame.\nTim groaned at the thought of his beloved Lark coming to such an end and\nhe hurried on with renewed determination. A hundred yards on the other\nside of the burning planes he came to an open field. Two irregular\nmasses of white were laying near the center while on the far side Tim\ncould distinguish the forms of two men, running toward a nearby road.\nHe heard the sputter of a powerful engine, headlights flashed on and\nbefore he was a third of the way across the field a car, with the two\naerial bandits in it, was speeding down the valley away from the village\nof Auburn.\nWhen the posse arrived five minutes later they found Tim waiting for\nthem at the side of the road. Briefly he explained what had happened and\nthen went to Auburn where he telephoned his story to the News office.\nIt was the next afternoon when Tim reached Atkinson and he half way\nexpected a bawling out from Carson for the loss of his new plane.\nInstead, he found the managing editor jubilant.\n\"Best story we've had in months, Tim,\" congratulated Carson. \"And the\nTranscontinental is going to replace our plane so you can go\ncloud-hopping again.\"\n\"I'm glad you liked the story,\" replied Tim, \"And it's great of the\nTranscontinental people to buy a new plane, but I felt I sort of fell\ndown on the story. I should have caught those fellows.\"\n\"Nonsense,\" exploded the managing editor. \"It wasn't your fault the\nposse wasn't on the job. You did everything you could.\"\n\"Yes, I know,\" said Tim, \"but it makes a fellow's blood boil to think of\nflyers who will stoop as low as that pair. Besides, they're apt to try\nthe stunt again. Not with the death ray but with something else. The\nairways aren't patrolled like the highways and some mighty valuable\ncargoes are carried by plane these days.\"\n\"Kind of riles up your Irish pride at the thought of them getting away,\ndoesn't it?\" asked Carson.\n\"Guess it does,\" admitted Tim, \"but you don't want to be too sure\nthey've gotten away. Next time it will be a different story.\"\n\"I hope there isn't a next time,\" said the managing editor, and he\npicked up the handful of copy he had been reading when Tim came in.\nNews is news but for a day and then it fades from the front pages to\nbecome only a matter for memory, and so it was with Tim's adventure with\nthe sky bandits.\nFor a few hours he received the praise of his fellow reporters. Then his\ndeed was forgotten in the hurry and bustle that is part of a great daily\nnewspaper. Tim would not have wished it otherwise. He had no desire to\nbe a hero, even in the News office, and considered the entire incident\nas nothing more than a part of his duty, for reporting takes its\nfollowers into many a situation which calls for quick thinking and\nsteady nerves.\nIn less than two weeks the new plane which the Transcontinental Air Mail\ncompany had agreed to buy to replace the one wrecked by Tim in the Cedar\nRiver valley arrived and was uncrated at the municipal field. The\nmechanics were busy several days assembling the plane and another day\nwas required for the ground tests.\nThen Tim was ready to soar into the clouds again. The test flight was\nsuccessful and the flying reporter was highly elated with the new Lark.\nHe was ready to follow new trails through the sky in his quest for the\nnews of the day.\nOne morning a copy boy stopped at his desk.\n\"Say Tim, Mr. Carson wants to see you.\"\nTim's slender fingers stopped their tattoo on the keys of his\ntypewriter. Anchoring his notes securely under a piece of lead he used\nfor a paper weight, he left his desk and walked down the aisle in the\ncenter of the big news room. At one end, on a slightly elevated\nplatform, were the desks of the managing editor and the city editor, so\nlocated that the executives in charge of the paper could see at a glance\njust what reporters were in the room. Directly in front of the platform\nwas a large, horseshoe shaped desk where half a dozen copyreaders were\nbusy editing stories which were to go into the editions that day. At the\ncenter of the horseshoe sat the head copyreader, a gray-haired veteran\nby the name of Dan Watkins, who could spin many a yarn of the early\ndays.\nThe copyreaders, engrossed with their work, did not look up as Tim\npassed by.\n\"Sit down, Tim,\" said the managing editor, and he waved the flying\nreporter to a chair beside his desk. For a minute Carson was busy with\nthe makeup editor, completing the final layout for the first page of the\nmail edition for that day. The layout finished, he turned to Tim.\n\"I'm well satisfied,\" he commenced, \"with the way you're handling our\nplane. There's just one thing, though, Tim. Sometime you may not be able\nto take the controls and then we'll be up against it.\"\n\"But you could get any one of half a dozen reliable pilots at the\nmunicipal field to fly for you in an emergency,\" suggested Tim.\n\"I know it,\" replied Carson, \"but I want more than pilots. I want flying\nreporters. When I first gave you the assignment of handling our new\nplane, I felt sure that many of the big stories of the future will be in\nthe air. Now I'm more convinced than ever. What I want is another flying\nreporter; someone that can take your place if need be. I want you to\npick your man from the staff and devote the next few weeks to teaching\nhim how to fly. I've made arrangements with the manager of the municipal\nfield to give you whatever assistance you need.\"\n\"That's fine, Mr. Carson,\" said Tim enthusiastically. \"Does this mean\nyou want me to take three or four weeks and give all my time to teaching\nsomeone on the staff to fly?\"\n\"Right, Tim,\" said the managing editor. \"Have you any suggestions? Pick\nyour man carefully,\" he added, \"for we have a heavy investment in that\nplane.\"\n\"I believe Ralph Parsons could be trained to fly,\" suggested Tim.\n\"But isn't Ralph a little too slow for this game in the air?\"\n\"Ralph may be a little slow in learning,\" admitted Tim, \"but he's steady\nand that counts a lot in flying. On top of that, Ralph is a brilliant\nand clever writer. I'm sure he would fit into your scheme of things\nnicely.\"\n\"All right, Tim,\" agreed Carson, \"if you think Ralph can handle the job\nwe'll give him a try. When he comes into the office tell him I want to\nsee him.\"\nHalf an hour later Ralph breezed in from his round of the hotels.\nWithout betraying anything unusual in his voice, Tim accosted his chum.\n\"Ralph, Mr. Carson wants to see you right away. It's important.\"\nRalph frowned. \"Wonder what's up now,\" he said, as he started for the\nmanaging editor's desk.\nTim smiled for he knew how his chum would feel when he returned from the\ninterview with Carson.\nFive minutes later Ralph fairly ran down the room to Tim's desk. He was\nbubbling with excitement.\n\"Why didn't you tell me what he wanted,\" he exploded. \"Gosh, Tim, I'm so\ntickled I hardly know what to do.\"\n\"I'm mighty glad, too,\" said Tim. \"It's a great opportunity and I know\nyou'll make good. We're to take three or four weeks and go in for an\nintensive course.\"\nWhen they reached the municipal field the next morning, Tim took Ralph\nto the office where he introduced him to Carl Hunter, the genial manager\nof the field.\n\"So you're going to be the new flying reporter,\" smiled Hunter as he\ngreeted Ralph. \"That's great. Tim phoned me yesterday and I've got a\nship all ready and waiting on the line for you chaps.\"\nRalph was a little disappointed when he saw the craft in which he was to\ntake his first lesson. It was an antiquated machine whose exact number\nof years were unknown. Suffice to say that it was classed as a \"Jenny,\"\na type of biplane used by the army in training it's flyers in the days\nof the World War.\nThe Jenny's wings drooped a little dejectedly and her fuselage was\nliberally patched and doped but the motor, which was turning over\nslowly, sounded sweet.\n\"Everything O.K.?\" asked Hunter as Tim completed his examination of the\nplane.\n\"Looks like it,\" said the flying reporter, as he turned to his chum to\nexplain the intricacies of a seat pack parachute. With the heavy package\nbanging around his knees, Ralph climbed into the rear cockpit. The\ninstruments there looked sensible enough to him. A gas gauge to indicate\nthe amount of fuel, an altimeter to show the height, an oil gauge to\nshow that the motor was getting the proper amount of lubrication and a\ntachometer which indicated the number of revolutions of the motor per\nminute.\nTim was getting Ralph acclimated to the cockpit and he intentionally\nkept the motor idling while he explained the functions of the controls;\nhow the rudder at the back of the fuselage controlled the right and left\ndirection of the plane while the ailerons on the wings were used to\ndirect it's up and down movements. The explanation seemed simple enough\nto Ralph and when he placed his feet on the rudder bar it recalled days\nnot so long gone when he had guided a speeding sled down long hills.\nThis might not be so bad, after all, but he admitted a few qualms when\nTim climbed into the forward cockpit, strapped himself in, revved up the\nmotor, waggled the wings, and sent the plane throbbing into the air.\nRalph needed some time to get used to the sensation of roaring along\nthrough the clouds at eighty miles an hour and for the first fifteen or\ntwenty minutes Tim made no effort to give his chum any further\ninstructions. Instead, they conversed freely through the headphones and\nTim took pains to keep Ralph's attention diverted from the plane and its\nmaneuvering. When he felt that his chum had become more air-minded he\nstarted the actual instruction.\nRalph was slow to learn the rudiments of handling the plane, but he was\nsteady and after another half hour in the air, Tim took his hands off\nthe controls and signalled for Ralph to take the stick. Everything went\nwell for several minutes until they struck an air pocket and the ship\ndropped fifty feet. Ralph, surprised at the sinking sensation,\novercontrolled and threw the Jenny into a side-slip.\nTim righted the plane and continued the instruction for another ten\nminutes. Then he started down, calling Ralph's attention to every shift\nin the position of the controls and explaining his reason.\nWhen they skimmed to a stop in front of the office at the field they\nwere stiff and numb from cold for the late winter winds had bitten\nthrough their heavy clothing.\nHunter was on hand to greet them.\n\"How goes it?\" he asked.\n\"Fine, Carl, fine,\" said Tim. \"Ralph will make a cracking good flyer\nwhen he gets over being scared. We'll be out again this afternoon.\"\nThree weeks slipped away and to Ralph and Tim the time was like three\ndays. Then Ralph was ready for his solo flight. He had satisfied both\nTim and Hunter that he could handle a plane and that morning, late in\nMarch, he was to soar aloft alone.\nRalph, silent and serious of face, took his place in the Jenny. He heard\nTim yell a few reassuring words at him. Then he was off.\nRalph got the Jenny off the ground like a veteran and started climbing\nfor altitude. At 2,000 feet he levelled off and swung the Jenny over the\nfield in great circles, his motor barking in the crisp morning air. For\nfifteen minutes Tim and Hunter strained their necks as they watched\nRalph put the Jenny through her paces.\n\"He's all right,\" said Hunter, \"you've done a nice piece of work, Tim,\nin teaching him how to fly. I was afraid he wouldn't be fast enough in\nan emergency.\" When the manager of the Atkinson field said a flyer was\nall right, he was that and more, for Hunter was known as a cautious man.\nTim and Hunter turned to glance at another ship that was being warmed up\non the line. A shout from a mechanic brought their attention back to\nRalph, and their faces went white at the sight of what was happening in\nthe sky. Far above them the Jenny was twisting and falling. For a moment\nthey were speechless.\n\"His right wing's crumpled,\" yelled Hunter. \"He's going to crash.\"\nTim's throat tightened. He couldn't even speak when he realized what\nRalph was up against. It was enough to turn a veteran pilot gray headed,\nmuch less a beginner making his first solo.\nIf Ralph could keep the Jenny out of a tail spin he had a chance, just a\nchance. Down, down, down, fluttered the crippled plane, so slowly and\nyet so swiftly. Nearer and nearer the field Ralph swung his battered\nship, nursing it every foot of the way. At 500 feet it fell away in a\nsteep glide--so steep that the two near the hangar held their breath.\nThe plane gained speed, the sideslip was steeper. In another second it\nwould strike the ground, roll over, and crush its pilot. Tim turned\naway; he couldn't stand it.\nOnly Hunter saw Ralph stake his life in a desperate chance and saw him\nwin. Just before the plane crashed he threw his controls over, bringing\nhis left wing up and levelling off. The lower right wing held for the\nneeded fraction of a second, just the time required to pull out of the\nsideslip, and Ralph set his crippled plane down hard.\nInstead of a bad crash, it was only a noseover and by the time Tim and\nHunter reached the Jenny, Ralph was scrambling out of the cockpit.\n\"Hurt, Ralph?\" cried Tim.\n\"Not hurt, just scared,\" he grinned. \"Guess I kind of smashed up the old\nbus, Carl,\" he went on, his words tense and close clipped. \"I'm mighty\nsorry.\"\n\"That's all right, Ralph,\" said Hunter. \"She was about at the end of her\nstring and I guess I shouldn't have let you take her up for your solo.\nI'm glad it wasn't any worse.\"\n\"How did you feel coming down?\" queried Tim, as they started back to the\noffice after a careful survey of the wrecked Jenny.\n\"Pretty nervous,\" admitted Ralph, \"but it's great stuff. I'd have been\nall right if I hadn't hit a bump when I went into a sharp bank and the\nold ship just couldn't stand the gaff. It was some trip down, though. I\nthought I had a ticket straight through for China.\"\n\"That landing with the broken wing was a great piece of flying,\" cut in\nHunter in his quiet voice. Ralph was thrilled, for words of praise from\nthe manager of the field meant much.\n\"Better come out this afternoon,\" said Hunter when they reached the\noffice, \"and we'll have another try at it.\"\nTim caught the significance of the words and he wondered if Ralph sensed\ntheir meaning. After a crash the first thing for a flyer to do is to get\ninto the air again. If he lets the effects of the crackup work on his\nnerves he may never be able to handle a plane again. Tim realized that\nhis chum had been through a severe flying ordeal but he was elated that\nRalph had come through in such fine shape. The next thing was to get him\nback into the air as soon as possible and in the meantime to keep his\nmind occupied with thoughts other than those of the crackup.\nThey were speeding into town in one of the cars owned by the News when\nRalph let out a yell and Tim swerved just in time to avoid a hog which\nwas having a hard time making up its mind in which way to go.\n\"One thing,\" laughed Ralph when the pork menace was safely behind, \"we\ndon't have to dodge such things up there.\"\nTim purposely took Ralph to the busiest cafeteria in town where the rush\nto get food kept them busy for half an hour. The heavy tide of noonday\ntraffic caught them in its swirl when they started back to the field and\nby the time they reached the airport, they had said scarcely a dozen\nwords about the incident of the morning.\nHunter, wise in the ways of the air and the men who ride through its\ntrackless lanes, had another plane warmed up on the line when they put\nin their appearance.\nIt was the work of only a few minutes for Ralph to don his heavy flying\nclothes. Tim thought his chum looked a little white around his lips. He\nwondered what thoughts were racing through Ralph's mind. If his chum\nonly knew it, the big test was before him.\nTim wanted Ralph to make good, wanted him to pass the next ordeal for he\nknew how much he had counted on becoming a companion of the flying\nreporter. They had worked up from cub reporter, taken all the hard\nknocks of the newspaper game with a smile. Now their big opportunity was\nat hand if Ralph could come through the gruelling test of the afternoon.\nTim knew he must go on flying even if Ralph failed, but the zest of it\nwould be gone.\nRalph took his place in the cockpit of the ship Hunter designated. It\nwas similar to the old Jenny in design but a much sturdier type. Tim\nwatched Ralph closely as he checked over the instruments. If Ralph was\nupset or unnerved at the thought of taking the air so soon after his\nfirst crackup, he gave no sign other than a certain firmness to the\nlines around his mouth.\nWith a roar, Ralph went scudding down the field, bouncing from side to\nside. Tim felt chills of apprehension running up and down his back as\nRalph jounced along. There was little in his handling of the plane to\nresemble the fine takeoff of the morning. But just before Ralph crashed\ninto the fence at the other side of the airport, he pulled the stick\nback hard.\nThe little ship shot skyward in a breathtaking climb; almost straight up\nit seemed to the anxious watchers on the field. For a second it hung at\nthe peak of its climb. Would it fall off into a spin or would the sturdy\nmotor pull on through? For an eternity the plane was hanging almost\nvertically against the sky--then the nose came down, the tail went up,\nand Ralph started circling the field.\nAgain Ralph put his plane through its paces and as far as Tim and Hunter\ncould see, his handling of the craft showed no sign of uncertainty. At\nthe end of half an hour he had completed every maneuver and even more\nthan is required of a pilot on his solo flight but instead of coming\ndown, Ralph continued to circle the field.\nFor ten or fifteen minutes Tim thought little of his chum's actions but\nbefore the hour was up he was genuinely worried. What could be keeping\nRalph up? he asked himself.\nHunter dodged out of the office to scan the sky.\n\"What's Ralph doing up there so long?\" he asked Tim in surprise.\n\"I don't know, Carl,\" replied the flying reporter, lines of worry\ncreasing his brow. \"I'm going to warm up the Lark and hop up and see if\nanything is wrong.\"\nIn less than ten minutes, Tim, in the Lark, was pulling up beside\nRalph's plane. Tim was astonished at the sight which greeted his eyes.\nApparently the training plane was a ghost ship, flying without human\nhands at its controls. Ralph was nowhere to be seen! But the movements\nof the ailerons and the rudder indicated that someone was in the cockpit\nand Tim wondered what kind of a joke Ralph was trying to play on him.\nThe two planes circled lazily over the airport and when several minutes\nelapsed and Ralph still remained hidden in the cockpit, Tim felt new\nalarm. He let the Lark drop behind the training plane, then gave it the\ngun and climbed above Ralph's ship so he could look down into the\ncockpit.\nHe could see Ralph, doubled up on the floor at one side of the cockpit,\ncontrolling the plane as best he could with his hands. Ralph evidently\nheard the deeper roar of the motor of Tim's plane for he looked up and\nmanaged to wave one hand. His face was twisted with pain.\nThe flying reporter waved back at his chum, then threw the Lark into a\nsideslip and plunged madly for the ground.\nHunter heard the thunder of the Lark as Tim sent it earthward in a power\ndive and was waiting for the flying reporter when he checked his plane\non the concrete apron in front of the office.\n\"Something's happened to Ralph,\" yelled Tim. \"He's slumped down in one\ncorner of the cockpit. Evidently he can't use his legs for he's handling\nthe controls with his hands. We've got to get him down some way or he'll\ncrash sure.\"\nHunter glanced at his watch. \"He's been up nearly an hour and a half and\nI didn't put much gas in that ship,\" he muttered half to himself and\nhalf to Tim.\nTim slipped into the forward cockpit and yelled for Hunter to take the\ncontrols. A mechanic helped them whip the Lark around and get it headed\ndown the field.\nHunter opened the throttle wide. The Lark had its tail off the ground in\na hundred feet and in less than five hundred feet was pointing its nose\ninto the sky.\nWhile they fought for altitude, Tim slipped the harness of his parachute\nfrom his shoulders. He couldn't afford to be hampered by anything as\ncumbersome as a parachute if his plan to save Ralph from crashing was to\nsucceed.\nTim and Hunter quickly overtook Ralph's plane and that young man,\ndespite the seriousness of his predicament, managed to grin at them as\nthey jockeyed for a position directly over him.\nWhile Hunter was coordinating the speed of the Lark with that of the\ntraining plane, Tim slipped out of his seat and down onto the wing. From\nthe lower wing it was the work of a minute to wrap his legs around the\nlanding gear and slide down onto the axle below the plane. If Hunter\ncould bring the Lark down close enough to Ralph's ship, Tim planned to\ndrop onto the upper wing of the training plane.\nThe Lark was hovering over Ralph's ship when the motor of the lower\nplane coughed once or twice and died. Not more than fifteen feet\nseparated Tim from Ralph but it might just as well have been a mile. The\ntraining plane, its motor dead, was rapidly falling away from the Lark\nin spite of Hunter's best efforts!\nTim yelled until it seemed his lungs would burst but the roar of the\nLark's own powerful motor drowned out his cries. Finally Ralph, who had\nbeen working desperately in the cockpit of his own plane, looked up at\nhis chum. Death was staring him in the face, but there was no hint of\nfear in the eyes that gazed at Tim.\nThe flying reporter signalled Ralph to reach for the lever which opened\nthe emergency gas tank. If there was fuel in the reserve tank, the motor\nmight catch again and they would have another chance.\nThe lever which controlled the valve of the emergency tank was on the\nother side of the cockpit and Tim, hanging on his precarious perch,\nwatched his chum strain to reach it. Ralph lunged toward the lever and\nhis outstretched hands knocked it open. The fuel flooded down into the\ncarburetor and hissed into the red hot cylinders. With a quiver the\nengine of the training plane came to life.\nTim couldn't restrain a shout as he saw Ralph gain control of the plane\nagain.\nHunter lost no time in bringing the ships together and the Lark crept\ndown and over the upper wing of Ralph's plane.\nTim steeled himself for the attempt. He had never tried to change from\none plane to another but he had watched the stunt a dozen times. The\nfeat looked easy then, but actually to attempt it with a friend's life\nin the balance was an entirely different thing.\nJust ahead Tim could see the flashing arc of the propeller of Ralph's\nplane. If Hunter misjudged the distance, if they struck a bump, if--if\nany one of half a dozen things happened he might be thrown into the\ndeadly whirl. But Hunter was a master pilot and----\nBefore Tim's madly racing mind could conjure up other thoughts they were\nover Ralph's plane. Six feet, five feet, four feet separated the under\ncarriage of the Lark from the upper wing of the training ship. Tim\nreleased his hold on the axle.\nThe next moment the air was forced from his lungs as he sprawled against\nthe surface of the wing. His desperately reaching fingers hooked\nthemselves over the wires along the upper edge of the wing and he was\nsafe.\nTim was stiff from the cold and bruised by his fall but he swiftly made\nhis way in from the tip of the wing and crawled down into the forward\ncockpit. His action was not a moment too soon for the supply of fuel in\nthe reserve tank was exhausted. He grabbed the dual controls in the\nforward cockpit and within thirty seconds had set the plane down on the\nfield. Hunter, who had beaten him down, ran toward him and together they\nclambered into the rear cockpit.\nRalph's face was drawn with lines of pain.\n\"I guess I've made a supreme mess of things,\" he gritted, before they\ncould ask him what had happened.\nA doctor who had been summoned by one of the mechanics when Tim and\nHunter went aloft, shoved Hunter aside and slipped into the cockpit\nbeside Ralph, whose legs, useless, were doubled under him.\n\"Here you chaps,\" called the doctor, \"help me lift this boy out of\nhere.\" Together they hoisted Ralph out of the cockpit and carried him\ninto the office where they laid him on a cot in Hunter's room.\nThe doctor's examination required only a few minutes and he was smiling\nwhen he turned to the others in the room.\n\"Nothing serious,\" he reassured them. \"When he had that crackup this\nmorning he bruised his legs pretty badly and also strained his back. The\nreaction took place this afternoon and resulted in a temporary paralysis\nof the legs. Keep him good and warm for an hour or two and he'll be O.\nK. His legs may be a little sore and stiff for a day or two but that's\nall.\"\nThe doctor picked up his things and departed. When he had gone, Ralph\nlooked up at Tim, his eyes clouded with grief.\n\"I'm sorry I'm such a flop, Tim,\" he said. \"I tried hard to make good\nbecause you told Carson I could do it.\"\n\"Make good?\" exclaimed Tim. \"Why Ralph, you're a flyer if ever there was\none. It takes nerves and brains to do what you did this afternoon to\nkeep a ship aloft with your legs paralyzed and your gas supply dwindling\ndown to nothing. Believe me, that was flying.\"\nThe cold winds of winter had been replaced by the warmer breezes of\nearly spring and clouds that had been heavy with snow unleashed their\nburden of rain. It was poor weather for flying and Tim, after checking\nover his plane, was preparing to leave the airport.\nThe deep humming of a powerful motor attracted his attention and he\nturned toward the sound. Out of the low gray clouds in the west a black\nmonoplane flashed into view. It was coming fast and low. The craft shot\nover the field and as it flashed by, Tim noted that it was a dull black.\nThe fact that there were no numbers indicating its department of\ncommerce rating troubled him. Then the pilot of the unknown plane banked\nsharply, and with motor on full, sped back over the field.\nAn arm flashed over the edge of the fuselage and a white object floated\ndown. Tim splashed across the muddy field and retrieved the letter from\nthe puddle in which it had fallen. By that time the black plane had\ndisappeared with only a faint drumming of its motor to tell of its\npassing.\nThe flying reporter held the letter gingerly. When he turned it over he\nwas astounded to find that it was addressed to him. On the envelope, in\na rough scrawl, were the words, \"For Tim Murphy.\"\nTim tore open the envelope and extracted the single sheet of plain\npaper. The words were few but they burned their way into his mind.\n\"Murphy,\" he read, \"you've spoiled my game once. Don't do it again.\" It\nwas signed, \"The Sky Hawk.\"\nA queer feeling, certainly not that of fear, yet hardly that of elation,\nheld Tim for a moment. So he had crossed the path of the Sky Hawk, the\nfamous bandit who had been terrorizing the airways of the east. Tim\nsmiled a little grimly. So far he had always been able to take care of\nhimself and he had won his first tilt with the sky robber.\nStories about the Sky Hawk had been front page news some months before\nwhen he had staged a number of daring aerial holdups on eastern airways,\nbut recently he had disappeared, which accounted for the failure to\nfirst connect him with the robbery of the Transcontinental Air Mail.\nThere were many tales about the Sky Hawk. Some were that he was a\nsuper-flyer, a famous World war ace who had gone wrong; others had him\nleading a desperate band of aerial gunmen. One thing Tim knew; if the\nSky Hawk had been piloting the plane which had attacked the mail, he had\na number of accomplices.\nThe flying reporter walked over to the manager's office and laid the\nletter on Hunter's desk.\n\"I was afraid of something like that,\" said the airport chief when he\nfinished reading the note. \"The possibility of the Sky Hawk had occurred\nto me before but I thought I'd get laughed off the field if I mentioned\nit. You'll take good care of yourself, won't you, Tim?\"\n\"Sure, Carl, and while I'm here I want to find out what you know about\nthis flying circus that blew in a couple of weeks ago. Why didn't they\nstop at your field?\"\n\"They landed here first but when they found we charged a percentage on\nall passengers carried, they pulled out and rented a pasture on the\nother side of town.\"\n\"Guess I'll drift over that way,\" said Tim. \"There may be a story.\"\nThe flying reporter took the office car he had used to come down to the\nfield and fifteen minutes later had skirted the edge of the city and\nreached a level tract of land where several canvas hangars had been\nerected. A sign over the gate announced that the \"Ace Company\" was ready\nfor business. Tim turned his car from the main road and into the field.\nThere was no one on duty at the gate and he started for one of the\nhangars where he could hear men at work.\nHe was about to push aside the canvas flap when a burly mechanic fairly\njumped out of the tent.\n\"What you doing here?\" he bawled.\n\"Just looking around,\" replied Tim. \"I'm Murphy of the News?\"\n\"Oh, so you're Murphy of the News?\" mimicked the mechanic. \"Well, we\ndon't want any flying snoopers sticking their noses in here. Now get out\nand stay out!\"\nTim appraised the mechanic. He was six feet or better and weighed a good\ntwo hundred pounds. To try to argue with him would be foolhardy and Tim\nturned and started for his car.\nHalfway to the car he paused for a moment, a peculiar mark on the soft\nturf of the field attracting his attention. It was the mark of a\ntailskid and from its clean-cut appearance, must have been made within\nthe last hour!\nOn the way back to the office, Tim mulled over the events of the last\nfew weeks. First the attack on the transcontinental air mail, then the\nwarning note from the Sky Hawk, his gruff reception at the Ace air\ncircus field and finally his discovery of the tailskid track on a day\nthat was rotten for flying. Only a flyer with an urgent mission would\nthink of flying with the weather conditions what they were and yet\nsomeone had evidently landed at the Ace field within the last few\nminutes.\nTim felt that the gods who hold the threads of fate were weaving a new\npattern and that he was being drawn deeper and deeper into it. The\nflying reporter was seldom blue, but something in the air, the very\ngrayish color of the day depressed him and he was moody when he reached\nthe office.\n\"What's the matter, Tim?\" asked Dan Watkins, the venerable head of the\ncopy desk. \"You look like you'd lost your last friend. Suppose you're\nmad because all this rainy weather is keeping you tied down and you have\nto associate with us earthworms.\" Dan chuckled at his own sally.\n\"I don't know what's the matter, Dan,\" admitted Tim. \"I feel all\nrestless and stirred up inside--unsettled.\"\nThe head copy reader looked intently at the flying reporter and what he\nsaw in the usually clear blue eyes brought forth his next words.\n\"Get your hat, Tim,\" he invited, \"and come out and have lunch with me.\nIt will do you good to get out of this stuffy atmosphere.\"\nTim welcomed the invitation and Dan guided him down a side street to a\ncheery little restaurant. There was little conversation until they had\ngiven their orders for lunch.\nOn their way to the restaurant Watkins had carefully appraised Tim,\nrecalled everything he could remember about the boy, and had reached a\ndecision. He started the conversation over the white-topped table.\n\"I know what's troubling you, Tim,\" he began. \"You're afraid you'll get\nin a rut. Right?\"\nTim nodded, his eyes on fingers which were fumbling nervously with the\nsilverware.\n\"I guess that's about right,\" he admitted, his voice low. \"I don't want\nto be a flying reporter all my life and I'm afraid I haven't the\nbackground to get ahead. But there's something more than that.\" And Tim\ntold the copy reader about the note from the Sky Hawk.\n\"Don't let that worry you, Tim,\" advised the veteran newspaper man. \"It\nmay be only a joke; it may not, but whatever it is, I have confidence\nyou'll be able to take care of yourself. Right now there is something we\nwant to thresh out. A minute ago you said you didn't think you had the\nbackground to get ahead. What do you mean by that?\"\n\"Well, I've only had a high school education and it takes more than that\nto get ahead in the modern newspaper world. I've got a fine job now,\npiloting the new plane, but in a few years I won't be fast enough for\nthat. Then what? Oh, maybe the weather has made me blue, but I've gotten\ninto an awful muddle.\"\n\"I think you have,\" agreed the veteran of the copy desk, \"and it looks\nlike it's high time for your uncle Dan to straighten things out for\nyou.\"\n\"I've seen lots of young chaps go through this same trouble,\" he went\non. \"Some of them snapped out of it while others went under. But listen\nto me, Tim,\" and there was rare charm and power in the words, \"You must\nnever let this thing get your goat. You're made of too fine material.\"\nTim started to reply but Dan waved his words aside.\n\"You have the opportunity of a lifetime,\" he continued. \"Here you\nare--young, capable, and with aviation in its swaddling clothes. Within\nten years it will be a giant among giants and the newspaper man who\nknows aviation from the ground up will be in an enviable position--a\nposition to command real power and respect.\"\nThere was new interest in Tim's eyes and he drank in Dan Watkins' words.\n\"You're luckier than you know,\" added the head copy reader, \"for you\nhave behind you a great newspaper organization. Someday, and someday\nsoon, the News will need an aviation editor. Someone who knows the air\nfrom A to Z, someone with nerves and brains and foresight, and there\nisn't a reason in the world why you shouldn't fill that editorial chair\nwhen the time comes. Don't get moody, don't get discouraged. I know the\nweather gets a fellow's nerves once in a while but you must learn to\npull yourself over those rough spots.\"\n\"I think you're right about the future for an aviation editor,\" agreed\nTim, \"and that's one of the things that has put me in the dumps lately.\nThe field is so big and I know so little about it. When the time comes\nto select an editor I'm afraid Carson will pass me by and pick a man\nwith more education.\"\n\"You can remedy that, Tim,\" said Dan. \"You can take work at night school\nand I have a fine library at my room. I'd be only too glad to lend you\nsome of my books and suggest reading material that will help you. You'll\nhave to hit the line hard, Tim, but you've got the stuff to do it. And\nbesides, Carson likes you and when he knows you are trying to better\nyourself it will make a big difference with him.\"\nTim's face was aglow with new hope and courage. \"I'll work hard,\" he\npromised. \"I love the flying game; it's becoming life itself to me and I\nwant to keep on but I won't be satisfied unless I'm something more than\na flying reporter.\"\n\"I admire your ambition, but don't be too impatient now, Tim,\"\ncounselled the copyreader. \"As a matter of fact you've gone a lot\nfurther than most young fellows your age.\"\n\"The growth of aviation is going to be like the growth of the\nnewspapers. The young fellows who had plenty of foresight back in 1890\nand 1900 are the big men of today. I started in the print shop back in\nthe home town, sweeping out and sorting lead slugs. Got fifty cents a\nweek and thought it was big pay. Next thing, I was setting type by hand\nout of a case. Used to sit on a high stool from 7 o'clock in the morning\nuntil night and the day before we went to press we used to work half the\nnight.\" Dan smiled a little at the thoughts of the old days.\n\"When we first read about Mergenthaler and his typesetting machine, we\nthought he was a nut of some kind. But a few believed in him and today\nthey are the leaders in the newspaper business.\"\n\"We used to print our weekly paper on a Washington hand press, and it\ntook us all day to get out a few hundred copies. Now even the weeklies\nhave modern presses while the dailies turn out 36, 48 and 56 page papers\nby the thousands every hour.\"\n\"The same revolution has taken place in the editorial rooms. When I\nfirst came to work on the News we had one dinky little telegraph wire\nthat brought only a few hundred words of news a day. We'd take that and\npad it out and also used the scissors liberally to cut dispatches out of\nthe big eastern papers. We never knew from one week to another whether\nour pay checks were good and it was always a race to see who could get\nto the bank first.\"\nDan paused for a moment, then he continued, \"But look at the office\ntoday. A dozen reporters, an editor to handle every department, half a\ndozen telegraph wires that bring the news from every corner of the world\nand even an airplane to ferret out the stories in the clouds.\"\nTim smiled at the last phrase.\n\"The aviation game is like a newspaper,\" went on the copyreader. \"The\nnewspaper went through its baby days and has emerged into one of the\ngreatest institutions of our modern times. So it will be with aviation.\nI scoffed at the first strides of modern journalism, and look where I\nam.\" There was no note of self-pity in the words, simply a plain\nstatement of fact, and Dan hurried on before Tim could speak.\n\"I'm only a copyreader while if I had been alert to realize the\npossibilities way back in the nineties, I might have been the head of\nthis paper or some other like it. I don't want you to miss your chance\nTim. You're alert and eager now; keep on that way and I'll help you all\nI can.\"\nWhen Tim left the office that afternoon the rain was still falling\nsteadily but he did not feel depressed. He was fired with new enthusiasm\nand determination. Far into the night he mulled over Dan Watkins' words\nand he knew that the older man's advice was sound and true. It was a\ngoal Tim had hardly dared dream to attain and one that at times had made\nhis heart ache at the futility of his dreams. But the kindly counsel of\nthe older man had set his mind into new channels of thought and given\nhim the impetus he needed. It was a long, hard road to follow but before\nhe went to sleep, Tim had determined to throw his every energy toward\nattainment of his goal.\nWhen Tim reached the office the next morning he found Ralph Parsons\nwaiting for him, a camera on his desk.\n\"Hurry up, Tim,\" called his chum. \"Carson just phoned down and ordered\nus out on an assignment. They say that the Cedar River is flooding the\nentire country over east. Worst high water in twenty-five years, and he\nwants some good pictures for this afternoon's editions. We'll have to\nhustle.\"\nWhile Ralph was talking, Tim telephoned to the airport and ordered the\nLark serviced and put on the line ready to go. It was raining hard but\nthe weather bulletin indicated clearing weather by mid-forenoon so they\nwould have a chance to get some good pictures when they reached the\nvalley.\nTim and Ralph skidded through the city in one of the News' cars and when\nthey reached the airport found the Lark ready for them, its motor\nturning over slowly.\nHunter came out of his office.\n\"It's a bad morning for a takeoff,\" he warned Tim. \"What in thunder is\nbringing you out on a day like this?\"\n\"We've got a report of a big flood in the Cedar River valley,\" said Tim,\n\"and Ralph's going to try for some pictures if the rain clears up.\"\nHunter grunted, then said, \"Better keep over to the north side of the\nfield, Tim, and get her off as quick as you can. The other end of this\nflat is under a good foot of water and it's all pretty much of a swamp.\"\nTim and Ralph waved at the manager of the field, Tim gave the Lark full\nthrottle, and they sloshed over the field and got away to a sluggish\ntakeoff. The muck and water sucked at the Lark's wheels and it was with\nan effort that Tim got his craft into the air.\nOnce clear of the field, he headed into the east. The ceiling was low\nthat morning; not over 500 feet, and the Lark thundered over farms and\nsmall towns at better than 100 miles an hour. Tim piloted wholly by\ncompass but after forty-five minutes of flying they ran out of the rain\nand the sky began to clear. When they sighted the Cedar River valley the\nsun was out from behind the clouds for the first time in days.\nA scene of majestic destruction unfolded itself as Tim swung the Lark\nover the valley of the Cedar. The usually peaceful stream was on a\nmighty rampage, its banks hidden by swirling torrents of dirty, yellow\nwater which spread for more than a mile in either direction. In the\nheart of the foaming flood could be seen great trees, torn up by their\nroots, and farm buildings that bobbled and turned as if in protest. Over\nall there was an air of utter desolation, the surrender of man to the\nwrath of the elements.\nTim was fascinated by the terrible splendor of the scene, and he banked\nthe Lark gracefully as Ralph took picture after picture of the great\nflood. To the south Tim sighted a cluster of buildings marooned in the\ncenter of the raging stream. He turned the plane and sped toward them.\nIn another minute he recognized the village of Auburn, the scene of his\nfirst exploit as a flying reporter. The once peaceful hamlet, which, he\nremembered, had been on the right bank of the Cedar, was surrounded by\nthe rampant waters. While Tim circled the village, Ralph managed to\nsecure two graphic pictures of the marooned village.\nTim could see a little group gathered in front of the general store and\nonce he thought they were gesturing to him, but he dared not go closer.\nMotor trouble at any lower altitude would mean a plunge into the flood.\nA few minutes before noon Tim dropped the crimson-winged Lark down out\nof the clouds and skidded over the muddy field. He uncurled his legs and\ngot stiffly out of the cockpit. Ralph hopped down beside him, his camera\nunder his arm.\nThey left orders for mechanics at the field to take care of the plane\nand then headed toward the city in the car they had left at the field.\n\"That's some flood,\" said Ralph as they sped toward the office. \"I\ndidn't think there was so much water in the whole world.\"\nTim was preoccupied and his words were slow in coming.\n\"I'm wondering how things are at Auburn,\" said he. \"With communication\ncut off, they might be in bad shape. Wish we could have gone lower but I\ndidn't dare, and we had to get your plates back as soon as possible.\"\nWhen they entered the editorial office, the managing editor was waiting\nfor them.\n\"Get 'em?\" he demanded.\n\"You bet,\" said Ralph, \"some dandies,\" and he laid his camera with its\ngraphic record of the flood, on the managing editor's desk.\nCarson hurriedly made out a rush order for the engraving room and sent a\ncopy boy scurrying away with the camera. In less than an hour they would\nappear on the front page of the noonday extra, a real scoop over every\nother paper in town.\nWhen Tim and Ralph went out for lunch, the sky was overcast again with\nhurrying rain clouds and the city was shrouded in a pall of low-lying\nclouds and heavy smoke. They were gone not more than half an hour but\nwhen they returned Carson beckoned at them, one ear glued to a telephone\nreceiver. He was writing rapidly, occasionally asking a tense question.\nWhen he had finished he turned to Tim.\n\"This is bad, Tim,\" said the managing editor. \"That little town of\nAuburn that you flew over this morning had been isolated for four days\nnow. They're getting low on food and typhoid has broken out in the\nvillage. There isn't a boat left in the village and even if trucks could\nget near there with boats, the river is so churned up they wouldn't be\nable to get out to the village. I've just talked to the owner of the\ngeneral store at Auburn. He'd taken to a barn door and trusted to luck\nthat the current would take him ashore. He got through safely and called\nus from Applington. They're appealing to us to do something.\"\n\"Get me the food and serum they need and I'll drop it to them in less\nthan two hours,\" replied Tim rising to the challenge in the managing\neditor's eyes.\nTim's instant response to the appeal from the flood-stricken village\npleased the managing editor immensely.\n\"Fine, Tim, fine,\" said Carson. \"This will be great stuff. Good\nadvertising for the News and at the same time a real bit of service.\nI'll call the Red Cross and have everything ready. How much can you\ncarry?\"\n\"About five hundred pounds,\" said the flying reporter. \"Have them put it\nin two strong sacks, big ones, and get it to the field in half an hour.\nI'll hustle out there and get a parachute ready.\"\n\"Where do I come in?\" expostulated Ralph, who had no intention of being\nleft out of the party. \"If you're going to take five hundred pounds of\nfood and medical supplies, there won't be room for me.\"\n\"I know it, Ralph, and I'm sorry,\" replied Tim. \"But right now the food\nand medicine mean more to those villagers than your presence circling\naround in the clouds above them.\"\nTim's words were without sarcasm and Ralph grinned in spite of his\ndisappointment, but he knew that Tim was right.\n\"I'll go out to the field with you,\" he volunteered, \"and I may be able\nto help you fix the parachute.\"\n\"You could help a lot,\" agreed Tim, and they hurried out of the office\non their way to the airport.\nWhen they reached the field, Tim enlisted the aid of Hunter and they\nopened up a parachute pack. Springs were carefully inserted and so\narranged that they would force the big silken umbrella open three\nseconds after it had been dropped from the plane.\nThey were just completing their work with the parachute when a truck\nfrom the Red Cross office arrived with the supplies, packed in two\nstrong canvas sacks.\n\"The serum's in the center of one of the bags,\" said the truck driver,\n\"and they said you wouldn't need to worry about breaking the glass\ntubes. They've packed everything carefully.\"\nTim soon rigged the sacks on the side of the Lark with the parachute\nattached to them. A single hard jerk on the rope which held the sacks\nwould send them tumbling earthward to the stricken village.\nThe flying reporter checked his plane with even greater care than usual.\nHe couldn't afford to take a risk, too much depended on the outcome of\nhis flight. Finally, satisfied that all was well, he climbed into the\nrear cockpit and settled his long legs on the rudder bar. The motor was\npurring musically.\nRalph climbed up on the fuselage and bent close to Tim, \"Good luck,\" he\nshouted, and slapped his chum on the back.\nThat was characteristic of the generousness of Ralph's nature and Tim\nwarmed inwardly for he knew how keenly Ralph wanted to make the trip\nwith him.\nWith a roar of the motor and a flirt of its tail, Tim sent the Lark\nrocketing into the eastern sky on its errand of mercy while the great\npresses in the News building uptown were even then grinding out the\nstory of his daring attempt.\nAfter a little less than an hour of flying, he sighted the swirling,\ndirty-yellow current of the Cedar and swung down the valley to pick up\nthe marooned village, a cluster of houses in the midst of a great\nexpanse of angry flood waters.\nThe roar of the Lark's motor attracted the attention of the villagers\nand they gathered in the town square to watch the circling plane. Tim\nswept low and pointed to the sacks on the side of his plane. The\nexpressions on the upturned faces of the people indicated that they\nunderstood what he was going to attempt.\nTim banked sharply and headed upstream. The clouds had broken somewhat\nbut there were indications of an almost momentary squall. He would have\nto hurry to accomplish his mission. The winds were hard out of the east\nand it would take careful calculations of speed and wind drift to land\nhis cargo on the tiny island.\nWhen he was a mile upstream from the village, Tim turned and headed down\nstream, ready for the attempt. He cut the speed of the Lark as low as he\ndared and waited until he judged the right moment was at hand. Then he\njerked the rope that held his precious cargo to the side of the plane.\nHe saw the sacks drop away and watched the parachute spring open and\nbillow out in the breeze.\nFor a moment Tim watched the parachute falling straight and true. The\nwind was a trifle stronger than he had anticipated but it looked as if\nthe sacks would land near the far end of the island.\nA sudden squall swept over the valley and rain blotted out the scene\nbelow. It was over in thirty seconds but when Tim sighted the parachute\nagain it was settling into the churning waters at the south end of the\nisland. The villagers desperately cast long poles with hooked ends into\nthe stream in an effort to snare the parachute and pull it to shore, but\nin less than a minute the silken umbrella, with its two sacks of serum\nand food, were sucked down by the hungry Cedar.\nTim was heart-sick when he turned the Lark up-stream, nosed down, and\nsped over the village again. He leaned over the side of the cockpit and\ntried, with gestures, to tell the disappointed group that he would\nreturn to Atkinson, secure more supplies, and make another attempt. But\nin his heart he doubted if the second trip would be any more successful\nthan the first. The clouds were heavier and the winds had increased to\nalmost gale strength. Riding on the wings of the easterly wind, he swept\ndown on the Atkinson airport just forty minutes after his unsuccessful\nattempt to relieve the suffering at Auburn.\nWhile his plane splashed over the muddy field and slithered to a stop in\nfront of the office, Tim evolved a plan which might mean the salvation\nof the villagers. Desperate it was, and its chances of success would be\nslim, but it was worth trying if he could convince his managing editor.\nCarson was at the field waiting for news of the flight. At his side was\nRalph Parsons, a camera in hand.\n\"Just a minute, Tim,\" yelled the managing editor, as the young flyer\nstarted to climb down from him mud-bespattered plane.\n\"Pose in your ship while we get some pictures of the 'Hero of the Air.'\"\nTim shook his head. \"Not now Mr. Carson, I'm anything but a hero. I\nfailed.\"\n\"What,\" exclaimed the managing editor, for failure was something that so\nfar had not entered into the life of the flying reporter. \"Why what do\nyou mean, Tim?\"\n\"The sacks landed in the river,\" explained Tim. \"I had them aimed all\nright but a little squall swept over the valley after I released them\nand carried them too far.\"\nCarson was silent and his disappointment was evident. Then Tim went on.\n\"But Mr. Carson, if ever any group of people needs help, that little\ntown of Auburn does. I went down so close I could see their faces;\nthey're desperate. Give me another chance and I'll make good.\"\n\"There isn't time today,\" said the managing editor.\n\"Yes there is, if we work fast.\"\n\"Won't the same thing happen again?\"\n\"No!\" There was ringing conviction in Tim's words. \"I'll get the stuff\nthere or bust in the attempt. Besides, I've got a new plan.\"\nCarson looked at his flying reporter for a moment. The light in Tim's\nblue eyes and the determined lines around his mouth convinced the\nmanaging editor that he could back up his words with success.\n\"All right,\" he agreed, \"shoot.\"\nFor a minute Tim and the managing editor, with Ralph listening in,\ntalked earnestly.\n\"I think you're crazy,\" exclaimed Carson, \"But it's worth a try. It's\nyour neck; not mine that you're risking.\" With that the managing editor\nhurried to his car and sped toward the city to fulfill his part of the\npreparations.\n\"Do you think you can do it?\" Ralph anxiously wanted to know as they\nhurried toward the main office of the airport.\n\"There isn't any 'think' about it, Ralph,\" replied Tim. \"I've got to.\nThis is going to cost the News some good, hard cash and if I fall down\non this job I won't need to come back. And you know what that would mean\nto me.\"\nRalph was silent, weighing his chum's chances for success, and they\ntalked no more until they reached the office and entered the manager's\nroom.\nHunter looked up from his desk.\n\"Make it?\" he asked.\n\"No such luck, Carl,\" said Tim. \"The wind blew it into the river.\"\n\"Say, that's too bad,\" said the field manager. \"I guess those folks over\nin the valley are in bad shape, too.\"\n\"They need help,\" agreed Tim, \"and I'm going to make another try right\naway. Is that old Jenny over in hangar No. 3 capable of staggering into\nthe air?\"\n\"You mean the sister to the ship Ralph cracked up a few weeks ago?\"\n\"That's the one.\"\n\"It might get off the ground but I wouldn't guarantee it would stay in\nthe air. What do you want with that old crate?\"\n\"Never mind that, Carl. How much do you want for it if we can get the\nmotor to turn over fast enough to get into the air?\"\nHunter whistled and scratched his ear reflectively. \"About $200 the way\nshe is, but I won't promise a thing. You'll have to take your chances.\"\n\"Sold!\" said Tim, \"Carson said I could buy that war relic providing you\ndidn't try to hold me up. He'll O.K. the bill when he comes back. Let's\nget going.\"\nWith Ralph and Hunter at his heels, he hurried toward hangar No. 3.\nThere, in one corner of the big structure, was a venerable Jenny, a\nsister ship to the one Ralph had smashed on his first solo hop. Orders\nflew from Tim and Hunter and in less than fifteen minutes a crew of\nmechanics had gone over the old plane, filled its motor with gas and\noil, and had it warming up in front of the hangar.\n\"Got any old canvas around?\" Tim asked Hunter.\n\"There's some in No. 2 hangar. How much do you need?\"\n\"Just enough to cover the bottom of the fuselage of this ancient sky\nbird and make it water proof,\" said Tim. Hunter hustled out to find the\nheavy fabric while Ralph hurried away in quest of a pot of shellac.\nBy the time the managing editor returned from the city with a new supply\nof serum and food, the Jenny was a queer looking bird. The bottom of the\nfuselage had been covered with heavy canvas and doused liberally with\nquick drying shellac to make it water-tight. The decrepit wings showed\nwhere new patches had been hurriedly slapped on and mechanics had\ncompleted emergency wiring of the wings to insure them from collapsing\nand sending Tim spinning down from the clouds with his plane out of\ncontrol.\nThe new sacks of supplies were dumped into the forward cockpit. Tim\nswung into the rear pit, ran the throttle back and forth and listened to\nthe song of the motor. Its r.p.m.'s were a little slow but it was firing\nsteady and true. He waggled the controls to be sure that everything\nresponded and then slipped his goggles down over his eyes.\n\"Don't take too many chances,\" the managing editor yelled as he revved\nup the motor.\nTim waved his hand, and then pushed the throttle on full. The old\nskybird quivered and gathered herself for the takeoff. The wings creaked\nand groaned but the motor responded to its task and Tim finally lifted\nthe old crate off the ground and soared into the east for the third time\nthat day.\nHe glanced at his wrist watch. It was nearly 5 o'clock and that meant\nonly a little more than an hour of light left in which to accomplish his\ntask. With 100 miles to the valley and against the wind all the way, it\nrequired nearly an hour and a half for the old ship couldn't turn a mile\nover eighty an hour.\nTim settled down to do some straight and careful flying. He nursed the\nold crate along for all it was worth and the \"Hisso\" hammered until he\nthought it would throw connecting rods all over the countryside.\nFor nearly an hour Tim dodged rain squalls. Then, realizing that he was\ngetting down into the river territory, he brought the old crate closer\nto the ground.\nAs he sped along above the broken landscape, Tim craned from the\ncockpit, watching the ground below with eyes that smarted in the sharp\nbackwash of the propeller.\nWhen he found a large field, fenced in with heavy posts, he banked\nsharply and dropped his plane closer to the ground. Now he was roaring\nalong not more than ten feet above the soggy, waterlogged field. It was\nanything but an inviting spot for a forced landing. As a matter of fact\nTim knew he wouldn't have a chance for any kind of a landing if his\nmotor cut out on him then.\nAhead of him loomed the edge of the field with its fence. He picked out\none post, which reared its head higher than the others. The flying\nreporter, like Don Quixote of old who had sent his horse galloping into\na windmill, headed his craft for the sturdy timber.\nThe big test was at hand. It would require all the skill in Tim's hands\nand all his nerve to accomplish it successfully. A false move and the\nJenny would be a heap on the ground, his chance of relieving the\nsituation at Auburn gone for he had staked everything, even his job, on\nthis attempt.\nJust before the propeller ripped into the post Tim pulled back hard on\nthe stick. The Jenny answered sluggishly and his heart skipped a beat.\nThe plane staggered in midair and Tim heard the sound of rending wood.\nThen the old craft lunged on and upward, shaking herself like an injured\nbird. Tim looked back to see his landing gear draped over the post.\nHe could hardly repress a shout as he headed the old crate for the\nvalley again. In the air, the Jenny looked like a flying washboard but\nTim had accomplished one part of his task. He had converted his craft\ninto a seaplane of sorts. True it was that in design and balance it\nviolated every rule of aeronautics, but it flew and that was the big\nthing. Now to land safely on the river.\nWhen Tim reached the valley the rain was falling in torrents and the\nclouds seemed to be crushing him to earth. The light was nearly gone and\nhe would have to work fast.\nThe old crate was vibrating more than ever. The crash into the post must\nhave loosened something in the vitals of the Jenny for it was obviously\nnear the end of its long career. If it would only hold together a few\nmore minutes it would wind up its life in a smashing climax.\nThe tired old \"Hisso\" sputtered, then caught again and fired steadily.\nBut Tim knew the signs. The rain was finding its way through the cowling\nand down onto the motor. It would be only a matter of minutes before the\nmotor would cut out. Now it was a race between the coming night, a\nweakening motor and the flood-maddened Cedar. The odds were great but\nTim faced them coolly.\nHe roared over the village and swept upstream. Then he turned and came\ndown low over the river. A quarter of a mile above the upper end of the\nisland he was barely skimming the surface of the river. He cut the\nmotor, there was plenty of speed left.\nThen Tim set his flying scow down on the water. He struck with a crash,\nbounced, struck again, and splashed along on top of the foaming water.\nHe was going fast, too fast for comfort, but there was nothing he could\ndo. The island loomed ahead. Tim shut his eyes and ducked behind the\ncockpit. There was a sickening lurch, then a jarring thud that shook the\nwhole plane.\nAnxious hands pulled Tim out of the cockpit while others seized the\nsacks of food and medical supplies. A tree stump had broken the speed of\nthe plane but it had struck the bank hard enough to smash the propeller\nto bits and bury the nose of the engine in the dirt.\nLater in the evening, after the village doctor had made good use of the\ntyphoid serum and the food had been rationed out, Tim made his way back\nto the scene of his landing.\nThe hungry Cedar had been tugging at the wrecked plane and, as Tim\nreached the river's edge, it swung the craft away from the bank and out\ninto the current. The old crate was gone but it had had a glorious\nfinish. He would have a great story to send to the News as soon as boats\nwere able to reach the village.\nSeveral days after his flight with supplies to the marooned village in\nthe Cedar river valley, Tim had an unexpected visitor. He looked up from\nhis work to find a tall, curly haired man of not more than thirty years\nof age, standing beside his desk.\n\"Are you Tim Murphy?\" inquired the visitor. Tim nodded.\n\"I'm Kurt Blandin, boss of the Ace flying circus,\" replied the other. \"I\nhear one of the boys treated you rather roughly the other day and I\nthought I'd drop in and invite you to come and see us again.\"\nTim thought he noted a peculiar, strained quality in the other's voice,\nand he deliberated his answer.\n\"I'll run out some day,\" he said. \"As a matter of fact I couldn't see\nany reason why I was given the cold shoulder when I was out the first\ntime.\"\nBlandin laughed and Tim found himself rather liking the other when he\nsmiled.\n\"An air circus,\" he said, \"is bound to have some accidents and sometimes\nwe aren't treated any too well in the newspapers. So you can't blame the\nmechanic for giving you the bum's rush. But everything will be O. K. the\nnext time you call.\" With that Blandin breezed out of the office and Tim\nstared after him blankly.\nSomewhere he had seen the face before. There were familiar lines about\nthe mouth, a peculiar little scar over the right eye and a hardness of\nthe voice that once heard would never be forgotten.\nHe forced his thoughts back to his work but Blandin and the Ace air\ncircus troubled him. What were they doing at Atkinson? Could there be\nany connection between them and the Sky Hawk?\nThe ghostly quiet that comes just before the dawn was broken by the\ninsistent voice of the telephone.\nTim rubbed the sleep from his eyes and grabbed savagely at the offending\ninstrument.\n\"Hello, hello!\" he barked.\nAn anxious voice came over the wire.\n\"What!\" Tim's exclamation was charged with alarm. \"You're sure? All\nright, I'll be at the field just as soon as I can throw on some clothes\nand get in touch with Ralph.\"\nTim jammed the receiver on its hook, only to seize it a moment later and\nsomething in his voice made the operator buzz furiously as she rang\nRalph's number. After an interval that seemed an age to Tim, a sleepy\nvoice answered the operator's imperative rings.\n\"That you, Ralph?\" cried Tim. When the voice admitted that it belonged\nto Ralph, Tim poured his story over the wire.\n\"Wake up, Ralph. Wake up,\" he urged. \"There's plenty of trouble over in\nthe Big Smokies. Bad Storm last night and the west-bound\nTranscontinental plane has crashed somewhere. They haven't had a trace\nof it since the ship went over Newton. The Transcontinental people have\nsent out a general alarm and Hunter just phoned and asked us to help in\nthe search. Meet me at the field just as soon as you can get there.\"\nRalph, thoroughly awakened by Tim's words, promised to be at the field\nin fifteen minutes.\nThe flying reporter completed dressing and hastened from his room in\nquest of a taxicab. A driver, on the lookout for early morning fares,\nwas loafing down the street and Tim hailed the cab.\n\"To the municipal field,\" he ordered when the cab pulled up at the curb,\n\"and step on the gas. This is important.\"\nThe gears crashed together and the cab lurched away into the night,\ngathering speed as it headed down the almost deserted avenues.\nWhen they reached the field they found it ablaze with light. Pilots and\nmechanics were hurrying in and out of the hangars and planes were being\nwarmed up and pushed on the line.\n\"Charge it to the News,\" said Tim as he disembarked. Hunter, who came\nrunning out of the office, greeted him.\n\"Glad to see you, Tim,\" he said. \"We're getting things lined up to start\nas soon as it gets light. I've put a crew to servicing your plane and\nshe'll be ready in a few minutes. Where's Ralph? Isn't he going?\"\nHunter's question was answered by another snorting taxi, and Ralph, only\nhalf awake, tumbled from the car.\n\"What's all the excitement and the big rush to get away so quick?\"\ndemanded Tim. \"The air mail has cracked up before and has always come\nout on top.\"\n\"Plenty of reason for the rush this time,\" said Hunter. \"The plane last\nnight was carrying something like $500,000 in securities from New York\nfor a Los Angeles bank.\"\nTim whistled. \"No wonder they're getting everything out that can flap\nits wings. We'll be with the rest of them, Carl, and glad of the chance\nto go. It will make a dandy story.\"\nTim did not voice his real thoughts for there was no need to unduly\nalarm the field manager, but the minute the $500,000 had been mentioned,\nthe thought of the Sky Hawk flashed through his mind. It was about time\nfor that daring bandit of the skyways to swoop down in some bold\nmanoeuvre. The storm might have been responsible for the failure of the\nmail to reach its destination and, again, it might not.\n\"Called you right away,\" added the field manager, \"for I knew you'd want\nthe story. But on top of that, I wanted you to make the trip. I figure\nyou're one of the best pilots around here to go out on a mission like\nthis.\"\nTim grinned and gave Hunter a good-natured shove. The driver of Ralph's\ntaxi was turning his cab around and preparing to start back for the city\nwhen Tim's cry stopped him.\n\"Wait a few minutes,\" he ordered, \"and I'll have you take a story to the\nNews office.\" The driver agreed and shut off the motor of his cab.\n\"Check up on the plane, Ralph,\" said Tim, \"and see that we have plenty\nof equipment for an emergency landing in the mountains--light, stout\ncable, an axe, some food and water and a first aid kit. While you're\ndoing that I'll go into Hunter's room and write a story to send to the\noffice.\"\nIn less than fifteen minutes Tim had hammered out a column story that\nfairly glittered with the sharpness of its sentences and the clearness\nof his simple, powerful English.\nThe air mail was lost somewhere in the Great Smokies, and the flying\nreporter, in the Lark, would soon be away on the search. Tim smiled to\nhimself as he thought how Carson could play up the story. Now if they\ncould only find the missing plane, it would be one of the best stories\nof the year.\nTim hurried out of the office and handed his story to the waiting taxi\ndriver. That done, he turned toward the line where five planes were\nbeing warmed up for the search.\nThe flying reporter walked over to the airmen who were grouped around\nthe field manager. He greeted Sparks, Bronson, White and Wilkins, all\nmail and express pilots--fine fellows every one of them; lean bronzed\nand alive to the zest of flying. But now there were more serious lines\nto their faces and it was a determined group of young men who heard\nHunter outline the plans for the search. Ralph hastened up and joined\nthem just as the field chief gave his final instructions.\n\"Buddy Perkins, who was on the mail, went over Newton on time,\" said\nHunter, \"and he must have run into the storm about half an hour later.\nThat would put him almost up to the divide but with the wind against him\nall the way, he probably didn't make Billy Goat. I've marked out a map\nwith the section each one of you is to cover. When you run short of fuel\nabout noon, drop down to Newton, refuel, eat and exchange notes. I hope\nyou won't have to go on out again, hope you'll locate Perkins by noon.\nIt's light enough to takeoff now, fellows, so get going and good luck.\"\nTim and Ralph took their places in the Good News, which was the third\nship on the line. It was just light enough to distinguish the fence\nwhich marked the far end of the field.\nSparks and Bronson roared away, flame shooting from the exhausts of\ntheir motors. Then Tim shoved his throttle ahead and sent the Lark\nskimming into the air. Behind him came White and Wilkins. Away into the\nwest they sped, traveling on the wings of the dawn, intent on their\nquest for the missing Perkins.\nWithin the hour they had roared over Newton, nestled in the foothills of\nthe Great Smokies, and had started clawing for altitude. The Lark\nhandled beautifully in the cool air of the early September morning and\nanswered to Tim's every movement.\nThe flying reporter could see Sparks and Bronson swing away to his left\nwhile White and Wilkins turned to the right to cover the territory which\nHunter had mapped out for each plane. Tim was more fortunate than the\nother flyers for he had Ralph's keen eyes to help him comb the uneven\nground below. Ahead of them loomed the Billy Goat, the highest peak of\nthe range. Tim's sector was on the east slope of the lofty mountain. Up\nand down, back and forth, Tim swung the Lark as he shuttled along the\npath usually followed by the air mail and express planes. The Billy Goat\nglistened in the morning sun but smiled grimly--almost defiantly Tim\nimagined, as it thwarted his every effort to find any trace of the\nmissing plane.\nBy mid-forenoon Tim's gas supply was getting low and he signalled to\nRalph that he was going to turn back to Newton and replenish his fuel.\nThey were near the top of Billy Goat and both Tim and Ralph felt certain\nthat if Perkins had crashed on that side of the mountain they would have\nsighted him.\nTim cut his motor and let the Lark soar gracefully downward from the\nsummit of the range. For a moment he forgot the urgent mission which had\nbrought them out and reveled in the sheer joy of flying. Like a great\nbird his plane wheeled and swooped in the sky.\nHalf way to Newton Tim was joined by Sparks and White. They landed at\nthe emergency field at the foothill town and a few minutes later were\njoined by Bronson and Wilkins. There was no need to ask about their\nsuccess. Their faces told the story of the failure of their efforts.\nWhile the other pilots were refueling their planes, Tim hurried into the\nvillage where he secured a basket of sandwiches. He made several\ninquiries in the village and related the result of these when he\nreturned to the field.\nThe airmen sprawled beneath their planes and hastily munched the\nsandwiches Tim had provided.\n\"You say he went through here on time?\" asked White, who had been a\nclose friend of the missing Perkins.\n\"That's what they say in Newton,\" replied Tim. \"The storm was\nthreatening when Perk went over and he was flying pretty low and fast.\nAbout half an hour after he passed, the storm swept down from Billy Goat\nand from what folks here say, it was a bad one.\"\n\"Half an hour,\" grunted Ralph between bites of a sandwich. \"That means\nhe was pretty well up toward the divide. Maybe he got across on the\nother side.\"\n\"It's just too bad if he did,\" remarked Bronson. \"You know what the\nother side of the Billy Goat is like. Not a nickel's worth of room for a\nforced landing. If Perk got on the other side he's crashed sure.\"\n\"Might not be that bad,\" said Tim. \"Anyway, I'm going to try the other\nside of Billy Goat this afternoon.\"\n\"Look out you don't disappear along with Perk,\" warned White.\n\"Not much chance of that with Ralph along,\" grinned Tim. \"I'll see you\nfellows here later.\"\nThe foothills awoke to the roar of five high-powered airplane motors and\none after another the flyers took off to resume their hunt.\nTim gunned the Lark and headed straight for the crest of the Great\nSmokies. The divide was a little to the right of Billy Goat. Tim boosted\nhis plane over the snow-capped tops of the range and coasted down the\nother side. The slope on the west side was more broken--deep canyons\nwith good-sized streams plunging along in their depths. But from the\nplane the rivers looked like ribbons of silver. It was a scene of\nmajestic beauty but it gave Tim the shivers when he thought of being\ntrapped on the inhospitable slope in a storm or, worse, at the mercy of\nthe Sky Hawk.\nFor fifty miles Tim and Ralph followed the path of the mail and express\nships, searching every valley, but their efforts were fruitless.\nTim frowned bitterly and turned the Lark eastward in a tight bank. Ralph\nlooked back apprehensively but Tim only shook his head and pointed\nsoutheast. How blind he had been. If Perkins had made the crest of the\ndivide and gotten over before the storm caught him, he would probably\nhave been driven southwest along the side of the mountains. The Great\nSmokies ran northeast and southwest and the storm of the night before\nhad swept down almost directly from the north.\nWhen Tim again reached the western slope of the Billy Goat, he headed\nsouth and west. He scribbled a note to Ralph, explaining his reason for\nthe sudden about face, and his companion nodded approval.\nFor an hour they searched the side of the range south of Billy Goat, and\nTim, with an eye on the gas gauge, was about to give up the quest, when\nRalph shouted and pointed downward.\nA flash of white on a rocky ledge caught Tim's eye and he circled lower.\nHis breath caught sharply. Ralph's sharp eyes had found the wreck of the\nair express. On a ledge of rock cropping out from the side of the\nmountain they could see the twisted remains of the plane!\nTim stalled down over the wreck of the air mail. There was no sign of\nlife; no sign of Perk. His heart caught in his throat. Perk had been a\nmighty good flyer and a good fellow. Tim bad known him only casually but\nhe had been well liked by all the other pilots in the air service. There\nwas a chance that the airman, unharmed in the crackup, might have\nstarted to make his way out of the wilderness of broken rock and tangled\nforest on foot.\nTim made a careful survey of the shelf that jutted out from the mountain\nside. It was not more than 100 feet wide and perhaps 400 feet long--a\ndangerous place on which to attempt a landing.\nThe flying reporter shut off his motor.\n\"What do you say?\" he shouted at Ralph, and pointed to the ledge.\n\"Go on,\" came the reply. \"You'll make it all right.\"\nTim tore off his goggles and Ralph did likewise. No use endangering\ntheir eyes if they crashed.\nThe flying reporter put the Lark into a sideslip. Just before they slid\ninto the side of the mountain he leveled off and set the plane down\nalmost on the edge of the rocky shelf. The ship bounded forward and he\nshoved the brakes on hard. They were still going fast, too fast. In a\nfew more seconds they would pile up on the rocks ahead. Tim jammed his\nleft wheel brake on hard and released the right one. The plane\nstaggered, dug its left wing into the ground and almost did a ground\nloop. But the maneuver killed the speed and Ralph and Tim leaped from\ntheir plane and ran toward the wreck of the air mail.\nFrom the looks of things, Perkins, blinded by the storm and driven far\noff his course, had rammed straight into the side of the mountain. The\nnose of the big biplane, with the motor, had been bashed back into the\nexpress cockpit and the landing gear had folded up.\nTim fairly leaped up the side of the fuselage and into the pilot's\ncockpit, but Perkins was nowhere in sight. On the padded leather seat\nTim found a folded sheet of paper. With eager fingers he grasped it and\nread its message at a glance.\n\"Hello, Tim,\" he read. \"The first time we met you won; this time fate\nbrought the mail into my hands and right now I'm richer by some\n$500,000, which will keep me out of mischief for some time. I just\nhappened to be crossing the Great Smokies this morning and saw the mail,\nwhich had cracked up in the storm last night. Don't you wish you had a\nhelicopter on your plane to lift you off this ledge? But I don't think\nthe pilot is badly hurt. See you later, and remember, the score is\neven.\"\nThere was no need for Tim to read the name signed to the note. The Sky\nHawk, profiting by the vagaries of the storm, had struck again!\nRalph, who had gone around to the far side of the plane, cried out. When\nTim reached his chum he found him under one wing, bending over the\nunconscious form of the mail pilot.\nThere was a jagged cut on one side of Perkins' head where he must have\ncome in contact with some part of the plane in the crackup. His face was\na grayish-white and Tim instantly realized that he was in need of expert\nmedical attention.\n\"How badly do you think he's hurt?\" asked Ralph.\n\"I don't know,\" replied Tim. \"He's got a nasty crack on the head and it\nmay be serious and it may not. Get me the first aid kit in our ship and\nI'll dress this wound on his head.\"\nIn less than five minutes Tim had dressed the cut and with Ralph's\nassistance, had carried Perkins into the sunlight where his clothes,\nstill damp from the rain of the night before, would have a chance to\ndry. He was breathing slowly but regularly and they forced a little\nwater between his lips. While they were working over Perk, Tim showed\nthe Sky Hawk's note to Ralph, and their lips were drawn in hard,\nstraight lines as they realized the power of the unknown bandit of the\nskyways.\nBoth Tim and Ralph knew that their real task, that of making a\nsuccessful takeoff from the narrow ledge, was their biggest problem and\nthey turned to it with determination. With Perkins taken care of\ntemporarily, they made sure that the remaining registered mail was O. K.\nand then transferred it to their own plane. After that they started\ntheir survey of the shelf on which they had landed. On one side was the\nmountain, on the other a drop of nearly 1,000 feet. The surface of the\nshelf was fairly even but it was only about 400 feet long, far too short\nfor a takeoff, especially with three in the Lark as there would be on\nthe return trip.\n\"Looks like we're going to be marooned here along with Perk,\" said Ralph\ndubiously.\n\"It isn't quite as bad as all that,\" replied Tim. \"If you're willing to\ntake a long chance, I think we can make it.\"\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\"You've seen those pictures of how the navy uses a catapult to launch\nits fighting planes from the decks of battleships?\" Ralph nodded.\n\"We'll use the same principle. Shoot ourselves into the air.\"\n\"But we haven't any catapult and the nearest battleship is a thousand\nmiles away,\" said Ralph, still unconvinced.\n\"All right,\" said Tim. \"I'll show you how it can be done. Give me a hand\nnow.\"\nUnder Tim's directions, they managed to trundle the Lark to the end of\nthe ledge where the air mail had crashed. There they turned it around\nand pointed its nose toward the far end of the shelf.\n\"What now?\" demanded Ralph.\n\"Open up that bundle of light cable we brought and get out the axe,\"\nsaid Tim.\nWhen that had been completed he took the cable and tied one end securely\naround a huge boulder directly back of the tail assembly of the Lark.\nThe other end he passed along the fuselage and lashed around the nose of\nthe ship.\n\"Simple, isn't it?\" asked Tim when he had made sure that the ends of the\ncable had been properly secured.\n\"Simple, yes,\" agreed Ralph. \"But what does it spell?\"\n\"C-a-t-a-p-u-l-t,\" said Tim. \"C-a-t-a-p-u-l-t.\"\n\"I heard you the first time, but that doesn't look like a catapult to\nme.\"\n\"Well, it is,\" insisted Tim. \"And if you'll stop asking questions and\nhelp me boost Perkins into your cockpit, we'll get out of here. It's\ngetting late now and will be dark by the time we get to Atkinson.\"\nTogether they managed to get the inert form of Perkins into the forward\ncockpit and made him as comfortable as possible. Tim primed the starter\nand the motor caught on the first turn over.\nRalph was looking skeptically at Tim's make-shift catapult.\n\"When I give her full throttle you slash the rope with the axe,\"\nexplained Tim. \"I'll admit that isn't much of a catapult but it will\ngive us a lot of added momentum when you use the axe.\" Ralph, only half\nconvinced, hopped into his cockpit and leaned over the side, axe in\nhand.\nTim tested the sturdy motor thoroughly. If it failed him when he started\non his mad takeoff, they would plunge 1,000 feet down the side of the\nmountain to be impaled on the tall pines far below.\nSatisfied that the motor would do its share, Tim settled himself for the\ntest. He glanced ahead. The edge of the shelf looked dangerously near\nbut there was no other course to take. He must get Perkins where he\ncould have the best of medical attention.\nTim opened his throttle. Faster and faster he threw the raw gas into the\nmotor until the plane quivered like a thing alive. The engine was\nthrumming wildly and Tim threw up his left hand, the signal for Ralph to\ncut the cable.\nWith a well-aimed blow, Ralph's axe bit through the rope and the Lark\nleaped forward like an arrow and flashed toward the edge of the\nprecipice.\nThe plane bounced from side to side on the uneven ground and Tim held\nhis breath as they swooped nearer the end of their short runway. But the\nplane was gaining speed rapidly. How rapidly, he didn't dare look.\nAt the last moment Tim pulled back hard on the stick but it was as\nthough some giant had tied a string to the Lark and was playing with\nthem. The plane staggered into the air, settled back, bounced hard, and\nthen shot skyward. They were off at last but hovering dizzily in the\nair. The motor labored at its task and Tim sensed a losing battle. The\nadded weight of Perkins in the front cockpit might be just enough to\nturn the scales against them. In another second they would be in a spin,\nhurtling down to death on the gaunt pines.\nIn a flash Tim took his only chance and threw the Lark into a power\ndive. That would give him the momentum necessary to handle his craft.\nDown the side of the mountain roared the plane, the wild beating of its\nmotor echoing and re-echoing among the cliffs and valleys. They were\nalmost on the tree tops when Tim pulled the nose of his ship up and\nleveled off with his plane under control.\nTim set his course for the crest of the range and was just sliding\naround the Billy Goat when the sun went down in the west, a great, red\nball of fire. The evening shadows were thickening, for night comes\nquickly in the mountains.\nThe Lark made splendid time and they were less than fifty miles from\nAtkinson when Tim sighted the gray bank of fog rolling out of the east.\nAlthough fogs were not uncommon at that time of year he had not counted\non that hazard.\nWith his gas getting low there was only one thing to do--hammer through\nand trust to his compass to bring him over his home field.\nThe cold, gray banks swallowed the little plane and Tim was flying in a\nworld alone. The mist was so thick that Ralph, only a half dozen feet\nahead of him, was only a blurred outline.\nOn all sides the fog mocked the flying reporter but he was determined to\nget through. A glance at the gas gauge was none too reassuring. His fuel\nwas running low but if his calculations were correct, there would be\nenough to finish his task.\nTim turned on the light on his instrument board for it was quite dark by\nthat time. He penciled a note to Ralph, asking him how Perkins was\nstanding the trip. Then Tim took a wrench and tapped on the fuselage to\nattract Ralph's attention.\nRalph leaned back and Tim handed him the message. Two or three minutes\nlater they repeated the operation, this time transferring a note from\nRalph to Tim. The flying reporter read his chum's hasty scrawl.\n\"Perk's all right so far but mighty white and quiet. Do you know where\nyou are?\"\nTim had to admit that he wasn't exactly sure of their location but he\nkept on hoping for the best.\nWhen Tim figured that he must be almost over Atkinson, he dropped as low\nas he dared, a careful eye on the altimeter, while he hunted for a rift\nin the fog that would allow him to land.\nA light spot glowed ahead--perhaps the reflection of the lights of the\ncity. For a moment the fog parted and Tim got a fleeting glimpse of\nAtkinson. But before he could locate the airport, the city was blotted\nfrom view.\nRalph, who had been on the lookout, had seen the lights and now was\nlooking at Tim expectantly.\nTim fumed and raged against the luck of the elements and while he\ncircled over the city his precious supply of fuel trickled away. The\nmotor sputtered and he turned on the emergency tank enough for twenty\nminutes more of flying. Then they'd have to come down and probably\ncrack-up in the process. It wasn't a nice picture that flashed into his\nmind. Probably he would be safe enough for his cockpit was well back in\nthe fuselage, but it would be tough on Ralph and the unconscious\nPerkins. Desperately, Tim searched his mind for some way out; some way\nto minimize the danger.\nHe gripped the controls harder as a plan took form. Tim put the Lark\ninto a steep climb and soon reached the 3,000 foot level, plenty high\nenough for his purpose. Then he signalled for Ralph to crawl back into\nhis cockpit.\nRalph scrambled back over the fuselage and his face, illuminated by the\nlight on the instrument board, showed his amazement at the plan Tim\nunfolded.\n\"You can't do that, Tim,\" he protested. \"It's too risky. I won't stand\nfor it. We'll stick by the ship and take our chances.\"\n\"Not on your life,\" replied Tim. \"We can't risk Perk's life in a crackup\nand my plan is the only way out. You take the stick and tend to\nbusiness. See you later.\"\nWith that Tim scrambled into the forward cockpit where he busied\nhimself, making sure that Perkins' head was well bandaged. Then he\nunsnapped the safety belt, pulled Perkins into an almost vertical\nposition, and lashed the body of the unconscious airman securely to his\nown.\nTim was glad that Perkins was slight in stature. With a heavier man his\nplan would have failed. Somehow he managed to work himself up on the\nedge of the cockpit with Perkins held to him by the safety belt.\nTim looked back at Ralph and waved his hand reassuringly. Then, aided by\na mighty shove by his feet, he hurled himself into the fog, pulling\nPerkins with him. As he fell, Tim thought he heard a shout from Ralph.\nDown, down, down they tumbled before Tim could find the ring and jerk\nhis parachute. It was an eternity before he heard the pilot chute crack\nopen to be followed a moment later by a dull sort of an explosion as the\nbig chute unfolded and filled with air. A violent jerk stopped their mad\ndescent and Tim hugged Perkins closer to him.\nMaybe he had been foolhardy to desert the ship and trust to the silken\numbrella to get them down, but it had seemed the only way to protect\nPerkins from what was sure to be a crash if they stayed by the plane.\nTim figured that they would get nothing more than a hard bump when they\nlanded and he could swing Perkins around and shield him. Ralph was fully\ncapable of taking care of himself and the fortune in securities they had\nsalvaged from the wreck of the air express.\nFar away Tim heard the sound of an airplane motor. Probably his own\nship. He hoped that the Lark wouldn't be wrecked when Ralph was forced\ndown.\nThe sound of the motor came nearer. It was the Lark for Tim knew its\nsong by heart. Suddenly his face blanched. Somewhere to his right the\nplane was roaring down on them through the fog. With Ralph's visibility\nat zero, it might run into them and chew them to pieces.\nTim strained to one side as he listened to the higher note of the motor.\nHe grasped the shrouds of the parachute, ready to spill the air from the\nchute in an attempt to escape the plane if it was necessary. The added\nburden of carrying Perkins was a cruel strain on his body.\nThe roar of the motor filled the heavens as the Lark flashed out of the\nfog. Tim cried out in agony and horror for they were directly in the\npath of the ship. He closed his eyes and pulled the shrouds with every\nounce of strength left in his weary body. They dropped earthward quickly\nas the air spilled from the chute.\nBut Tim's tired mind had not acted quickly enough. Although they escaped\nthe deadly whirl of the propeller, the tail of the plane took a husky\nbite at the chute. A great chunk of the strong silk wedged itself into\nthe tail assembly and Tim's body was almost jerked apart as he was\npulled upward and after the plane. It couldn't last long; it was more\nthan his body could stand. He screamed under the agony of the awful\nstrain and his eyes stared upward into Ralph's terror-stricken face, as\nhe fought to protect the unconscious Perkins while they were pulled\nthrough the sky like the tail of a great rocket.\nThe burden of the chute slowed the plane. Then it leaped almost\nvertically as Ralph attempted to free it from the human burden it was\ndragging through the sky. The whole thing required a second, not more\nthan two, when part of the tail assembly gave way and the chute started\nits downward course again. It had been an endless span of years to Tim,\nwho sobbed aloud as they drifted through the fog.\nLights pierced the mist below and Tim instinctively swung around to\nprotect Perkins when they landed. But they didn't land. The chute caught\nin a maze of telephone wires along one of the main highways on the\noutskirts of Atkinson and Tim and Perkins dangled just above the ground.\nPassing motorists released them and rushed them to a hospital where\nPerkins was given immediate attention and Tim was put to bed after a\nthorough massage to ease his strained muscles. But not until he had\ntelephoned the office and dictated the first part of the story of their\nfinding of the wreck of the air mail and their sensational trip above\nAtkinson with the injured pilot.\nTim, who had been almost forcibly put in bed by the hospital attendants,\nwas protesting that he had work to do when Ralph burst into the room.\n\"Are you all right, Tim?\" he demanded.\n\"Sure,\" replied Tim. \"How about yourself and the plane?\"\n\"Both O. K.,\" said Ralph. \"I blew out a couple of tires in landing and\nbroke the prop, but that's all. How's Perk?\"\nTim turned to the head surgeon who had just entered the room.\n\"He'll be back in the air in a few days,\" said the surgeon. \"He has a\nnasty crack on the head and it was a good thing you got him here when\nyou did. Much more exposure and he would have had pneumonia.\"\nThe surgeon had just stepped from the room when the managing editor of\nthe News hurried in.\n\"Wonderful work, Tim,\" said Carson. \"Wonderful. We put out an extra on\nthe story you phoned. Now let's have the rest of it. This Sky Hawk angle\nmakes it the most thrilling yarn of the year.\"\nFor the better part of half an hour, Tim and Ralph related their\nexperiences while a stenographer took down their story.\nThe next day the Sky Hawk's daring robbery and their rescue of the air\nmail flyer were the talk of the town. Before noon, Tim was visited by\nHunter, who was not only manager of the local field, but representative\nfor the Transcontinental company.\nHunter looked worried and his words bore out his looks.\n\"This Sky Hawk is getting to be a nuisance,\" he told Tim. \"He's picked\nus for $500,000 and although we had it covered by insurance, it doesn't\nhelp matters any. Old Tom Blair, who heads our company, has wired me to\nuse every means to apprehend the Sky Hawk. The police and state\nofficials are doing all they can, but the very nature of his operations\nleaves them almost helpless.\"\n\"Flying cops are something for the future,\" smiled Tim.\n\"And that's just what we need,\" went on Hunter. \"I want you to agree to\nhelp me all you can. Keep your eyes peeled and your ears close to the\nground. You may be able to turn up something the police can't uncover.\nAnd remember, Tim,\" he grinned, \"there'll be something more than just\nthe fun of a story if you get the Sky Hawk.\"\n\"You know I'll do everything I can,\" replied Tim, as Hunter, weighed\ndown with his worries, said goodbye.\nBut the Sky Hawk seemed to have dropped from sight. There was a dearth\nof news and the managing editor cast anxious eyes about for interesting\nmaterial with which to fill the columns of his paper.\nEver since he had been given the assignment as the flying reporter, Tim\nhad cherished the hope that some day he would be given permission to\nwrite a daily column on aviation. That day had been particularly quiet\nand devoid of stories with interest and to Tim it seemed the right time\nto approach his managing editor.\nAfter the rush of the final edition had subsided and the presses were\nroaring their symphony of news, Tim accosted the managing editor.\n\"I'm sure I can give you a column of live news about aviation every day,\nMr. Carson,\" he said. \"We're not running very heavy on news right now\nand if you'll give me the space, I'd like to show you what I can do.\"\n\"When would you have the time to handle it, Tim?\" asked the managing\neditor. \"I couldn't spare you for two or three hours every day for\nthat.\"\n\"I'm not asking for that,\" replied Tim. \"If you'll give me a column,\nI'll write the stories after hours and in the evening. I know most of\nthe flyers at the field here and then with the chaps who are flying the\nair mail, there is an unlimited field for human interest stories. On top\nof that, I'm keeping right up on all the developments of aviation. All I\nneed is the space, Mr. Carson!\"\n\"When do you want to start it?\" asked Carson.\n\"Any time you can give me the room.\"\n\"Can you whip a column of material into shape by tomorrow morning?\"\n\"Easily.\"\n\"Then have about three pages of copy ready in the morning.\" The action\nwas characteristic of Carson. In fact, it was characteristic of\nnewspaper work with its quick decisions and demands that to any class of\nmen but reporters would have been insurmountable.\nTo Tim the demand for a column of copy in the morning was the best news\nin weeks and he turned away from the managing editor after expressing\nhis appreciation for the opportunity.\n\"Oh, Tim,\" called Carson. \"Better stop on your way down stairs and tell\nthe engraving department to work up one and two column heads for you.\nHave them draw a picture of a plane and put your name under it: By Tim\nMurphy, the Flying Reporter of the Atkinson News.\"\nGetting together a column of interesting, readable material on such\nshort notice would not be easy, especially since Tim wanted his first\ncolumn to be alive with interest. After conferring with the head of the\nengraving department, Tim hurried out to the municipal field where he\nimparted his good luck into the ever-sympathetic ear of Hunter, the\nfield manager.\n\"That's fine, Tim,\" congratulated Hunter. \"I know you've wanted to write\na daily column on aviation for a long time. Do you think Carson will\nmake it a permanent feature of the paper?\"\n\"That all depends on what kind of material I can dig up and how well I\ncan write it. Means you fellows here at the field will have to cooperate\nwith me.\"\n\"You know we'll do that Tim,\" promised Hunter. \"The boys all like you\nmighty well. The only thing is that they are a bit bashful in telling\nsome of their own experiences. You may have to pry around a bit.\"\n\"I expect you're right there,\" agreed Tim, \"but after I get them started\nI'll get plenty of material. Now I've got to line up a good feature to\nstart the column off tomorrow. You know of anything unusual here at the\nfield?\"\nHunter scratched his head and looked meditatively at a cloud as if\nseeking inspiration.\n\"Afraid I'm not much help right now,\" he said. \"Say, wait a minute.\nWe'll go over to the radio shack and see if there are any late bulletins\non planes coming in tonight.\"\nTim agreed and they walked over to the little building at the foot of\nthe radio towers where the department of commerce maintained a station,\npart of its transcontinental link of communication to advise airmen on\nweather conditions and report the movements of aircraft along the main\nskyways.\nThe operator on duty greeted them cordially and turned his file of\nmessages over to them. Hunter thumbed through the flimsy sheets of\ntissue with experienced fingers. He stopped and read one of the\ncommunications with interest. Then he turned to Tim.\n\"Here's something that came in within the last hour,\" he said. \"May be\njust what you need for a story.\"\nTim read the tissue and glowed with excitement at what he read. What a\nlucky break for him. According to the report, Arthur Winslow, king of\nthe air mail flyers, would land at the local field within two hours for\nan overnight stop.\n\"That's just what I need,\" exclaimed Tim. \"Why Winslow is rated as the\nace of all airmen. It will make a great yarn if he'll talk.\"\n\"There may be some trouble on that point,\" said Hunter. \"I know Winslow\nonly slightly for he's flying on the west end of the transcontinental\nnow, and he's mighty reticent when it comes to talking about himself. It\nsays here that he is ferrying a new passenger and mail plane west.\"\n\"Good thing I have a car here,\" said Tim. \"If I can't get a chance at\nhim any other way I can offer him a ride to the city and he can hardly\nrefuse to talk then.\"\n\"I think he'll help you out if you explain what you want and how badly\nyou need a good story for the first day your column is printed.\"\nThey went into Hunter's office where the manager of the field busied\nhimself at his desk. Tim dug into the files to secure, in advance, all\nof the available material he could about Arthur Winslow, airman without\npeer.\nThe ace of the air mail pilots was not a sensational flyer in the sense\nthat his name was on the front pages of the newspapers every day. In\nfact, he was just the opposite and as he often told his friends, he\ndidn't care anything about being the best air mail flyer. All he wanted\nwas to be the oldest.\nWinslow had trained Col. Charles A. Lindbergh when he was a fledgling\nand before the flying colonel had even dreamed of a flight to Paris, and\nhe had performed many a heroic deed as he winged his way across the\nplains of the middle west of the snow-capped Rockies and the rugged\nSierras.\nTim was still finding valuable material in the files when a mechanic\nstuck his head in the door.\n\"Here comes Winslow,\" he announced and Tim and Hunter promptly deserted\nthe office and took their places at one side of the big concrete apron\nwhich marked the end of the main runway on the field.\nThe plane rapidly took form as it roared out of the east. Winslow swung\nlow over the field to sight the wind sock, then lined southwest and\nfloated down to a three point landing. There was nothing startling in\nthe way he handled his plane but his every move revealed the hand of a\nmaster birdman.\nAfter Winslow had given his orders to the mechanics, he greeted Hunter.\n\"Winslow,\" said the field manager as he introduced Tim, \"here's a young\nnewspaper man I want you to know, Tim Murphy of the Atkinson News. I\nthink Tim is unique in the newspaper world. He's not only a mighty good\nreporter but a fine flyer.\"\nBoth Tim and Winslow smiled at Hunter's introduction and Tim felt a\nfriendly tingle as he grasped Winslow's hand.\n\"I've heard of you,\" said Winslow.\n\"And I've heard a great deal about you,\" replied Tim, \"so I guess that\nmakes us even.\"\n\"Tim's up against a tough proposition,\" said Hunter as they strolled\ntoward the office. \"He wants to run a daily column of aviation in his\npaper and only today convinced his managing editor that it ought to be\ngiven a trial. As a result, Tim has to have a column of material ready\nearly tomorrow morning. On top of that, he's going to do this aviation\ncolumn on his own time. He wants it to go over big and become a\npermanent part of the paper and so do I. Down here at the field we think\nit would be a fine thing and when we saw you were coming in for an\nover-night stop, we figured you might be able to give Tim some material\nthat would be mighty readable.\"\n\"I don't think I've done anything very remarkable or anything that would\nmake good newspaper reading,\" laughed Winslow, \"but if you're willing to\nhave dinner with me up town, Murphy, we'll see what we can dig up.\"\nTim was pleased at the invitation and accepted it at once. He was having\neven better luck than he had dared dream, and he felt that given enough\ntime with Winslow, the famous pilot would loosen up and tell him some of\nthe experiences he had had in his eighteen years of flying.\nHunter excused himself, saying that he had work at the field which\nrequired his attention, and Tim and Winslow got into the car Tim had\nbrought to the field, and started for town.\nThey talked of the recent developments in aviation and of the great\nincrease in the number of air mail lines, but it was not until they were\nat dinner that Winslow really started to unburden himself in answer to\nTim's questions.\n\"When did I start to fly?\" mused the veteran of the skyways. \"Why that's\nso long ago I've almost forgotten the date. You young fellows think of\nflying as a development since the war, but I started flying back in 1912\nin the days before we had ailerons on the wing tips and used to warp the\nwings of our planes to control them.\"\n\"You've flown more than anyone else, haven't you?\" queried Tim.\n\"I believe I have,\" was Winslow's quiet reply. \"My record book shows\nmore than 12,000 hours in the air for a little better than 1,400,000\nmiles. That would be a long time and a long ways if it were a continuous\nflight,\" he smiled.\nTim liked Winslow when he smiled. There was nothing of the boaster in\nthis man who was the king of the air. His brown hair looked a little\nfaded from exposure in thousands of hours of sun and wind and storm, and\nthere were decided wrinkles on his face, but his eyes were a clear brown\nthat invited confidence in their owner.\nWhen Tim mentioned the air mail, he struck an especially responsive\nchord in Winslow's mind, whose life, for the last ten years, had been a\npart of the mail. He had flown the first mail plane from New York to\nWashington and later had been one of the pioneer flyers on the\ntranscontinental.\n\"Those early days were when we got our thrills,\" reminisced Winslow. \"We\nwere flying in cast-off army planes that the post office department had\npicked up. Our limit was under five hundred pounds of mail and we never\nhad to worry about being overloaded at that. After the old army\nDeHaviland's were put on the junk heap we got Douglas cruisers and there\nwas a little more regularity to the way we maintained our schedules.\nWhen the post office department turned the air mail over to private\ncontractors, we were given the best planes money could buy.\"\n\"The air mail's grown immensely popular in the last two years hasn't\nit?\" asked Tim.\n\"Immensely is hardly the word,\" said Winslow. \"Universally is better,\nand it's all since Lindbergh flew the Atlantic and focused popular\ninterest on aviation. Why this new plane I'm ferrying west is capable of\ncarrying six passengers and 1,500 pounds of mail and maintaining an\naverage speed of 130 miles an hour. In two years it will be obsolete and\nwe'll have bigger and faster planes in its place.\"\n\"Didn't you take a mail plane several years ago and brave a Lake\nMichigan storm in mid-winter to take food to fishermen marooned on an\nisland?\"\n\"I was lucky,\" was Winslow's simple reply. \"By the way, I've read\nrecently how you did a similar stunt only you dropped supplies to a\nvillage cut off by a flood.\"\n\"That was luck, too,\" smiled Tim. \"Now I'd like to know if you've ever\nhad any accidents.\"\n\"One,\" admitted Winslow after some deliberation. \"It was pretty serious\nand I don't know whether I ought to give it to you or not. But I guess\nit won't do any harm,\" he added and smiled.\n\"Someone,\" he said, \"parked a plane in the middle of the field at\nBlanton one night and when my landing lights didn't work I ran into it\nhead-on. Result, two damaged planes and one bad temper.\"\n\"You mean that's the only accident you've had in more than a million\nmiles of flying?\" asked the incredulous Tim.\n\"That's all and that's enough,\" said Winslow. \"Flying is safe if you\ntake the proper precautions. The chaps who get cracked-up are stunting,\nhave inferior equipment, or are just plain dumb.\"\n\"What,\" asked Tim, \"would be the most thrilling flight to you?\"\n\"A hop over the top of the world,\" replied Winslow. \"I've always wanted\nto make an Arctic flight and even though Wilkins and Eilson made the\ntrip from Point Barrow to Spitzbergen, I'm not entirely convinced that\nthere isn't land somewhere up there. It would be worth a try, anyway,\"\nand his dark eyes glowed with enthusiasm.\nTim felt a peculiar warmth and thrill of inspiration and Winslow's words\nfell on far more fertile soil than he ever dreamed.\n\"There's just one more question?\" said Tim. \"Didn't you help train\nLindbergh to fly?\"\n\"Yes, some. We were on the same division of the air mail and saw quite a\nlot of each other before he flew to Paris.\"\n\"What kind of a fellow was he then?\"\n\"Not much more than a kid, quiet and serious minded. If he had any\nthought of flying to Paris when I knew him, he certainly kept it a\nsecret. He's a wonderful flyer; uses his head and knows every trick in\nthe game.\"\nThey had completed their dinner and Winslow, who was obviously tired\nfrom a long day in the air, asked Tim if he had all the material he\nneeded for his first column.\n\"Reams of it, thanks to you,\" said the flying reporter.\n\"I'm glad if I have been of any help,\" replied the veteran of the air\nmail. \"I think the column will be a fine thing. I hope you make a\nsuccess of it, and I'm sure you will. I'm going to turn in now and get a\nfew hours of sleep.\"\nTim had been too fascinated with their conversation to take notes during\nthe dinner but it would have been a waste of effort for he could\nremember clearly every scrap of the information Winslow had given him.\nHe hurried to his room, gathered up half a dozen books Dan Watkins had\nloaned him to study, and then headed for the copyreader's rooming house.\nHe found Dan, in dressing gown and carpet slippers, enjoying a novel.\n\"What's up, Tim,\" asked Dan.\n\"Need some advice and also brought your books home,\" replied Tim.\n\"Carson is going to let me try a daily aviation column to see how it\ngoes. I've got more material than I can possibly use for the first time.\nJust interviewed Arthur Winslow, dean of the air mail flyers, and have\nsome stuff that will make wonderful copy.\"\n\"How much space will you have?\"\n\"Just an even column and I've enough dope for three or four,\" said Tim\nenthusiastically.\n\"That's going to be a job, then,\" said Dan, \"for you must keep within\nthe limits of your space. But that means your story will be even the\nbetter--not an extra word or phrase. Here, use my typewriter and get\nbusy.\"\nTim welcomed the suggestion and for an hour he worked diligently,\ncutting and rewriting as the copyreader suggested. When he had completed\nhis task he had a column story about Winslow--a column that was fairly\nalive with the romance of the air mail and of the flyer who was the\nmaster of all birdmen.\n\"Carson will like this, you see if he doesn't,\" was Dan's comment as he\nfinished reading Tim's work. \"Keep this up and it won't be long until\nyou'll be the aviation editor of the News.\"\n\"Do you really think so, Dan?\"\n\"I'm sure of it. Only the other day Carson was talking about you and I\ntold him how you were going to night school four evenings every week and\nthat I was suggesting books for you to read. He was well pleased. There\naren't many of the boys on the paper who are working like you to get\nahead.\"\nTim reached the office early the next morning and placed his copy on\nCarson's desk before the managing editor arrived. The directing\neditorial genius of the News said nothing about Tim's first story but\nafter two or three days he stopped beside the flying reporter's desk one\nmorning.\n\"The aviation stories you're turning out are good stuff, Tim,\" he\ncommented. \"If you have a little more than a column some days don't\nhesitate to run over your usual amount of space.\"\nFrom the fact that Carson was willing to give him more space, Tim knew\nthat his work was finding favor. But he hoped for the day when the\nmanaging editor would make it a permanent feature.\nTim worked every extra minute getting material for his column. He\ninterviewed all the famous pilots who landed at the field, wrote\nsketches of the flyers on the regular air mail runs, and described\nflights over the city and the surrounding towns. The latter stunt made a\ngreat hit with the circulation manager, who personally made a trip to\nthe editorial office to commend Tim. Every town visited and written up\nfrom the air meant the sale of more copies of the News.\nWith his regular work and his studies, Tim found the task of gathering\nand writing the material for the column a real drain on his physical\nenergies.\n\"Better take things a little easier,\" cautioned Dan, but Tim was too\nmuch interested in his work and studies to give up anything and he was\ntoo conscientious to slight either.\nWhen Tim's health started to suffer under the burden, Dan took the\nmatter in his own hands and went to the managing editor.\n\"Tim's working too hard,\" he told Carson. \"The boy is too ambitious for\nhis own good and unless you do something he'll work himself to death.\nHe's doing his usual work in the office, writing his daily column and\ngoing to night school four times a week. That's more than he can stand,\nespecially this hot weather.\"\n\"I'm glad you called it to my attention,\" said the managing editor.\n\"I've been very much pleased over Tim's column and it's made a hit with\nthe business office. We decided to make a little change last night and\nthis is a good time to tell Tim about it. Come along.\"\nThey walked down the editorial room together until they reached Tim's\ndesk where the flying reporter, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep,\nwas working.\n\"Hold up a minute, Tim,\" said the managing editor. \"I have some news for\nyou. We're going to discontinue your column.\"\n\"But Mr. Carson,\" protested Tim. Then he stopped abruptly, his tired\neyes welling with tears.\n\"Oh, I'm sorry, Tim, I shouldn't have said it in that way,\" Carson\nhurried on. \"What I meant to tell you is that the column is gone for\ngood--from now on it will be a regular department of the paper and\nyou're to have charge of it.\"\nRelieved of the burden of his other duties, Tim devoted all of his\nenergies to the development of his aviation department. He chronicled\nthe arrival and departure of the mail and express planes at the field in\naddition to all of the private ships which made overnight stops or\ncalled for supplies. He also made it a point to use the plane in\ncovering the dedication of every new airport in the state and thus\ncreated much good will for his paper.\nOne day early in May the telegraph editor handed Tim a short story which\nhad just come in over the wire. Its contents were such that Tim picked\nup the sheet of copy and started for the managing editor's desk.\nCarson was closing his desk and preparing to leave the office when Tim\naccosted him.\n\"Oh, Mr. Carson,\" said the flying reporter. \"I'd like to talk with you\nfor a few minutes.\"\nThe managing editor glanced at the clock. \"I haven't much time, right\nnow,\" he said. \"I have an appointment at the dentist's in ten minutes.\"\n\"It won't take long,\" explained Tim and he handed the folded paper to\nthe managing editor, indicating the article which had attracted his\nattention.\nCarson scanned the item and then re-read it, his news sense instantly\naroused to the value of the idea behind the story. He smiled at Tim.\n\"I'll bet you want me to send you and the News' plane on this good will\nair tour,\" he said when he had completed reading the story for the\nsecond time.\n\"That's it exactly,\" enthused Tim. \"It seems to me like a great chance.\nGood publicity for the News and at the same time boosting aviation.\nAccording to the tentative plans, this will be a good will air tour of\nthe state, open to every licensed pilot and plane, with stops at all of\nthe larger airports in the state.\"\n\"Wouldn't it be pretty expensive?\" asked the managing editor.\n\"Not necessarily,\" replied Tim. \"Gas and oil would be the main item of\nexpense and the advertising value of having a plane in the tour would\nmore than offset the expense.\"\n\"I wouldn't be surprised but that you are right, Tim,\" said Carson.\n\"I've got to hurry along for that appointment. I'll consider your plan\ntonight and let you know first thing in the morning.\"\nThat evening Tim told Ralph of his hope that the News would enter its\nplane in the good will air tour and Ralph agreed that it would be a\ngreat stunt, both from the standpoint of advertising the paper and of\npopularizing aviation.\nTim was busy on a handful of rewrites from the morning papers when the\nmanaging editor stopped at his desk the next day.\n\"We've decided to enter our plane in the air tour,\" he said. \"I talked\nit over with Mr. Adams, the advertising manager, and he agrees that it\nis an excellent plan. I'm glad you called it to my attention, Tim. We'll\nwork out the details later.\"\nWhen Tim completed his work on the rewrites he presented himself before\nthe managing editor's desk.\n\"Sit down, Tim,\" said Carson, as he indicated a chair at his side.\n\"We want plenty of local interest in the air tour,\" he went on, \"so what\ndo you think of having a contest to select a name for our plane?\"\n\"That sounds fine, Mr. Carson,\" replied Tim heartily. \"It ought to\narouse interest here because Atkinson is getting more and more\nair-minded. You ought to see the number of people who come out to the\nfield every day to watch the planes, and especially when the\ntranscontinental air mail comes in. There's a fascination about flying\nthat's getting into everyone's blood.\"\n\"You certainly have a real case of it,\" laughed the managing editor,\n\"but I'm glad you have, Tim, for you are doing fine work.\"\n\"Now,\" he continued, \"I want you to take complete charge of the contest\nover the naming of our plane. Offer $100 in prizes to be distributed in\nany way you see fit. We want to stage the contest in one week and you\ncan have a column a day for your publicity stories. Select your own\njudges and give me a name by next Thursday. Let's see, this is Tuesday,\nthat will give you two days to get ready, announce the contest this\nThursday and the winner in one week. How does that strike you?\"\n\"Dandy, Mr. Carson, and thanks a lot for the opportunity.\"\nTim threw all his energy into formulating plans for the big contest and\nby Monday morning, three days before the announcement of the winning\nname, his desk was piled high with letters. The deadline for entries was\nset for Wednesday at 6 p. m. with the announcement of the winner in the\nnext day's paper.\nThe first prize was $50, the second best name would get $25, while the\nnext 25 would be given honorable mention and $1 apiece. Tim selected\nCarl Hunter, \"Tiny\" Lewis, the mail pilot, and Ralph to help him open\nthe letters and judge their contents. By the time the final mail arrived\nWednesday afternoon more than 5,000 letters had been received and\nexcitement was at a high pitch. A big picture of the plane had appeared\nin the editions of that day with a question mark on the side where the\nwinning name would be placed.\nAll evening long Tim and his helpers ripped open letters, scanned their\ncontents, and sorted them as they thought best. It was early morning\nwhen they had completed their task and narrowed the 5,000 suggestions\ndown to 27 letters. Out of that 27 would come the first and second place\nwinners and the list of 25 honorable mentions.\nEach one of the judges read the 27 letters and then wrote down his\nchoice for the first prize. Tim gathered up the four slips. They were\nall alike; every one had agreed on the name for the plane, the Good\nNews.\nWhen Tim informed the managing editor of the prize winning name, Carson\nwas elated.\n\"Great,\" he bubbled, \"great! Couldn't have been better if I had named it\nmyself. That ought to make a real hit.\"\nThe managing editor's hunch was right and for the next two or three days\nthere was a steady stream of visitors at the airport to inspect the Good\nNews. The contest and the appropriateness of the name caught the public\nfancy.\nWith the success which attended the selection of a name for the plane,\nCarson gave Tim free rein in writing stories of the good will air tour\nwhich was to start from Prairie City, the state capital, and finish at\nAtkinson. Tim, by dint of much correspondence, persuaded the officials\nin charge of the tour to bring it to a close at Atkinson instead of\ngoing back to Prairie City. The chamber of commerce woke up to the\npossibilities of the air tour. Tim was frequently consulted and the News\noccupied a prominent place in the preliminary arrangements.\nThe day before Tim was to start for Prairie City to join the air tour,\nCarson called him to his desk.\n\"Better take Ralph with you,\" he suggested. \"He can relieve you of the\nburden of writing a lot of the stories and can also help you in\npiloting. I'll have him take a high speed camera and he may be able to\nget some good action pictures of planes in the clouds.\"\nTim welcomed the suggestion that Ralph accompany him for there would be\nplenty for two reporters to do and the managing editor had indicated\nthat he wanted the tour fully covered. That would mean two or three\ncolumns of news a day in addition to about 250 miles in the air with an\naverage of four stops a day for each of the five days on the tour.\nWhen Tim and Ralph reached the airport the next morning ready to start\nfor Prairie City, the state capital and starting point for the good will\ntour, they found Kurt Blandin waiting for them.\n\"Hello Murphy,\" greeted the head of the Ace flying circus. \"Little\nsurprised to see me?\"\n\"Why, yes, Blandin,\" admitted Tim. \"You're more or less of a lone wolf\nand a stranger at this field.\"\n\"Right,\" smiled Blandin and in spite of himself, Tim couldn't help\nliking the other for the moment. \"I'm entering a plane in the tour and\nsince you fellows were going, thought you'd better know my flyer.\"\nBlandin called to a slightly built man who had been working over the\nmotor of a nearby biplane.\n\"I want you to know Daredevil Dugan,\" said Blandin when the other flyer\njoined them. Ralph and Tim acknowledged the introduction but Tim felt an\ninstant wave of dislike for Dugan. The air circus flyer who was going on\nthe tour was short of stature, with a peaked face and eyes that shifted\nconstantly. There was no question about Dugan's ability as a flyer for\nhe had a reputation as a daredevil, but there might easily be some\nquestion about his ethics.\n\"I'd like to make the trip,\" said Blandin, \"but I have to ride herd on\nthe bunch of flying lunatics I've got over at my own field. Let them\nalone and they might decide to make a raid on the treasury.\"\n\"I'm not so sure they wouldn't get away with it,\" added Tim. He was\nsurprised at the effect his words had for Blandin's face clouded with a\nsudden fury that shook his entire body.\n\"What do you know about my outfit?\" he said hoarsely.\n\"Nothing,\" admitted Tim. \"But I'd like to know a whole lot more.\"\nWith that he turned and walked over to the Good News.\n\"Why did you stir Blandin up like that?\" asked Ralph.\n\"I honestly don't know,\" replied Tim. \"Maybe it hasn't got me anywhere\nand maybe it has.\" He glanced toward the plane Blandin was entering in\nthe air tour and saw the head of the flying circus talking with Dugan.\n\"One thing, though,\" he added, \"I'm going to keep my eyes on Dugan.\"\nWhen Tim and Ralph landed the Good News at Prairie City, they found\nthirty-one other flyers and planes registered for the tour. One side of\nthe big field was lined with the heavier-than-air craft. At one end a\nsport monoplane was almost lost under the wings of a giant tri-motor and\nthere were cabin planes of almost every type represented. The planes\nwere classified in three groups according to the displacement of their\nmotors but that arrangement did not affect the Good News for Tim and\nRalph were not competing for the prizes offered to the flyers with the\nbest elapsed time in each class.\nThey secured a complete list of the flyers and their planes, dug up\ninteresting bits about the famous pilots in the tour, and dispatched\ntheir stories to the News that night.\nThe morning for the start of the state's first air tour was bright and\nclear, with a soft May wind out of the south; a veteran air man by the\nname of \"Spin\" Beeker, gave the pilots their final instructions and then\nwaved them off the field at one minute intervals.\nThe air was alive with the throbbing of motors, now low, then rising to\na crescendo as each pilot tested his plane, then gunned it hard for the\ntakeoff. The Good News was No. 18 in the starting order and Tim sped\ndown the field and into the air on the first lap of the five day tour.\nThe first night found them at Rollins, a crowded factory town, with 325\nmiles and three other stops, behind them. The first day had been\nsuccessful without even a motor failure reported for any one of the 32\nplanes.\nOn the second day one plane threw a connecting rod through its crankcase\nand was forced down in a corn field while on the third day another pilot\nwashed out his landing gear when he came down on the field at Marion.\nThe noon stop on the fourth day was made at Newton where the flyers were\ngiven a reception and dinner in the hangar at the airport. They were\nlate in getting away for the two afternoon hops and Beeker was sending\nthem away at half minute intervals. When he waved his flag at Tim, the\nflying reporter opened up his throttle and sent the Good News scooting\ndown the field. The sound of another motor, near at hand, drew Tim's\nattention for a moment.\nSome pilot, evidently mistaking Beeker's signal for his own, was\nspeeding down the field for a takeoff. Evidently he had not seen Tim for\nin another second their courses would converge. Tim, acting by instinct,\npulled his stick back hard and at the same time jammed the throttle to\nthe end of its arc.\nIt was a risky thing to do but he fairly jerked his plane off the\nground. The Good News shot skyward, then settled rapidly, but Tim\nleveled off and after a shaky moment, was heading for the next control\npoint. He had fairly hopped his plane over the other ship. It had been a\nmaster bit of flying.\nTim was unable to identify the other plane and it was not until they\nlanded at Beldon, the night stop, that he learned the name of its pilot.\nTim and Ralph had hardly climbed from their plane when \"Daredevil\"\nDugan, accosted them with bitter words.\n\"Whoever told you two pencil pushers you could fly,\" he cried. \"What do\nyou think this is, a game of Washington tag? You came mighty near\nwrecking me back there at Newton.\"\nDugan's attitude angered Tim, who felt that he was in no way responsible\nfor the mixup which had occurred at the noon control station. Before he\ncould answer someone else joined in the party.\n\"What's this you're saying, Dugan?\" The voice was cold with sarcasm and\n\"Daredevil\" Dugan swung around to face \"Spin\" Beeker, the head judge.\n\"Don't you think you'd better pull in your oars,\" continued Beeker.\n\"I've a good mind to disqualify you for that stunt you pulled back at\nNewton. Trying to blame these boys, are you? Not while 'Spin' Beeker's\njudging this tour, you won't.\"\n\"You deliberately jumped your flag,\" he accused Dugan, \"and if Tim says\nyou go out, out you go. What do you say, Tim?\"\nTim knew that Dugan had a good chance to win first prize in the Class C\ndivision for small planes and the call down the field judge had given\nthe \"Daredevil\" more than satisfied him for the injustice he felt from\nDugan's accusation.\n\"Oh, that's all over now, Mr. Beeker,\" said Tim. \"Only a\nmisunderstanding and it's better to forget all about it.\"\n\"Just as you say,\" agreed the head judge, as he turned back to Dugan,\nbut the Daredevil was already on his way.\nTim watched Dugan as he hurried toward a waiting car. Was it possible\nthat the Daredevil had deliberately attempted to crash them? His\nthoughts flashed back to the scene at the Atkinson airport and his words\nwith Blandin. Could the boss of the flying circus have instructed Dugan\nto get them? It was a question Tim himself couldn't answer and he\ndecided to let things take their course after promising himself that he\nwould keep a closer watch than ever on Dugan.\nOn the final day of the air tour, Tim, in recognition for his work in\npromoting the big aviation day at Atkinson, was given the lead-off\nposition and he swept away from the Beldon airport at the head of the\ncaravan of thirty planes.\nWhen familiar scenes again came into view and Tim sighted the field at\nAtkinson, he was astounded at the size of the crowd which had gathered\nto see the end of the tour. Every side of the field was jammed with\ncars, parked row on row, and police and national guardsmen were hard put\nto keep the milling thousands from sweeping on to the landing field.\nTim had pushed his plane hard and was nearly ten minutes ahead of the\nothers. To keep the interest of the crowd he stunted over the field,\nlooping, falling and zooming in manoeuvres that had the crowd gasping\nfor breath. When he saw the first of the planes in the tour heading in\nfrom the west, he nosed down for the field.\nPing! For a second Tim did not realize what had happened. Ralph, in the\nforward cockpit, had heard the noise and he looked around at the flying\nreporter. Tim wiggled his stick and it was then that he discovered their\npredicament. The main control wire to the ailerons on the left wing had\nparted and was dangling from the wing. By rare good luck the Good News\nhad been in an easy dive when the accident occurred and had leveled off\nof its own accord.\nBelow, Tim could see the banked masses of humanity. They'd come out for\na thrill, had they? Well, they'd get it but he didn't dare risk a\ncrackup in the crowd. The slogan all through the tour had been to play\nsafe and now here he was up better than 3,000 feet and with a slim\nchance of getting down alive.\nRalph had sensed what they were up against and was staring back, the\ncolor drained from his face. Tim wondered what his own face looked like.\nProbably he was just as white as Ralph for he was sure enough up against\nit. What irony! After spending days promoting the aviation day to mark\nthe close of the air tour, then an accident like this. If he could only\nget his hands on that strand of loose wire he might be able to get the\nship down after all.\nTim motioned to Ralph, who leaned back until the flying reporter could\nmake his shouts understood. Ralph's eyes got as big as cart wheels and\nhis mouth dropped open but he nodded and took a firm grip on his nerve.\nCarefully the two men in the little plane started to move. Tim thanked\nhis lucky stars that Ralph was a competent flyer and he was ready to\nbless his managing editor for his foresight in having another reporter\ntrained as an aviator.\nTo the 25,000 packed around the airport it was something new in the way\nof thrills. To Tim and Ralph it meant taking their lives on luck and\nconsummate nerve for they had sacrificed their parachutes to make room\nfor their baggage on the five day tour. Tim edged forward and Ralph slid\nback. In less than a minute they had exchanged places and Ralph was\ngiving the plane an easy rudder to swing it back toward the airport.\nTim stretched his six feet of muscular body over the side of the forward\ncockpit as Ralph headed for the field. His nerves were remarkably calm;\nhe felt sure he could accomplish the task before him.\nTim swung both legs over the side of the cockpit. Ralph had throttled\nthe motor down as slow as he dared but even then the blast of air from\nthe propeller tore at Tim. The flying reporter anchored his right foot\nin the step in the fuselage while his right hand was locked in the\nsafety belt which was too short to go around his body as he swung from\nthe side of the ship.\nThe broken aileron wire dangled tantalizingly from the wing. Tim gauged\nhis distance and thrust an outstretched hand to grasp it. The wire was\njust beyond his reach!\nThe good will planes were swarming in from the west. In another minute\nthere would be a dozen of them circling over the airport and with his\nown ship able to manoeuvre with only the greatest difficulty, Tim knew\nthat the arrival of the other planes would add more complications to\ntheir plight.\nThe Good News was wavering unsteadily. At any moment it might slide into\na spin in spite of all that Ralph could do to keep it on an even keel.\nThen it would be curtains! But not if Tim could help it. He was\ndetermined to reach the dangling wire if it was humanly possible.\nThe flying reporter started his body swinging. Ralph screamed at him for\nthe Good News was careening from side to side. But Tim kept on, his body\nswinging out from the side of the plane like a great pendulum, its\nswings ever lengthening.\nTim clutched at the broken wire; missed by inches. The next time he'd\nmake it. He had to, he told himself, for every second was precious. They\ncouldn't smash up in the crowd below. He swung again, his fingers\noutstretched in an effort that wrenched every muscle in his body. He\ntouched the dangling wire, but it slipped through his hand. Then a\nmovement of the plane placed it within his reach again and he gripped\nthe wire between his finger-tips. He heard Ralph's triumphant shout as\nhe tightened his grasp on the wire and felt the plane nose downward, but\nthe world was dancing before his eyes. The strain was intense as he hung\non like grim death, his left hand holding and controlling the aileron\nwire, his other hand and foot anchored to the fuselage.\nDown they circled, Tim mechanically manipulating the aileron. Truly he\nwas \"riding down\" from the clouds. He'd read about it being in the war\nbut had hardly believed it possible. Now he was actually accomplishing\nthe feat and getting away with it--maybe. They weren't down yet. Could\nRalph turn the trick and make a safe landing? It would require real\nskill and a keen judgment of distance and speed.\nTim glanced back at his chum and Ralph nodded reassuringly. He knew as\nwell as Tim that if he landed too hard Tim would be bounced off the\nplane and even an Irishman, and a reporter at that, doesn't like to be\nthrown from a plane landing at a speed of seventy miles an hour.\nRalph straightened out and headed for the field. Tim steadied himself\nand uttered a prayer as they dropped closer to the ground. They were\nover the edge of the field and nosing down fast. Tim glanced at the\ncrowd--a sea of upturned faces. He gave the aileron a final jerk and\nshut his eyes.\nBang! Crash! Bump! And they were down. The shock of the rough landing\nthrew Tim against the fuselage and he clung there like a plaster. Ralph\nmanaged to taxi the Good News across the field and brought it up in\nfront of the announcer's stand and they tumbled down. Above them the sky\nwas alive with planes. They had turned the trick just in time.\nBefore the crowds surrounded them and swept them toward the announcer's\nstand, Tim had a second to examine the aileron wire. The break was\nclean-cut; no frayed ends to indicate an accident due to normal wear and\ntear. The only thing that could have caused a break like that was a\nsharp file wielded by spiteful hands.\nTim was so mad he couldn't talk but by the time they found their\nmanaging editor, he had cooled down somewhat. They explained what had\nhappened and then Tim swept Ralph off his feet when he told Carson about\nhis discovery of the filed wire.\n\"I'm not going to accuse anyone right now,\" said the flying reporter,\nhis eyes pin points of anger, \"But when 'Daredevil' Dugan lands he's\ngoing to tell me what I want to know or he'll get the worst beating he\never had.\" And Tim, moved by emotion, looked fully capable of carrying\nout his threat.\nTim and Ralph were called to the announcer's stand where they were\nintroduced to the crowd and the master of ceremonies briefly related how\nthey had ridden down from the clouds. A great roar of applause swept\nover the crowd and Tim was genuinely embarrassed at the ovation.\nAs soon as they could get away, Tim and Ralph slid out of the stand, and\nlost themselves in the crowd.\n\"Have you seen Dugan land?\" asked Tim.\n\"He came in about five minutes ago and is well down toward the other end\nof the field,\" replied Ralph. \"He's slated to do his daredevil stuff\nright away so we'll have to hurry if we want to catch him.\"\nThey made slow progress through the packed mass of humanity and were not\nmore than halfway down the field when the loud speakers blared out an\nannouncement.\n\"Ladies and gentlemen,\" boomed the metallic voice, \"you will now see\n'Daredevil' Dugan, the prince of thrills, in an aerial exhibition which\nis without peer.\"\n\"It'll be an exhibition without peer when I get my hands on Dugan,\"\nmuttered Tim as he heard the motor of the Daredevil's plane come to\nlife. There was no chance of reaching Dugan before he started so Tim and\nRalph crowded their way to front line places.\nDugan's little biplane shot down the field. The tail flipped into the\nair and the under carriage sailed clear. Then Dugan bounced his ship up\nand down as he sped alone, never more than five feet above the ground.\nIt was old stuff but mighty dangerous, especially if the motor failed.\nThe crowd was yelling and milling excitedly as Dugan's plane neared the\nfence on the far boundary. Tim wondered how long Dugan would wait before\nhe nosed his ship up. Then he caught his breath for the daredevil was\nliving up to his name.\nThe biplane shot skyward but Dugan had waited a fraction of a second too\nlong. There was the sharp crashing of wood and to the crowd's amazement\nand horror, Dugan left his landing gear hanging on the fence. But\nprobably no one was more surprised and startled than the daredevil\nhimself.\nAlive to the emergency, Tim forgot his personal feelings toward Dugan\nand with Ralph at his heels pushed his way to the announcer's stand.\nThere he found a group of perplexed and worried officials who were\nlooking on helplessly while Dugan cruised over the field. The crowd\nrecovered its breath, and, mob-like, got all ready for a real thrill\nwhen Dugan landed.\nTim cornered Clyde Bennett, the owner of the great tri-motored monoplane\nwhich had been on the good will tour. Tim's plan won Bennett's hearty\napproval and together they explained it to the officials. Several\nhesitated but \"Spin\" Beeker acclaimed it the only way to avert tragedy.\nWhen he presented that angle of the situation, the other officials\nimmediately gave their consent. They didn't mind giving the crowd its\nshare of thrills, but at the same time they didn't want tragedy to play\na major role in the events of the day if it was humanly possible to\nprevent it.\nWhile Tim and Bennett warmed up the motors of the great transport plane,\nRalph went in search of rope. He was back in less than five minutes\nstaggering under his load. They boosted the coils of manilla into the\ncabin of the big ship and Tim, who had been delegated to handle the\ncontrols, was just taking his place when the fiery little managing\neditor of the News arrived. Carson had gotten wind of what was in the\nair and was thoroughly aroused. He collared Tim and Ralph.\n\"You're crazy,\" he yelled. \"I won't let you go on such a foolhardy trip.\nYou'll all get killed and I can't afford to lose two of my best\nreporters.\"\n\"You're crazy yourself if you think we're not going,\" shouted Tim in\nreply. \"Some one's got to help Dugan down. They say he isn't carrying a\nparachute. And besides,\" he suggested, appealing to Carson's nose for\nnews, \"it will make a great story for the paper.\" The managing editor\nweakened and waved them on. Ralph banged the door of the cabin and Tim\nfed the fuel into the eager cylinders of the tri-motor. He was mighty\nglad now that he had taken a course in handling big ships at the flying\nschool.\nWhile they were gaining altitude, Tim scrawled a note, weighed it down\nwith a wrench, and tied it to a stout, light cord. In less than five\nminutes they were over the daredevil's plane. Ralph pushed open a window\nin the cabin of the transport and paid out the cord to which the note\nwas attached. A moment of jockeying and the note was in Dugan's hands.\nThe daredevil tore it from the wrench, read it hastily, and then waved\nhis understanding to his rescuers.\nThe two planes forged westward, gradually gaining more altitude. They\nwanted plenty of room and the sun at their backs when they started to\ngive the 25,000 spectators on the ground the greatest thrill of the\nday--a thrill that would surpass anything on the scheduled program. Five\nmiles west of the airport they swung around, their tails to the setting\nsun.\nDugan's crippled plane was a little ahead and above the tri-motor. The\nair speed indicator in the big monoplane pointed to 80 miles an hour.\nTim took a fresh grip on the controls while Ralph and Bennett made sure\nthat their ropes were ready.\nThe gap between the two ships gradually closed. Tim was handling the\ngreat tri-motor like a veteran.\nThe daredevil's plane was now just ahead and a few feet above him. Dugan\nwas looking back at the monoplane and handling his own little plane with\nthe skill of a magician. They were almost together; then Dugan's plane\nwas hidden by the great wing of the tri-motor. Tim moved the controls\nslightly and held his breath. The monoplane rose gently, there was a\nrasping bump as the daredevil's ship, minus its landing gear, settled on\ntop of the great gray monoplane.\nWith a shout, Ralph and Bennett swarmed out of the cabin and onto the\nwings. While Dugan nursed his motor carefully and kept his ship\nplastered tight against the wing of the tri-motor, the other two lashed\nthe little biplane down. In the cockpit of the big ship Tim was fighting\nwith his controls.\nCarefully Tim pushed the big gray bird along while the men on the wing\nhurried to complete their task. A careless maneuver, and the biplane\nmight be dislodged and brush them into space. After an eternity for Tim,\nthey scrambled into the cabin with news that they had done everything\npossible to lash the damaged plane.\nAgain it was up to Tim. Slowly the tri-motor drifted earthward. Perhaps\nTim was the only one of the four who fully realized their new danger and\nhe kept his own counsel and nerved himself for the task ahead. But he\ncouldn't help wondering whether the damaged plane was lashed securely.\nIf there was very much slack in the ropes the ship above would bounce\nwhen they landed, smash through the great wing and crush them in a trap\nthat would carry them to their deaths at sixty miles an hour, their\nlanding speed.\nWhile the others were laughing over the thrill of the trip, Tim held\ntheir lives in his hands. He was tired, dead tired. The good will trip\nhad been fatiguing and the strain of his sensational landing earlier in\nthe afternoon had taken more of his strength than he had realized. But\nit was too late now to turn the controls over to Bennett. They were at\nthe edge of the field. Tim killed speed with every trick on the list.\nThe roar of the crowd came to his ears as the tri-motor, with\n\"Daredevil\" Dugan's plane resting on top, passed overhead.\nThe ground loomed before Tim's tired eyes as he swung around into the\nwind for the landing. The shadows of late afternoon were deceptive and\nhis eyes burned from the strain. He felt himself slipping, losing\ncontrol; then with a mighty effort he came back. The lives of the other\nthree in the plane, as well as his own, depended on his skill. And he\ncouldn't crack up in front of that great crowd! Tim gave the controls a\nfinal twist and placed his trust in the guardian angel who looks after\nflyers. The heavy under-carriage smacked the ground. Tim heard the wing\ncreak and groan in protest at the weight of Dugan's plane. Involuntarily\nhe ducked.\nBut the wing held and Tim brought the tri-motor to a stop a little past\nthe middle of the field.\nWhen Tim reached the door of the tri-motor he found Dugan waiting for\nhim.\n\"Quick, Murphy,\" said the daredevil. \"Come around to the other side.\nI've got something I must tell you.\"\nWhen they reached the far side of the tri-motor, Dugan burst forth in\nvoluble explanation.\n\"Blandin ordered me to crack you up on the tour,\" he explained. \"That's\nwhy we almost crashed at Newton. When I didn't get you then, I filed the\naileron wires on your ship. I've got to get out now, skip the country. I\nfailed to get you and Blandin will break me in two if he ever finds me.\nThanks for saving me just now. I'll repay you some day.\"\nBefore Tim could answer, Dugan had slipped away and was lost in the\ncrowd which had surged through the police lines and gathered around the\ntri-motor. Tim and Dugan were to meet again but under circumstances that\neven Tim hardly would have believed possible.\nWith the advent of late spring, aviation became the news of the day.\nFlyers were planning trans-Atlantic hops, endurance tests and Arctic\nexploration. The adventure which held Tim's interest was the Arctic\nflight which Capt. Rayburn Rutledge, famed explorer, was planning across\nthe top of the world. Not entirely satisfied with the efforts of other\naerial explorers, Rutledge still hoped to find a hidden continent under\nthe ice and snow of the Northland.\nA great newspaper syndicate had undertaken to finance his trip and Tim's\npaper had contributed $1,000. Tim read every word of Rutledge's plans\nwith avid interest, and made a thorough study of the conditions in the\nArctic. It was just the flight he had dreamed about ever since Arthur\nWinslow, dean of the air mail flyers, had planted the seed in his mind\nonly a few months before.\nOn his trip to the west coast, Rutledge stopped in Atkinson and in his\ninterview with the explorer, Tim learned in detail of the plans for the\nflight over the top of the world. Then Rutledge soared over the Great\nSmokies on his way to Seattle, his embarkation point for Alaska.\nThe big news came unexpectedly. Rutledge had been injured in an\nautomobile accident in Seattle; was definitely out of the flight for\nthat year, yet the plane was ready, fully equipped, supplies had been\nshipped to the far north, and every detail cared for. The time for the\nadventure was ripe.\nTim read and dreamed and when his managing editor, speaking for the\nnewspaper syndicate, asked him to take over the flight and carry on,\nTim's happiness knew no bounds. He felt it was the opportunity of a\nlifetime and within an hour after his acceptance, word was sent out on\nthe humming press association wires that Tim Murphy and Ralph Parsons,\nthe flying reporters of the Atkinson News, would attempt the daring\nArctic adventure.\nAnother month elapsed before they were ready to leave Atkinson on the\nstart of their long trip. Tim spent his last evening with Dan Watkins in\nthe quiet of his friend's room.\nDan had gone over all the plans with Tim and agreed that they had an\nexcellent chance to succeed in their mission.\n\"And here's a bit of good news, Tim,\" he added, just before the flying\nreporter took his leave, \"I have a hunch that if you succeed Carson will\nmake you the aviation editor of the News.\"\n\"You really think so, Dan?\" Tim's words reflected his hope and\neagerness.\n\"I certainly do,\" replied the copy reader. \"From what I accidentally\noverheard this afternoon when he was talking with the business manager,\nthings are all set--providing you succeed.\"\n\"Then I'll make it across the top of the world or bust up in the\nattempt,\" said Tim determinedly.\nThe farewells the next day were brief for there is little time on a\ndaily paper for leave-taking and Tim and Ralph were glad that it was so.\nA few sincere good wishes from Dan and their managing editor, and they\nfound themselves on the Overland limited, bound for the coast where they\nwould embark for the voyage along the coast to Alaska.\nA week later when their steamer pulled away from the dock, Tim gazed at\nSeattle's skyline but his thoughts were in the far north as they churned\ndown Puget sound. He was actually bound for the Arctic! Really going to\nfly across the heart of the great unknown!\nHis dream had not been a dream after all but he was sensible enough to\nrealize that only by hard work and the whole-hearted cooperation of\nRalph had he been able to turn his dream into a reality. Good old steady\nRalph. Perhaps he wasn't the speediest sort of a fellow but he was\nreliable and could always be counted on in coming through in a crisis.\nAnd after all that was what counted on such an adventure as they were\nfacing.\nThe trip up the coast and into the interior of Alaska was uneventful.\nWhen they reached Fairbanks they found that their plane had arrived\nsafely and mechanics were already at work assembling it. Days passed\nlike hours as they made their final preparations and it was June before\nTim announced that they were ready to make the first hop of their long\ntrip.\nOn a bright morning in early June they loaded their equipment into the\nmonoplane, waved goodbye to mechanics who had helped so\nenthusiastically, and headed northward.\nThen--fog!\nCold, bone chilling blasts from the Arctic swirled around the high peaks\nof the Endicott range and forced the trim, gray monoplane plane up and\nup. Inside the cabin of the little ship Tim and Ralph were eagerly\ntrying to see through the drifting fog banks ahead and below them. The\nair was bitter cold.\nIt seemed hours to them since they had skimmed over the field at\nFairbanks, flirted the tail of the plane into the air and headed\nnorthward across the heart of Alaska for Point Barrow, the northernmost\noutpost of civilization in that part of North America. For over an hour\nthe weather had been cold but clear--then the dreaded fog. It had forced\nthem higher and higher until they were almost at the ceiling for their\nheavily loaded plane. For four hours they had plunged blindly ahead,\ndepending solely on their instruments and hoping against hope that they\nwere still on their course.\nTim pored over his charts while Ralph handled the stick. Even a slight\ndeviation from their course would cause them to miss Point Barrow and\neither go far out over the Arctic Ocean or come down at some lonely spot\nin the interior of Alaska.\nTim nudged Ralph and pointed to the clock on the instrument board. They\nhad been in the air a little more than five hours. If the fog would only\nclear they might sight Point Barrow. But the fog refused to lift.\nIt was useless to go further north and with a bitter face Tim stared\ndown at the drifting banks of gray. A flight across the top of the\nworld--it was the ambition of his life and now, at the very outset, they\nwere apparently doomed to failure through a whim of nature.\nRalph's features were set in equally bitter lines for he knew how much\nthe proposed flight over the top of the world meant to the young\nexplorer. Even in the face of disaster few words passed their lips.\nBut now months of planning were worthless before the drifting gray\nclouds. Helplessly, the men in the monoplane cruised around and around,\ndesperately clinging to the hope that the fog would clear. The minutes\nwere speeding, drinking great gulps of precious fuel and their time in\nthe air was nearing an end.\nIn less than an hour they would be forced to plunge down through the fog\nto whatever fate the gods of the air had prepared for them. If luck was\nwith them, they might land without cracking up too badly and with the\nrifles, concentrated food and snowshoes which they had in the plane\npreparatory to their hop off from Point Barrow, they might be able to\nreach Barrow or find some trapper's cabin. They might--but the chances\nwere slim and Tim and Ralph now made no attempt to hide their anxiety.\nHalf an hour more of gas; half an hour more of life. The chill of the\nArctic was creeping into their bones; their faces were white with the\ncold and the little thermometer on the side of the ship registered well\nbelow zero. Anything but pleasant weather for a forced landing and\nprobable smashup.\nThen Ralph let out a yell. Far to the right there was a rift in the fog\nand without a moment's hesitation, he headed for it with the motor on\nfull. They shot downward in a long glide, down and through the walls of\ngray--down and underneath the fog, which was lifting rapidly.\nAhead of them was the rugged coast of North Alaska and Tim managed to\nget his bearings. They were not more than eight or ten miles west of\nPoint Barrow. With lighter hearts and a motor that was singing sweetly\nin spite of the sub-zero temperature, they skimmed along the coast. Less\nthan ten minutes later they swooped low over the huddle of buildings\nthat is Point Barrow and out to the pack ice where they landed, turned\naround, and taxied back toward the village to be greeted by the handful\nof Eskimos and the crew of the government radio station.\nAfter hasty greetings, Tim and Ralph, still bundled in their heavy\nclothes, turned their attention to the plane and refused to leave it\nuntil they had satisfied themselves that everything thing was O.K.\nEarly the next day they were back on the ice, working over the\nmonoplane, repacking their equipment and filling the gas and oil tanks,\nfor now that they were ready, they intended to take advantage of the\nfirst favorable weather.\nTim was whistling as he worked in the cockpit, making a final\ninspection, while Ralph busied himself on the motor. Carefully he\nchecked the equipment, the supply of concentrated food, snowshoes,\nknives, rifles, and a hood and heater for the motor. A forced landing in\nthe heart of the Arctic would not find them unprepared and the stout,\nspecially constructed wooden cockpit would provide them with a real\nshelter. He was working with a rifle when Ralph climbed in beside him.\n\"Motor O.K.?\" Tim asked.\nRalph nodded and tucked long legs underneath as he sat down. He watched\nTim work over the rifle for several minutes before he spoke.\n\"What's the use of taking all that stuff?\" He pointed to the rifle, the\npile of soft-nosed bullets beside it, the snowshoes, the axe and other\nequipment fastened to the walls of the cockpit. \"If we come down out\nthere,\" and he pointed toward the bleak stretches of the Arctic, \"it's\ncurtains for us.\"\nRalph wasn't trying to hang crepe. He was simply stating the situation\nas he saw it, tinged with an airman's sense of fatality.\nTim kept on with his work; he knew Ralph well. When he did answer, it\nwas with carefully chosen words.\n\"Simply this, Ralph, if we come down out there we've still got a good\nchance of coming through. With snowshoes, this concentrated food, plenty\nof warm clothing, plus a good rifle and lots of ammunition, we can live\nfor months. Not scared, are you?\" The last words were whipped out.\n\"Scared? Me?\" Ralph's question was one of amazement. \"I'm not scared and\nyou know it but a 2,200 mile flight over the jumping off place isn't the\nnicest thing in the world. But I'm here and I'm going through with it.\"\nTim, laughing at his friend's evident indignation, turned to him. \"I\nknow you are, Ralph, and we'll come out on top in the end. Now get out\nof here and let me stow this stuff away. If the weather is favorable,\nwe'll hop off as soon as we can get some sleep.\"\nTwelve hours later every inhabitant of Point Barrow was down on the ice\npack watching the flyers' final preparations. A final inspection, a roar\nof the motor, and Ralph flirted the tail of the plane around. The motor,\non full, drove a cloud of snow and ice into the faces of the little\ncluster of Eskimos and radio operators, and the monoplane bumped over\nthe ice. It gained speed slowly.\nInside the little cabin Tim and Ralph were straining forward, fairly\nthrowing their energy into the roar of the motor and praying that they\nwould gain air speed.\nThe skis on the under carriage finally left the rough ice; wobbled in\nthe air for a moment, looking as though they were on the feet of a\ndrunken man, and then plunked to the ice. The plane careened and Tim and\nRalph were hurled against the sides of the cabin with sickening thuds as\na ski crumpled under the shock and one wing drooped low, almost scraping\nthe ice. Ralph his hands clinging to the controls, was fighting the\nplane in an attempt to check its speed before any damage could be done.\nHe finally nosed it up an easy incline of snow and the flyers hopped out\nto inspect the damage. A minute later they were surrounded by their\nEskimo friends. One of the metal skis was damaged beyond repair, and Tim\nthanked heaven he had had the foresight to put an extra pair in the\nplane before they left Fairbanks. With the Eskimos to keep the wing on\nthe damaged side from dragging, Ralph got his ship turned around and\nback at the edge of the ice pack. Their first attempt had failed.\nWorking feverishly in an effort to replace the damaged ski and to take\nadvantage of the good weather, Tim and Ralph labored on the plane, the\nnumbing cold forcing them to stop at short intervals to warm their\nchilled hands.\nFour hours later they were ready for the second attempt. With the\nEskimos cheering as loudly as before, they started over the uneven ice\npack. The plane bumped and swayed as it gained speed, calling for all\nthe mastery in the capable hands of Ralph, but it was going faster than\non the first attempt. It looked like a sure thing this time, and both\nyoung adventurers were congratulating themselves when one ski struck a\nhummock, the rapidly moving ship swung off its course and before Ralph\ncould right it, dove over a snow bank and headed at right angles to its\nintended course. By quick work they cut the motor and stopped the plane\nbefore it had rammed its nose into a snowbank.\nTim grinned a little ruefully as he looked at Ralph. Two attempts had\nfailed and just when conditions were ideal for their success.\n\"I'll get this ship off the ice or bust in the attempt!\" Ralph had\nsensed the question in his friend's mind.\nThe plane had not been damaged and with the help of the willing Eskimos,\nthey pulled it out of the soft snow. It was evident to both Tim and\nRalph that it would be impossible to make a take off from the rough ice\npack near Point Barrow. Further out on the pack, the ice was smoother\nand three miles from the village they found a suitable stretch.\nAnother day was spent in dragging the plane over the ice and clearing\naway the rough spots on their new field. But when they had finished,\nthey had a smooth runway more than half a mile in length and wide enough\nfor a good margin of safety. A smashup now would mean failure for the\nyear since a new plane could not be secured in time for another attempt.\nTim and Ralph planned to snatch a few hours sleep and then take off, for\nday and night were one in the Arctic summer.\nThey had hardly dropped asleep when an operator from the radio station\nawakened them with the news that a severe storm was reported sweeping\ndown the coast. The adventurers hastily donned their clothes and hurried\nacross the pack where they covered the plane with heavy tarpaulins and\nstaked them down. Tim was loath to desert his ship, but the song of the\nchill blasts that were sweeping over the ice warned them that it would\nmean sure death to remain on the windswept pack. After reassuring\nthemselves that they had done everything possible to protect the plane,\nthey started back for Point Barrow on a run.\nThe cry of the storm was louder, and far in the west the sky was gray\nwith sweeping snow clouds. The flyers struggled on; Point Barrow was\nless than half a mile away. Then dense curtains of snow swirled about\nthem and Point Barrow might have been a million miles away. The cold was\nintense; the snow blinding, but arm in arm they staggered on, trying to\nkeep at right angles to the blasts. Ralph was rapidly becoming numb for\nhe had donned only comparatively light clothes when they had started\ntheir dash to the plane. Now his feet were dragging and his body chilled\nto the bone. He was half dazed, too, with the desperateness of their\nsituation. With the village perhaps only a few feet away, the wall of\nsnow shut them in as effectively as though they were in another world.\nRalph's feet refused to move and he dropped to the ice, exhausted.\nTim slapped his companion's face, beat his arms and legs, but the\naviator's mind refused to respond and he lay helpless. Struggling with\nhis friend, Tim finally managed to swing his body over his shoulders and\nhe staggered slowly on through the swirling snow. His double burden was\nsapping his strength and his feet were like lead. The end was near. He\ncould hardly put one foot ahead of another.\n\"One-two, one-two, one-two.\" Slowly his feet obeyed the command, then\nrefused, and he pitched forward, pinned to the ice by Ralph's body.\nThey might have been centuries on the ice for all Tim and Ralph knew,\nbut when they came to, they were in the radio station, clothing off and\ntheir bodies undergoing snow massages. Neither one had suffered much\nfrom the effects of the experience although the Eskimos had found them\njust in time. Nervous exhaustion more than anything else had been\nresponsible for their collapse on the ice.\nThe wind and snow raged for three days, and during that time Tim and\nRalph spent their hours in sleep and stowing away plenty of good food,\nfor the experience in the storm had warned them that they must have\ntheir bodies as well as their minds on edge if they hoped to succeed on\ntheir flight over the top of the world.\nBy the fourth day the skies had cleared, although the cold was intense.\nAs soon as they could get into their clothes, Tim and Ralph headed a\nparty across the ice, anxious to discover what damage the storm might\nhave done to the plane. The tarpaulin-covered ship looked like a model T\nsnow house but when they had removed the snow and the heavy canvas\ncovering, they found the plane intact. The strong wind had swept snow\nclear of their runway and after warming up the motor and giving it a\nfinal test, they were ready for another attempt.\nEskimos were dispatched to the village to bring compasses and extra\nclothing while Tim and Ralph satisfied themselves that the plane was in\nperfect condition. When the party from Point Barrow returned, they\nbrought two messages from the radio station. One was that weather\nconditions were as near perfect as possible and that the storm which had\nraged for three days had passed down into the Hudson Bay country.\nThe other message was from their managing editor.\n\"Eyes of the entire world on your daring attempt. Our every wish for\nyour success.--Carson.\"\nThe message cheered both flyers for they well knew the dangers they were\nabout to face.\nTim installed the compasses, unrolled his charts and checked them again\nwhile Ralph idled the motor and then ran it up and down the scale with\nnever a miss.\nThey were ready. The Eskimos jerked the chocks out from under the skis,\nand the trim little monoplane shot down the smooth runway, bound on one\nof the most daring flights in the history of aviation!\nThe plane skimmed over the ice for nearly half a mile, then shot upward\nin a joyous goodbye to the little group on the ice.\nTim and Ralph smiled at each other. At last they were off the ice, in\nthe air, and started on the 2,200 mile flight over the roof of the\nworld--a flight that was to carry them across the heart of the Arctic,\nacross areas never before seen by the eyes of man. Just what the hours\nahead of them held in store they could only guess. Tim hoped that the\ntrip would reveal the age-old secret of the Arctic, whether a hidden\ncontinent existed in the land of ice and snow. Ralph hoped that the\nplane would carry them through to King's Bay, Spitzbergen, their\ndestination.\nThe pilot kept the stick back until they reached 6,000 feet and then\nleveled off on their course. The motor was running smoothly, even though\nthe thermometer outside the cockpit windows registered 40 degrees below\nzero. Underneath them, their shadow was flitting over the rough, broken\nice pack at 110 miles an hour. For two hours they roared steadily\nonward, with only an occasional word, Ralph handling the stick and Tim\ncarefully checking their course, for a variation of one degree would\nmake them miss Spitzbergen, scarcely more than a tiny dot of an island\non the other end of their long course.\nThey were far out on the Arctic ice pack and Tim kept a careful check of\nhis charts while he scanned the rolling sea of ice beneath them for\ntraces of the fabled Arctic continent. At 6,000 feet they had a\nvisibility of 200 miles and he secured some marvelous pictures. For\nanother two hours they forged steadily ahead, conversation at a minimum,\nalthough Ralph chewed enthusiastically on a cud of gum.\nTim estimated that they were nearly 500 miles from Point Barrow when\nthey sighted storm clouds far ahead. Great, rolling banks of clouds were\npiling up over the horizon as the speedy little plane roared on its\neastward flight. The air was growing colder and Ralph revved the motor\nup in an attempt to climb above the approaching storm, but fast though\nthe sleek, gray monoplane climbed, the clouds climbed faster, and,\nfinally, with a shrug of his shoulders that meant more than words, Ralph\nglanced at his chart and compasses and headed into the storm. Snow and\nwind buffeted them and the compasses swung wildly as the plane gyrated\nin the air. For half an hour Ralph fought the controls, a half hour that\nwas centuries long to Tim, who had staked everything on the success of\ntheir flight. The clouds thinned and they shot out again into clear\nweather. The storm had swung them nearly 50 miles further south than\nthey had intended, and Ralph turned the plane northward again. Although\nthey were cutting across the heart of the Arctic, they would not pass\nover the North Pole, since the only purpose of the flight was to\ndiscover whether there was hitherto unknown land in the Arctic.\nFor hours they droned onward, both young adventurers busy at their\ntasks. Mile after mile of ice, some of it smooth as glass, other\nstretches rough and hummocked and sometimes shot with long streaks of\nopen water, unfolded under their eyes. They were flying very high, up\nnearly 10,000 feet, and the visibility was unusually good. But still\nthere was no land. Only ice and water and more ice. Tim snapped\nmagnificent panoramas of ice and snow that would thrill thousands of\nnewspaper readers if they succeeded.\nThe cold was bitter but with the motor functioning perfectly neither Tim\nnor Ralph noticed it. Once in a while they shifted positions to rest\ntheir tensed bodies and their conversation was in shouted monosyllables.\nSuddenly Tim's elbow went into Ralph's ribs and one heavily gloved hand\npointed to the hazy outlines of land far to their right. Ralph nodded\nand grinned.\n\"That's Grant land,\" shouted Tim. \"Means we've passed over the heart of\nthe Arctic without finding land. The big job's done. Now all we've got\nto do is keep on until we reach Spitzbergen.\"\nThey had flown over the top of the world and definitely proved that the\nfabled Arctic continent was just that--a fable.\nThe northern end of Grant land rapidly assumed definite proportions\nwhile Tim completed his log of their flight over the heart of the\nArctic.\nThere was more open water below them now and the lines on Ralph's face\ndeepened, for a forced landing would mean sure disaster. Grant land\nslipped away beneath them as they pushed steadily eastward while far to\nthe south the mountains of Greenland were rearing their white-crested\nheads.\nTim went back in the cabin to check up on their gasoline supply, for\nthey were still nearly 600 miles from Spitzbergen. He had just completed\ntesting the tanks when a shout from Ralph made him hurry back to the\npilot. There was no need for words. Far ahead, probably 300 miles away,\nanother storm was brewing.\nTim debated only a moment before he turned to his pilot.\n\"It's up to you, Ralph,\" he yelled in his companion's ear. \"We can buck\nthe storm or turn back and land at Grant land. Plenty of game there to\nkeep us alive and if we can't get the plane off the ice again, we can\nwalk to the station of the Northwest Mounted Police at Bache peninsula.\"\n\"I'm not going to do any walking in this temperature,\" shouted Ralph.\n\"It's Spitzbergen or curtains for me,\" and he turned back to his\ncontrols.\nThe next two hours were an agony of suspense for Tim and Ralph. Ahead of\nthem the storm clouds loomed higher and higher and half an hour before\nthey reached the storm area, the wind was teasing their plane. But there\nwas no turning around now; only straight ahead for their gas was too low\nto risk a flight back to Grant land.\nInto the heart of the storm they flew; both white faced and tense as\nthey faced the final ordeal of their great flight. The gale tossed their\nplane through the clouds and driving snow beat on the wings and against\nthe windows of the cabin. Both men were watching the clock on the\ninstrument board, with Tim making anxious trips to the gas tanks. Their\nfuel supply was running dangerously low.\nIf only the storm would abate so they could get their bearings. The same\nprayer was in the minds of both and whether it was an answer or flyer's\nluck, the clouds lightened a few minutes later and during a lull in the\nstorm, Ralph sent the plane rocketing downward.\nAt the 1,000 foot level he checked their descent and through the now\nthinly drifting snow they could discern a savage, broken line of cliffs\nrearing their heads above the ice pack. Further back were the outlines\nof a mountain range.\nSpitzbergen. Tim let out a shout of relief and Ralph gave the motor the\ngun in an attempt to find a suitable landing place before the storm\nclosed down again. They shot low over the coast line, but the clouds cut\ndown their visibility and it was impossible to see more than a mile in\nany direction. Ahead of them the mountains disappeared in the clouds.\nRalph circled desperately, motor thrumming wildly. Finally he found a\nsmall, level snow field, well down in an ice valley. It was risky but\nwith the storm and the gas supply nearly exhausted, a landing was the\nonly thing. The pilot banked swiftly, cut his motor, straightened out\nand then drifted down on the narrow field. The skis touched the frozen\nsnow, bounced once, twice, and then carried them smoothly forward. The\nplane stopped under one wing of the little valley, well protected from\nthe storm, which was closing down again.\nHalf paralyzed with cold and fatigue, Tim and Ralph forced themselves\nout of the plane. Hastily, they examined the ship, then dove into the\ncabin for an axe, light steel stakes and ropes. In a short time they had\nthe plane staked down securely and had slipped the heavy canvas cover of\nthe heater over the motor. A portion of their precious fuel went to fill\nthe tank of the heater for if the oil in the motor froze their chances\nof getting into the air again would vanish.\nBack in the cabin of the plane they warmed themselves over their alcohol\nstoves while outside the wind and snow raged at the man-made craft which\nhad slipped through their fingers. Tim opened their supply kit and they\nmunched chocolate and biscuits and topped it off with malted milks made\nfrom melted ice. There had been little conversation, but now that the\nstrain of the long flight was over and they were on land again, their\nlips were unsealed and they discussed the trips and their prospects at\nsome length.\n\"Storm sounds like a regular old norther and that may mean a week,\" was\none of Ralph's laconic contributions.\n\"I'm not worrying as much about the storm as I am about our gas supply,\"\nsaid Tim. \"We've got enough concentrated food for a couple of weeks but\nwe may not have enough gas to get us any place when it does let up.\"\n\"I'm too tired to worry about where we are, gas, food or anything else,\"\nand with that Ralph snuggled down in his flying clothes and was soon\nasleep. Tim adjusted the little stoves, made sure that there was proper\nventilation in the cabin, and was in a sleep of exhaustion in a few\nminutes.\nHow long they slept neither one knew for when they awoke the clock on\nthe instrument board had stopped, but the storm continued in full\nstrength. The temperature was flirting with the 30 degree below zero\nmark but in the enclosed cabin they were comfortable. Despite the\nintense cold and the angry shrieks of the gale, Ralph insisted on\ndodging out to give the plane a \"once over.\" With an inward feeling of\nunrest, Tim watched his companion disappear in the storm.\nSeconds were minutes and minutes were hours while Tim waited for Ralph\nto return. He was on the verge of despair when his chum stumbled through\nthe swirling snow and pitched headlong onto the floor of the plane.\nRalph was shouting and laughing idiotically. Something in his mind had\nsnapped under the terrific strain of the flight and the pounding of the\nstorm.\nAlthough Ralph continued to shout and once in a while screamed in\nterror, Tim realized that he was not dangerous and that the trouble was\nprobably a nervous one. He fixed a cup of hot chocolate and the steaming\nliquid calmed Ralph. Words and phrases became coherent and Tim was\nastounded by the story he pieced together from his friend's rambling\naccount.\nHe couldn't doubt Ralph's story--there must be something behind his\nincoherent narrative--something in the tale of terror that had driven\nhim half mad. But Tim felt that the big thing was to get Ralph calm, to\ngive his nervous system a chance to get back to normal.\nFor endless hours he sat with Ralph, soothing him as some shriek of the\ngale alarmed him. In spite of himself, Tim half expected some unknown\nterror to stalk out of the storm. Could he, too, be losing his senses?\nHe pinched himself and tried to reason that everything was all right but\nback of all the common sense he could call upon was the fact that Ralph\nhad encountered something far beyond the ordinary. Whatever it was, Tim\nintended to find out as soon as the storm let up.\nRalph finally sank into a deep sleep of nervous exhaustion and a short\ntime later the storm abated. The wind died down rapidly and the snow\nceased its stinging tattoo against the plane. In the gray light Tim\ncould see the dim outlines of the ice walls of the valley which had\nshielded them from the full fury of the elements.\nWith Ralph asleep it was his chance to do a little exploring, and,\nmaking sure that he was ready for action, Tim slipped out of the cabin.\nHe knew that whatever had terrorized Ralph must be close for the flyer\ncouldn't have wandered far in the storm and found his way back.\nTim skirted the right side of the valley and was halfway back on the\nleft side when he came upon a good-sized opening in the ice wall of the\nvalley. For a moment he hesitated. Without doubt it was something behind\nthe black opening which had so upset Ralph. Determined to solve the\nmystery, Tim looked at his rifle again, then started resolutely forward.\nHalf a dozen paces inside the mouth of the cave he halted. There was no\nsound of life--nothing to indicate that some Arctic animal might be\nwaiting to pounce upon him.\nAhead Tim thought the darkness of the cave seemed lighter and he pushed\ncautiously on, testing every foot of the way for fear he might step in\nsome fissure in the ice. The cave was growing lighter. He turned a\ncorner and stopped involuntarily.\nIn spite of himself Tim exclaimed aloud at the horror and beauty of the\nscene that was unfolded before his eyes. Vikings--great giants of\nmen--peered down at him from the prow of their galley, spears in hand,\nready to impale him if he moved.\nFor a minute Tim was motionless. Then he realized that somehow, in\ncenturies long gone, a Viking ship and crew had been caught by the\nrelentless north and entombed by the ice. There they had been for\ncenturies and there they might remain keeping their ceaseless vigil,\nuntil the end of time, unless Tim carried the news of his discovery back\nwith him.\nNo wonder Ralph had been terrorized when he stumbled into the ice tomb.\nLight that filtered through crevices in the roof gave a weird, unnatural\neffect that would have shocked the nerves of even the steadiest man. And\nRalph had already been under a terrific strain.\nTim stood reverently before the tomb of the men of old. It was evidently\nthe forward watch looking down at him for the prow of the vessel was all\nthat was in view. The rest of the strange craft faded into the shadows\nof the ice wall of the cave.\nThe men were physical giants--their crude leather jackets still buttoned\nclose around them to keep out the Arctic cold. Yellow hair peeped from\nbeneath helmets that fitted close to their heads. Long spears were\nclutched in readiness for a foe that never came and eyes stared over Tim\nand into eternity.\nTim spent an hour studying his discovery and mentally cataloging all the\ndetails. What stories he would have when they got back to civilization.\nIn addition to proving that there was no continent in the Arctic, they\nhad found a tomb of the Vikings.\nHe hastily ran back for his camera and exhausted the remainder of his\nsupply of plates taking time exposures in the tomb of the north.\nTim knew that if they could safely complete their flight, they would\nhave some of the greatest news pictures in years.\nWhen he finally returned to the plane he resolved to say nothing about\nhis discovery to Ralph when his chum awoke, rested and with his nerves\nback to normal, Tim was happy to see that his pilot recalled the whole\nincident as a bad dream. Later he would tell him all about it.\nWhile Ralph took off the hood of the heater and inspected the motor, Tim\nbusied himself working out their location.\n\"Not as bad as it might be, Ralph,\" he called. \"I've got it doped out\nwe're on an island just off the west coast of Spitzbergen. King's bay is\nabout 100 miles, air line, and we've got enough gas to make it.\"\n\"Plenty of gas, if we ever get off this excuse for a landing field,\"\ngrunted Ralph. He scrambled into the cabin, threw the switches, and Tim\nswung the propeller. Again and again he leaned on the shiny stick and\nfinally the motor caught with a sputter, then a roar that shrouded the\nplane in a cloud of snow.\nTim hastily chopped away the lashings and helped Ralph swing the plane\naround so it headed toward the coast. Down the center of the valley the\nwind had swept the snow clean and hard, ideal for a takeoff if there was\nroom enough to get the plane into the air before it crashed into the ice\non the shore.\nRalph gave the motor a final test and motioned for Tim to climb in. The\nsong of the motor deepened, reached a crescendo, and they started slowly\nahead, gathering speed rapidly, and, just when it seemed that they would\ncatapult into the ice, they shot into the air. It was an old trick and\nRalph had worked it to perfection.\nWith the motor working perfectly despite their enforced stay in the\nvalley, they headed eastward and in little more than an hour were\nskimming over King's Bay.\nWhen they landed, both adventurers tumbled from their plane and raced\nfor the radio station where they made arrangements with the operator to\nsend their stories to the News as fast as they could be written.\nRalph wrote the story of their flight over the top of the world and\nfailure to discover land while Tim wove his discovery of the Viking tomb\ninto a powerful, dramatic tale that within a few hours was to fascinate\nthe reading public of America.\nThe operator was still busy sending their copy over the ether waves when\nhe stopped for a moment.\n\"There's a couple of messages for you,\" he said to Tim. \"Shall I take\nthem?\"\n\"Go ahead,\" replied the flying reporter.\nThe operator's fingers flew as he copied the messages and then handed\nthem to Tim.\nThe flying reporter's eyes dimmed and his hands shook as he read the\nfirst message, then re-read it to be sure that he was not mistaken.\n    \"To Tim Murphy,\n    Aviation Editor,\n    Atkinson News,\n    King's Bay, Spitzbergen.\n    Heartiest congratulations on wonderful flight and stories.\n    Effective today you are aviation editor of News with Ralph as\n    your assistant.\nTim's heart leaped with joy. Aviation editor of the News! The attainment\nof his cherished goal.\nWith trembling fingers he took up the second sheet of flimsy. The words\ndanced before his eyes; they were almost like a message from another\nworld.\n    \"Congratulations. Your flight was splendid. Am awaiting your\n    return. No fun sky-larking when you aren't around to make things\n    interesting. The score is still 50-50. The next time we meet\n    will be the last for one of us.\nTim kept the contents of the Sky Hawk's message to himself. There was no\nneed to alarm Ralph for he felt that it was a personal matter, but it\ndisturbed him more than he cared to acknowledge. On the verge of what\nshould have been his greatest success, the attainment of the goal to\nwhich he had been striving, the aviation editorship of the News, had\ncome the mysterious message from the Sky Hawk, and Tim promised himself\nthat he would keep himself fully prepared and alive to every emergency.\nTheir return to Atkinson brought a round of banquets and series of\nspeeches at civic clubs. By early fall he was back in the pleasant\nroutine, but this time with a desk of his own and the sign, \"Aviation\nEditor,\" on a small card.\nFor days he watched the news, listened to the gossip at the airport but\nthere was no sign of the Sky Hawk--no sign since the day he had looted\nthe wreck of the mail months before in the fastnesses of the Great\nSmokies. Yet Tim felt that the Sky Hawk was about to strike again and he\nknew that the next time it would be a battle to the end.\nThen the smouldering fires of revolt burst into flame in Mexico. General\nEnrique Lopez, an officer in the federal army, had broken with the\ngovernment and had taken the field against the federals. His army,\nrecruited from the ranks of disgruntled federal soldiers, Yaqui Indians\nand peasants, enjoyed startling success in the first days of the\nrevolution. Then Lopez played his hidden card and bombed Mexico City\nfrom the air.\nThe daring of his feat fanned American interest in the revolt and the\nfront pages of the papers blazed with headlines which told of the\nprogress of the revolt.\nYoung airmen, attracted by the high salaries offered by both the federal\nand rebel armies, flocked toward the border, only to be met by the\nstern, hard flying men of the U.S. army's border patrol. There they were\nwarned to turn back or take their chances at being shot down in their\nattempt to fly into Mexico. The majority of them returned but a few of\nthe more daring ran the gauntlet of fire from the border patrol and made\ntheir way into Mexico.\nA few pictures of the fighting between the troops came straggling up\nfrom the border but they were far from satisfactory and so far as could\nbe ascertained, there were no actual photographs of the rebel chieftain.\nWithin a short time American news picture services were offering\nfabulous prices for pictures of General Lopez but the wily rebel leader\nevaded every effort of the photographers. The luckless individuals who\npenetrated through his lines were imprisoned and their plates and\ncameras smashed.\nTim, who had been watching the course of events below the border, was\nnot greatly surprised when, one morning late in August, Carson called\nhim to his desk.\n\"Can you be ready to start for Mexico in half an hour?\" asked the\nmanaging editor.\nTim had halfway expected to be sent to the border but to be asked to get\ninto the interior of the strife-torn country was another thing. But his\nanswer was quick in coming.\n\"In less than that, if it's necessary,\" he said.\n\"I'm not ordering you to go, Tim,\" went on the managing editor. \"It's up\nto you, but it's a great chance for the News to scoop the world if you\ncan get inside Lopez' lines, gain his confidence, and get back here with\nexclusive pictures of the rebel camp. It will be dangerous and your life\nwill be in your own hands.\"\n\"I'll be ready to start in half an hour,\" was Tim's even-toned reply.\nInwardly he was seething with excitement for it was his biggest\nassignment.\n\"I was fairly sure you would go,\" smiled Carson, \"but I don't want you\nto take an unnecessary risk. I've had your equipment ordered, a high\nspeed camera, and plenty of plates for the long distance shots. In\naddition, we have a small pocket camera that may come in handy if they\nseize your big machine. Here's plenty of money for expenses on the first\npart of the trip and we'll authorize the bank at Nogales, Arizona, to\nhonor your checks for any amounts that you may need.\"\nTim had turned away from the managing editor's desk to tell Dan Watkins\nof his big assignment when Carson called him back.\n\"I think you ought to know,\" he said, \"that if you get those pictures we\ncan sell the national rights on them to a news picture service. That\nwill mean several thousand dollars and I'll see that you get a fair\nshare if you succeed.\"\nDan, at the copy desk, was enthusiastic, but he cautioned Tim to be\ncareful.\n\"We'll miss you, Tim, and will be looking for your return,\" he added as\nthey said goodbye.\nTim hurried to his room, gathered the few essentials he would need for\nthe trip, and drove out to the field. There he inspected the cameras and\nmade sure that everything was in readiness for the long flight. It would\nbe a good 1,000 miles to Nogales, on the border, and another 200 miles\ndown into the mountains of Sonora before Tim could hope to come in\ncontact with the rebel forces.\nConfident that he had all the equipment necessary for his hazardous\nundertaking, Tim swung into the cockpit of the Good News. The motor was\npurring impatiently, as though the plane sensed its mission and was\nanxious to be clear of the ties that kept it earth-bound.\nThere were hasty last-minute farewells and then Tim sent his plane\ndusting over the field and into the air. He was away on his biggest\nassignment--that of securing pictures of the leader of the Mexican\nrevolt.\nThe trip to Nogales was uneventful and Tim took two days to cover the\n1,000 miles, landing at the border city shortly before noon on the\nsecond day. He circled over the airport while one of the ships of the U.\nS. army border patrol took off and climbed to have a look at him.\nWhen the pilot of the army craft saw the sign on Tim's plane, he waved a\nfriendly greeting and sped away into the east on his lonely patrol.\nTim soared down out of the cloudless sky and brought the Good News to a\nstop on the brown, sunbaked field at the edge of the city. He went\nthrough the usual formality of registering his plane and his credentials\nwere accepted without question.\nBefore he left the field to run into the city for lunch, an incoming\nplane attracted his attention. It was one of the border patrolmen,\nflying fast and low. The machine made a dizzy sideslip and broke one\nwheel in landing but the pilot managed to check its wild course and\nbrought it to a halt before it crashed into one of the hangars near the\nmain office.\nTim was one of the first to reach the plane and helped pull a\nwhite-faced flyer from the cockpit. The army man had been shot through\nthe right shoulder and his arm hung limp and useless. He had managed,\nsomehow, to land with only one hand on the controls.\n\"What happened, Kennard,\" demanded Captain John Talbot, commandant of\nthe Nogales field.\n\"Ran into a chap trying to cross the border,\" replied Lieutenant Ned\nKennard, \"and he decided to shoot it out with me. You'll find what's\nleft of him about twenty-five miles west of here.\"\nTim pieced the story together and secured enough material for a dandy\nyarn on the first airplane battle along the border. He hastened into\ntown to the telegraph office where he filed a 1,000 word story to the\nNews. When he returned to the field after lunch he found a message from\nCarson, congratulating him on the story. Tim's yarn had been much more\ncomplete than the story carried on the press association wires and had\nreached Carson's desk two hours before it came through the regular\nchannels. It had enabled the News to score a clean beat on their rival\nafternoon papers in Atkinson on the big story of the day.\nTim was forced to wait a few minutes before he could obtain an interview\nwith the commandant of the field. When he finally entered Captain\nTalbot's office, he received a cordial greeting.\n\"I understand you want permission to cross the border and hope to get\npictures of Lopez and his rebel camp,\" said the commandant.\n\"That's right,\" said Tim, \"and I'll appreciate all the advice and help\nyou can give me.\"\n\"Then my advice is don't go,\" replied Captain Talbot. \"General Lopez is\na thoroughly capable military man but his chances of success are slim.\nEven now he has been driven into the mountains of Sonora and only his\nair force of a dozen planes has saved him. He may have to make a break\nfor the international border almost any day and he doesn't want his\npicture broadcast. As it is now, I haven't any idea what he looks like\nfor we have no photographs. But if you succeed in your mission he will\nbe recognized instantly at any border post.\"\n\"Do you think the revolution Lopez has started is justified?\" asked Tim.\n\"No, I don't,\" said Captain Talbot, emphasizing every word. \"I've been\non the border for ten years now and I know Lopez is nothing more than a\nbandit, and not a very high class one at that. He's using the revolution\nas a guise to rob banks, loot towns and generally blackmail all of the\nbusiness interests in the territory which he controls. It's simply\nbanditry on a wholesale scale and when he gets his pockets filled, he'll\nslide across the border and leave his subordinates to face the federal\nfiring squads.\"\n\"Nice sort of a fellow, isn't he?\"\n\"Yes,\" said the military man. \"Nice when you have him in front of you\nwhere you can watch him every minute.\"\n\"I've been assigned to get pictures of Lopez and that's what I'm going\nto do,\" said Tim. \"It looks like I may be helping a lot of poor fellows\nif I do get those pictures and spread Lopez' likeness all over the front\npages.\"\n\"I don't envy you the task. You're putting your head in the lion's mouth\nand you'll be so far down in Sonora that we won't be able to help you.\nIf you were only ten or twelve miles across the border, we might help\nfor we stretch the boundary once in a while when our people get in\ntrouble,\" said Captain Talbot while a slight smile played around the\ncorners of his mouth.\n\"I might as well make plans to start first thing in the morning,\" said\nTim, \"and if you'll lend me a bucket of dope, I'll paint out the sign on\nthe side of my plane. It would be fatal to go barging into Mexico with\nthat kind of an identification for everyone to shoot at.\"\nCaptain Talbot agreed to let Tim have all the material he needed and\nalso assigned a mechanic to help him. By late afternoon the Good News\nhad been completely disguised and some fake bullet holes, to indicate a\nclash with the border patrol, were made in the wings and the fuselage.\nTim had decided on the role he would play. He intended to stake the\nsuccess or failure of his plan on a bold approach of Lopez' camp, where\nhe would present himself as a free lance flyer ready to join the rebel\ncause.\nThe next morning Tim secured the latest information on the whereabouts\nof the rebel chieftain and found that Lopez was near Cedros, three\nhundred miles south of the border and well into the mountains of Sonora.\nFrom that guarded retreat he was directing his army while his flyers\nmade raids on the federal troops who were massing for an attack on his\nmountain stronghold.\nWith the good wishes of the border patrolmen ringing in his ears, Tim\ntook off from the field at Nogales and headed south, following the line\nof the Southern Pacific of Mexico. For a hundred miles he followed this\ncourse, then angled southeast. In a little more than two hours and a\nhalf he was well into the mountains, and according to his map, should be\nnearing Cedros, the village where Lopez had established his\nheadquarters.\nA sharp droning caught Tim's attention and he turned to find a black\nmonoplane bearing down on him. Twin machine guns, mounted on the\ncowling, were belching tracer bullets in his direction. One thing sure,\nLopez' watchdogs of the clouds were on the alert.\nTim had no intention of being shot down and although he was confident\nthe Good News could outrun and out-maneuver the other plane, he\nconcluded he might just as well start his little game. He gripped the\nstick between his knees and held his hands above his head as the other\nplane overhauled him.\nThe pilot of the black craft stopped his chattering guns and motioned\nfor Tim to precede him through a gap in the mountains. In less than five\nminutes they were over the sheltered valley where the village of Cedros\nnestled close to the mountain-side. It was an ideal retreat for the\nrebel chieftain, practically inaccessible to the federal troops and\neasily defended from the air.\nTim, obeying orders from the other pilot, landed in a small field a\nshort distance from the village. He shut off his motor and waited for\nhis captor to approach. The pilot of the black monoplane was a chunky\nlittle man with fiery red hair and watery blue eyes.\n\"What are you doing down here?\" he demanded, as he came up to Tim's\nplane. He carried a revolver strapped to his waist but made no motion\ntoward it. \"You're nothing but a youngster,\" he added.\n\"I'm looking for General Lopez,\" said Tim. \"I heard he was paying good\nmoney for flyers.\"\n\"You've found Lopez all right,\" said the other airman. \"This is his\nheadquarters and unless I'm mistaken, he's hot-footing it down here\nright now. You'd better tell a straight story or he'll make you wish you\nwere never born.\"\nTim saw a pudgy, brown-skinned little man in a khaki uniform with an\nabundance of gold braid, strutting down the road that bordered the\nfield. Trailing him were half a dozen officers of nondescript rank.\n\"Better climb down,\" muttered Tim's captor.\nThe flying reporter slid out of his plane and lounged against the\nfuselage, as he watched the approach of the rebel leader. So this\npig-eye lump of a man was the leader of the revolution. Tim felt a surge\nof disappointment for Lopez was anything but what he had pictured him.\nTim had visualized a tall, clean cut man with a forceful personality and\nhe felt cheated at what he saw.\nAs the general approached, Tim's captor drew himself to attention and\nsaluted. Tim thought it might make a good impression if he did likewise.\nHis hunch was right for he saw a flash of pleasure in the eyes of Lopez.\nThe general wasted few words.\n\"Who is this man?\" he demanded of the other flyer. The pilot of the\nrebel plane told how he had sighted Tim and brought him to Cedros. He\nadded that Tim had told him he hoped to join the rebel air force.\nLopez turned on Tim.\n\"So,\" he said, \"you wish to join us.\"\nTim nodded.\n\"Who are you and where do you come from?\" The words cracked through the\nair like a whiplash and Tim was startled by the forcefulness of the\nquestion but he had planned carefully for just such a moment.\n\"I'm Tim Murphy of Blanton,\" he replied, \"and out for anything that\npromises good pay.\" Tim had decided to use his own name but not that of\nhis home town.\nLopez was appraising him through half-closed eyes and Tim felt them\nboring into him, searching for something false in his appearance.\nWhatever the rebel chief's shortcomings might be, he was a man of\ndecision.\n\"You can join us,\" he said, \"at $200 a week, but one bad move and--.\"\nLopez did not complete the sentence for a plane careened through the gap\nin the mountains and settled down swiftly on the field.\nTim, who was busy surveying his new surroundings, paid little attention\nto the newcomer until the pilot climbed out of his cockpit and took off\nhis helmet.\nThen he found himself staring into the eyes of Daredevil Dugan!\nBefore Tim had time to speak or motion Dugan to silence, the daredevil\nwas striding toward him, hand outstretched.\n\"How's the flying reporter of the Atkinson News?\" he cried.\nTim looked about him quickly. There wasn't a chance in the world for an\nescape. He'd have to face the music and he wondered if Dugan's words had\nbeen intended to get him into trouble.\n\"So!\" the words hissed from Lopez' lips, \"you're a flying reporter.\"\nThere was no use in denying and Tim felt that he might have a better\nchance if he told the truth. Without hesitation, he told who he was and\nwhy he had invaded the stronghold of the rebel chief.\n\"Well, well, well,\" drawled Lopez, \"now isn't that nice of you to come\ndown and see me. I'll be only too glad to pose for you. Suppose you get\nyour camera out and take some pictures.\"\nTim wondered what the rebel's game was but he obeyed the orders and\nsnapped Lopez in half a dozen different poses. The rebel leader's vanity\nirritated him and he would like to have punched his stubby little nose\nbut that would only have spelled more trouble. When Lopez was satisfied\nthat enough pictures had been taken, he turned accusing eyes on Dugan.\n\"And now Mr. Dugan,\" he said in a half whisper, \"I thank you for telling\nme who this man is. He's not going back to the border and neither are\nyou.\"\n\"What do you mean?\" cried the daredevil \"That you're not going back to\nthe border. That's plain isn't it. Both of you know too much now.\nBesides, I never fully trusted you Dugan and this is a good excuse to\nput you out of the way.\"\n\"You can't get away with that,\" cried Dugan.\n\"Oh, I can't? Well, who's to stop me?\" There seemed to be no immediate\nanswer to that question and Tim and Dugan proceeded down the road in the\ndirection of the village, two dirty little soldiers with drawn bayonets\nat their heels.\nWhen they reached the plaza at Cedros, General Lopez ordered them thrown\ninto the village jail, a filthy one-room structure with high, barred\nwindows.\n\"You might have given me a break, Dugan,\" said Tim when the door had\nclanged shut on them. \"There wasn't any special reason for your shouting\nmy name all over the countryside, was there?\"\n\"I'm mighty sorry about that, Tim,\" replied the daredevil and there was\na convincing ring of sincerity to his words, \"I was surprised to see you\nand didn't realize what I was saying.\"\n\"Do you think Lopez will keep us here long?\"\n\"Think? I don't have to think. After what he said back there at the\nfield, it may be curtains for us.\"\n\"He wouldn't dare put us out of the way for good,\" protested Tim.\n\"Yes, he would,\" replied the daredevil. \"Lopez is in a desperate\nsituation. If you took those pictures back to the border he would be\ninstantly recognized when he tried to make his getaway. He'll go to any\nend to keep his pictures from being broadcast all over the U. S. A., and\nespecially along the border.\"\n\"That's just what Captain Talbot of the border patrol at Nogales told\nme,\" said Tim. \"He advised me not to make the trip down here and it\ncommences to look like he was right.\"\n\"Talbot's got some fine flyers,\" said Dugan dryly. \"One of them chased\nme for fifteen minutes when I crossed the border and shot my wings so\nfull of holes I thought I was flying in a sieve.\"\nTheir conversation was interrupted when the door swung open and an\nofficer ordered them to follow him. They were escorted across the plaza\nto the only hotel in the village, a straggling adobe structure where the\nrebel chieftain made his headquarters.\nGeneral Lopez wasted no words when they faced him.\n\"My council of war,\" he began as he pointed to a half dozen grinning\nofficers at his side, \"has decided that you are dangerous to our cause.\nThis man,\" and he pointed at Tim, \"has made a deliberate attempt to\njeopardize my own life, while you,\" and he snapped the words at Dugan,\n\"know too much for your own good.\"\nThe revolutionary leader paused for a moment to give weight to his next\nwords.\n\"Therefore,\" he said slowly, enjoying every moment of the little drama\nin which he was the chief character, \"the council has decreed that you\nshall die at sunrise tomorrow.\"\nTim, raging at the injustice of the whole thing, leaped, forward, his\nfists clenched, but Dugan caught his arms and whispered in his ear.\n\"Easy, Tim, easy. You'll only get a knife in your ribs.\"\nTim could see the truth in Dugan's words and allowed himself to be led\nback to the stinking little building which was dignified by the word\n\"prison.\"\n\"Isn't there any way we can get word to the American authorities?\" asked\nTim.\n\"I'm afraid not,\" replied the daredevil. \"Once a fellow comes below the\nborder he's pretty much on his own and it's up to us to get out of here\nbefore daylight tomorrow. It won't be long before dark and then we'll\nsee what can be done.\"\nTim, restless and angered by the events which had just taken place,\npaced about the room, testing the bars at the windows and kicking the\ndobe walls in an attempt to find some weakness. The idea of facing a\nfiring squad in the morning did not strike him as especially alarming\nfor he had confidence that in some way he and the daredevil would be\nable to make their escape.\nThe shadows of evening were already filling the plaza when Dugan went to\na window and raised a shout for food. A guard ordered him to be silent,\nbut he only increased his clamor until his cries attracted the attention\nof General Lopez, who was taking his evening stroll on the far side of\nthe square.\n\"Provide them with food,\" ordered the rebel leader, \"and see to it that\nit is a good meal for it will be their last.\"\nThe guard muttered under his breath but hastened away to carry out the\ncommand.\nOn one of his restless rounds of the room Tim's foot struck something\nhalf imbedded in the floor. He managed to pull the object free and found\nhimself the possessor of a piece of iron pipe about eighteen inches\nlong.\n\"Look here, Dugan,\" he exclaimed, \"we ought to be able to dispose of Mr.\nGuard with this when he comes with our food.\"\n\"Give it to me,\" said the daredevil, \"I want just one whack at that\nfellow's head.\"\n\"Not on your life,\" replied Tim. \"I found the pipe and I'm perfectly\ncapable of using it. You'll have your hands full if another guard\nhappens along with this chap.\"\nThe guard could be heard returning and Tim took his place behind the\ndoor. His heart beat a trifle faster and he took a fresh grip on the\npipe. He heard Dugan move closer.\n\"There's two of them,\" whispered the daredevil. \"Let them both get\ninside and then use that pipe.\"\nTim heard one of the guards fumbling with the heavy lock, then the\nrattle of the chain, and finally the squeak of the rusty hinges as the\ndoor was swung open. The rays from a smoky kerosene lantern made a\nhalf-hearted attempt to pierce the gloom of their prison and the guard\ncarrying the basket of food stepped into the room, followed by the man\nwith the lantern. Before the rebels had a chance to get their eyes\naccustomed to the gloom, Tim leaped from his hiding place, his arm\nflashing in a quick blow that felled the man with the lantern before he\ncould utter a cry of warning. Dugan caught the lantern as it dropped\nfrom the fingers of the unconscious soldier and Tim lunged ahead, bent\non completing his task.\nThe man with the basket of food half turned. He saw Tim's upraised arm\nbut was powerless to evade the blow. His cry of alarm was cut short and\nhe fell limp into Tim's arms.\nThe whole thing had taken less than five seconds for Tim's two blows had\nbeen fast and true.\n\"Did you crack their heads?\" asked Dugan.\n\"No,\" snapped Tim. \"They'll be all right in a few minutes. We'd better\nget out of here and head for our planes. When they come to or are\nmissed, this hotbed of rebels will be at our heels.\"\n\"Grab a blanket and sombrero from one of those chaps,\" said Dugan. \"It\nwill help us in getting out of the village.\"\nTim threw a blanket over his shoulders and pulled one of the\nhigh-crowned hats far down over his head.\n\"All right, let's go. You lead the way, Dugan.\"\nThe daredevil stepped outside their jail, pulled the door shut, rattled\nthe chain, and then blew out the lantern. \"Just in case anyone might be\nlooking,\" he whispered to Tim. They melted into the shadows, and hurried\nin the direction of the field which served as headquarters for the rebel\nair force.\nThey reached the field unmolested and discarded their blankets.\n\"Better take my plane,\" suggested Tim. \"It's fast and there's plenty of\ngas to get us to the border.\"\n\"Suits me,\" said Dugan. \"The quicker we get away from here the better.\"\nTim climbed into the cockpit and his legs struck something boxlike as he\nswung into his seat. His groping hands discovered his camera. He could\nhardly repress a shout for there was his machine loaded with the\npictures for which Lopez had so arrogantly posed in the afternoon. Tim\nrecalled having seen an officer drop the camera back into the cockpit of\nhis plane. What rare luck.\nTim placed the heavy camera under his seat and turned on the light over\nhis instrument board for a moment to be sure that the delicate gauges\nand his compass had not been tampered. Satisfied that everything was all\nright, he called down to Dugan to hop aboard.\n\"In just a minute, Tim,\" said the daredevil. \"There are a couple of\nplanes here and Lopez may send them out after us when he realizes we\nhave escaped. It will be moonlight in a few minutes and we don't want to\ntake any chances of being overhauled and shot down.\"\nHe slipped away and a moment later Tim heard the sound of a heavy blow\nand splintering of wood. In a few seconds the sound was repeated and\nthen Dugan appeared beside the Good News chuckling.\n\"Neither one of those ships will get into the air tonight,\" he said. \"I\nfound a heavy club and smashed their props.\"\nDugan took his place in the forward cockpit and Tim bent down to turn on\nthe starter. Just then he heard shouts and cries of alarm from the\nvillage and lanterns flashed in the trees that separated the field from\nLopez' headquarters.\n\"Get going, Tim, get going,\" urged Dugan. \"They've found out we've\nescaped. You've got about a thousand feet of level ground ahead. Then\nyou'll have to lift her fast to clear the trees.\"\nTim turned on the starter and it whirred for what seemed an age while\nthe dancing lanterns came closer.\nFinally the motor caught and burst into a roar that reverberated down\nthe valley. There was no time to warm up the engine and Tim opened his\nthrottle and sped his plane down the field.\nFaster and faster they raced while behind them the night was punctuated\nwith crimson stabs of rifle fire as the rebels sent volley after volley\ncrashing in pursuit of the fleeing plane.\nThe motor never faltered and when the trees loomed ahead Tim had plenty\nof flying speed. He zoomed the Good News into the night sky and turned\non his instrument light to get his bearings.\nAhead of him he could discern the gap in the mountains and he roared\nthrough it with his exhaust belching streams of flame.\nTim set his course for Nogales, north by west and settled down for three\nhours of flying. By the time the moon came up, Sonora was far to their\nrear and a few minutes after midnight they circled the field at Nogales.\nThe sound of their motor awakened the field crew and landing lights were\nturned on.\nWhen Tim brought the Good News to a stop, he was greeted by Captain\nTalbot, who had thrown a coat on over his pajamas.\n\"Back already?\" he asked.\n\"Back and with half a dozen pictures posed by General Lopez,\" grinned\nTim.\n\"What!\" exclaimed the army man, who could hardly believe what he had\nheard.\nTim pulled his camera out from under his seat. \"Right here,\" he said,\n\"are half a dozen of first class pictures of Lopez. Let's go into the\noffice,\" he added, \"and I'll tell you all about it.\"\nCaptain Talbot was almost incredulous when he heard Tim's story but the\nplates were absolute proof of his tale.\n\"I'll leave one of the plates with you for your border patrol bulletin,\"\nsaid Tim, \"but the pictures must be kept in strict confidence. Now if I\ncan get some gas I think we'll hop along toward Atkinson. If we can get\naway from here at 1 o'clock we ought to make it there by noon tomorrow,\nfiguring on one more stop for gas and oil.\"\n\"Dugan going to help you pilot on the way home?\" asked Captain Talbot.\n\"Yes,\" said Tim, \"and I'll need the help.\"\n\"I expect you will. I ought to hold Dugan here under arrest but I guess\nhe's learned his lesson and won't go hunting for any more revolutions.\nHow about it Dugan?\"\n\"You're right, Captain Talbot. No more revolutions for mine.\"\n\"If I can borrow a control stick for the front cockpit it will help out\na lot,\" suggested Tim.\n\"I'll have the boys put one in right away,\" said the genial captain.\nWhile the Good News was being made ready for its thousand mile flight to\nAtkinson, Tim wired Carson that he was on his way with the plates and\nwould arrive about noon the next day.\nAt one a. m. Tim and Dugan sped away from the Nogales field and their\nfriends of the border patrol. Dawn found them well on their way toward\nAtkinson and at 11:30 o'clock Tim sighted his home field.\nWhen they taxied up to the apron, Tim found Carson waiting for him.\nThe managing editor had ordered a dark room for developing the plates\nrigged up at the field and in less than half an hour, a complete set of\npictures were on their way to the News office while another set, still\ndamp, were placed on board a special plane to be rushed to Chicago where\nthey were to be placed on the telephoto wires.\nTim had written the story of his adventure while Dugan had handled the\ncontrols and the story of his flight and the pictures of the rebel\nleader were on the front page of the first afternoon edition of the\nNews--a clean beat over every other paper in the country.\nTim was preparing to leave the field when Dugan stopped him,\n\"Can you spare a minute?\" he asked, his voice low and tense. He was\nevidently laboring under great emotion and Tim followed him toward the\nfield and away from the others.\n\"I haven't forgotten how you saved me the day the good will tour ended\nhere,\" hastened Dugan, \"nor what you've done this time and I'll repay\nyou now. You've heard of the Sky Hawk?\"\nTim nodded, waiting for the other to go on.\n\"I know who he is,\" went on Dugan, his voice hoarse from emotion. \"He's\na former German ace, a great flyer, but obsessed with the idea that by\nplundering the air lines he can amass a great fortune and eventually\nattack America from the air. It's a crazy dream--a wild one--but he's\nsure raising hob while he's free.\"\n\"He certainly is,\" agreed Tim. \"Who is it, Dugan?\" He waited for the\nanswer, hardly breathing.\nThe daredevil's lips started to move. Then he glanced toward the sky\nwhere a heavy humming drifted down.\nA plane shot through the clouds, whipped around and headed in for the\nfield. The crescendo of its motor was deafening; conversation was\nimpossible. Dugan screamed something at Tim but the words were\ninaudible. Then he started running along the field in front of the\nhangers.\nTim yelled after him but his words were lost in the storm of noise as\nthe plane skimmed over the field. The flying reporter screamed until he\nthought his lungs would burst. Dugan, running toward the Good News, was\nsprinting directly into the path of the incoming plane.\nThere was a blur of light, a form hurtling through the air.\nThe pilot of the plane leaped from his ship. There was something\nfamiliar in his build--in his stride. When they reached Dugan he was\nbeyond help and Tim stared across the body of the daredevil into the\nhard eyes of Kurt Blandin.\nLater in the day Kurt Blandin stalked into the News office and went\ndirectly to Tim's desk.\n\"Too bad about Dugan,\" he said, but there was no pity in his words. \"I\ndidn't see him until we struck. I'd thought of bringing the air circus\nback here, but I'm not so sure about it now. The accident will give us\nkind of a black eye.\"\n\"You don't seem to be very sorry about what happened to Dugan,\" snapped\nTim, his eyes steely and his lips drawn in hard lines. \"And Blandin, I\ndon't think we want you around here. There are a lot of things you are\ngoing to have to explain. I've got a few suspicions about you that\naren't very pleasant--Sky Hawk!\"\nThe last words fairly ripped between Tim's lips. Tensed, the flying\nreporter watched their effect on Blandin. The head of the Ace air circus\nswayed like a slender reed in the wind, but there was no change in the\nmask-like expression of his face. Perhaps his eyes shifted slightly, but\nthat was all. He laughed, a cold, nerve-chilling laugh that shocked\nTim's finer sensibilities.\n\"You're crazy, Murphy,\" replied Blandin and before Tim could reply,\nturned and hurried from the room.\nFor half an hour Tim remained at his desk, mulling over the events of\nthe last months. Only a few hours before he had been so near the\nsolution--so near to learning the identity of the Sky Hawk. If Dugan\ncould only talk, but Dugan's lips were stilled forever.\nThe daredevil's words about the German ace came back to him and he went\ninto the library in the News building and sat down before a large file.\nSlowly he thumbed through the orderly stack of pictures with their\ndescriptive stories attached. Back through the years he went as he\nrejected first one picture and then another.\nSuddenly he stopped. The picture in his hand was familiar. A face was\nsmiling up at him from the glossy print, a German fatigue cap was set at\na jaunty angle, there was a slight scar over one eye--it was familiar\nand yet unfamiliar. It looked like Kurt Blandin, yet it was unlike Kurt\nBlandin. It might have been Kurt ten years before.\nHastily Tim read the short paragraph of descriptive matter attached. The\npicture in his hand was that of Max Reuter, one of the greatest of\nGerman aces, who had been brought down behind the Allied lines just\nbefore the close of the war. Shell-shocked, Reuter had been held in a\nprison camp until the close of the war and then released.\nThe clipping told little more of importance, but to Tim it had provided\na world of information. The whole puzzle fitted together. Dugan's story,\neven without him, was complete, and he hurried from the library and\nstarted toward the municipal airport.\nTim had a premonition of danger and when he reached the field was not\nsurprised to see Hunter run toward him the minute he came through the\ngate.\n\"Tim, Tim,\" cried the field manager. \"The Sky Hawk has struck! He's\nwrecked our eastbound express plane and looted its cargo!\"\n\"Where?\" asked Tim with a numbness of heart that seemed to weigh him\ndown.\n\"East of Montour. The report just came in. It couldn't have happened\nmore than an hour ago. Ralph's over on the line now warming up your\nship. Will you help us out?\"\nTim nodded, hastened into the office for a suit of coveralls and in five\nminutes was speeding west. Less than an hour later they were scudding to\na landing on a field where the remains of the eastbound express were\nonly a blackened heap.\nIt was a simple story. The country was sparsely settled. A forced\nlanding by the plane, a pounce by the waiting Sky Hawk, a dead pilot, a\nflaming plane with empty express compartments. The marks of the Sky\nHawk's plane were plainly visible in the snow, even his footprints could\nbe discerned. But that was all There were no fingerprints, nothing more\nthan the tracks in the snow. It looked like a hopeless quest when Ralph,\npoking around in the wreckage of the plane, picked up a bit of metal. It\nwas a small piece of copper, corroded, strangely so.\nWithout explaining his action to Tim, he pocketed it and they prepared\nfor the return flight to Atkinson.\n\"Find out anything?\" demanded Hunter who was waiting for them when they\nlanded.\n\"Not much,\" said Ralph, \"but I'm going to ride the westbound plane\ntomorrow morning. Maybe we'll know more then.\"\n\"What's this theory about the Sky Hawk you're working on?\" asked Tim\nwhen they were alone.\n\"It's hardly a theory,\" admitted Ralph. \"A hunch maybe, but not a\ntheory. Look at this.\"\nHe pulled the chunk of corroded copper from his pocket.\n\"It's one of the cabin fittings,\" said Tim recognizing the piece from\nthe wrecked plane, \"but what of it.\"\n\"Nothing much,\" replied Ralph, \"except it holds the secret of the Sky\nHawk's power.\"\n\"What! You're crazy.\"\n\"No, I'm not crazy. It's as plain as day. You wait and see.\"\n\"I'll wait, all right,\" agreed Tim. \"Either you're awful bright or I'm\nawfully dumb. But this is your show. You must have a good idea of how\nthe Sky Hawk is bringing down these planes. Here's luck.\"\nThe next morning found them at the field, ready for the departure of the\nwestbound express. Hunter, worried and anxious, was on hand. Every plane\nwhich the Sky Hawk destroyed meant a loss of $25,000 and he could see a\nyear's profits gone in a week unless someone solved the secret of the\nSky Hawk's power.\nTim was warming up the Good News but turned for a final word from Ralph.\n\"Fly high and keep well behind us,\" instructed his chum. \"If anything\ngoes wrong with our ship, cut your motor, listen for the hum of another\nplane, but don't try to follow it. Beat it for the ground and pull\nwhat's left of us clear of the machine.\"\n\"And don't,\" he added as an after thought, \"dive through any queer\nlooking clouds which may be near our plane if we're struck down.\"\nWith that Ralph hurried into the cockpit of the waiting express ship\nwhere he crowded in beside the pilot. In another minute both planes were\nwinging their way into the west, the motors barking in the cold winter\nair.\nThe trip was uneventful and four hours later the planes roared down on\nthe snow covered field at Lytton, the western terminal of the\ntranscontinental's southwestern division.\n\"Too clear. We need clouds to catch the Sky Hawk,\" was the only\nexplanation Ralph would make when Tim asked him about the trip.\nThe next day Ralph looked at the winter sky, studded with scurrying\nwind-swept clouds.\n\"We'll go with the express,\" he informed Hunter over the phone. \"The Sky\nHawk will strike today and we want to be on the job.\"\nRalph lapsed into a grim silence as Tim and the pilot of the express\nship prepared their planes for the takeoff on the eastbound trip. Within\na few hours, perhaps minutes, the Sky Hawk would strike again. Just\nwhere and how he could only guess. He was pitting his nerve and brains\nagainst the craft of a master crook. The decision was in the balance.\nRalph conferred with Tim for a moment before he crowded into the cockpit\nof the express plane. Then the two ships whirled over the snow and into\nthe air.\nAn hour, two hours elapsed and the planes were speeding over the\ndesolate Rock river country.\nTim, above and behind the mail, suddenly saw the express plane wobble\nunsteadily and then drop away in a sickening dive. Remembering the\ninstructions Ralph had given him, he cut the motor of his own craft, and\nglided noiselessly through the broken clouds. He thought he heard the\nfaint hum of a motor--a higher pitched note than that of the express\nplane's engine. It was gone in a second and he turned his attention to\nthe express plane, fluttering helplessly toward the ground.\nWith motor on full, he crashed downward through the clouds in a\nscreaming power dive. Every strut on the Good News shrilled its protest\nbut he held the nose down. He must reach the ground with the express;\nmust be able to help Ralph and the express pilot if they needed his\nassistance.\nThe express was limping toward a small clearing and Tim, now under it,\nleveled off and made a fast landing. A ground loop slowed his speed and\nhe was running toward the express plane when it banged down into the\nsnow, its landing gear crumpling as the pilot made clumsy attempt to\nland. The plane flipped over on its nose and a figure was thrown clear\nof the wreckage.\nTim reached the limp form on the snow. It was Ralph! But there was no\ntime to ascertain how badly his chum was injured. There was a sizzling\nflash, a roar, and the motor of the express was enveloped in a mass of\nflame. Tim plunged on and under the overturned fuselage. There, still\nstrapped in his seat, he found the unconscious pilot. With anxious hands\nhe unfastened the safety belt and dragged the man away from the flaming\ncraft.\nWhen he returned to Ralph, he found his chum gasping for air but\notherwise unhurt. Together they worked to bring the express pilot back\nto consciousness.\n\"What happened?\" demanded Tim.\n\"The Sky Hawk almost got us,\" said Ralph, his voice husky and unnatural.\n\"Another ten seconds and our goose would have been cooked. Here, let's\nget this chap in the Good News. We've got to get him to a doctor quick.\nI'll tell you all about it on the way to Atkinson.\"\nWhen they were safely on their way to the home field, Ralph explained\nwhat had happened.\n\"He gassed us,\" he said simply. \"That's the secret of his power to send\nplanes and pilots to their destruction. He only strikes on cloudy days\nwhen he can hide in the clouds. Just before his intended victim comes\nalong, he releases the gas in the clouds. The unsuspecting pilot runs\nright into the gas and puff! That's all there is to it. Simple, isn't\nit?\"\nTim was speechless with the horror of the Sky Hawk's method.\n\"Simple, yes,\" he managed to say, \"but terrible.\"\n\"I'll admit that,\" grinned Ralph, and after tomorrow, if the weather's\ncloudy, there won't be any more Sky Hawk.\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\"That we'll get the Sky Hawk. Now that we know his methods, we have the\nupper hand. This terror of the skies is about at the end of his string.\"\nWhen they landed at Atkinson a doctor quickly brought the express flyer\nback to consciousness although he was rushed to a hospital for treatment\nto check the ravages of the gas which he had breathed. Ralph had been\nlucky and the slight whiff he had gotten had knocked him out only\ntemporarily with no lasting danger.\nThey reported to Hunter, studied the weather forecasts for the next day,\nand completed their simple preparations for the capture of the Sky Hawk.\nThe morning edition of the News carried a carefully worded story how a\nspecial plane was to leave Atkinson that morning on a dash across the\nplains with a heavy shipment of specie needed by a bank at the western\nterminal of the division. The $1,000,000 plane, the paper called it.\nWhen Tim and Ralph wheeled the Good News from the hangar that morning, a\ntruck was coming through the main gate with uniformed policemen on the\nrunning boards. It was the work only of a minute to transfer the two\ndummy specie chests, heavy iron-bound boxes, from the truck to the cabin\nof the Good News. They were leaving nothing to chance for the Sky Hawk\nmight have accomplices on the field.\nAfter a word with Hunter, Tim gunned the motor of the Good News and they\nraced across the field and into the air in quest of the Sky Hawk. Both\nboys were concentrating on the task ahead.\nWhen they neared the Rock River country Ralph nudged his companion.\n\"Better put on the gas masks,\" he warned. \"The clouds are heavy ahead of\nus; just the place for the Sky Hawk.\"\nThey donned the gas protectors, ready for the Sky Hawk to strike. Ahead\nof them loomed a cloud, grayish-green in color.\nRalph signed for Tim to cut the motor. They soared silently. To their\nright and ahead of them they could hear the sound of another plane. Tim\nturned on his motor and ruddered hard to the right. All around them were\nthe grayish-green clouds of gas. The Sky Hawk had laid a careful trap\nfor the specie plane.\nSuddenly they broke through the clouds. Just ahead of them a sleek,\nblack monoplane was loafing in the sky. Its pilot, startled at the\nsudden appearance of the Good News, was caught unawares, and they were\nalmost on him before he could rev up his motor.\nAs they roared down on the monoplane, they caught a glimpse of the\npilot, his face covered with a hideous mask to protect him from the gas\nclouds which he had scattered through the sky.\nIt was the Sky Hawk, the terror of the airways!\nWith quickening pulse, Tim set himself to the task of riding the Sky\nHawk to earth. He knew his plane was faster than that of the aerial\nbandit, but could he match his skill with the enemy and force him to\nearth?\nThere was a puff of smoke under the fuselage of the Sky Hawk's plane and\nanother of the gray-green clouds took form. But Tim and Ralph were\nprotected from the gas and they drove through the cloud in a burst of\nspeed.\nThe Sky Hawk looked around, plainly alarmed. He had evidently believed\ntheir, first appearance pure luck but their escape this time was no such\nthing and the sky bandit realized that he was cornered. He could fight\nor run and either way the odds were against him for the Good News was\ntoo speedy for his craft. The tables were turned on the Sky Hawk. For\nthe first time he found the odds against him and he chose to run.\nIt was a game to Tim's liking and he roared down on the tail of the\nblack monoplane. Both Tim and Ralph were armed but they hesitated to use\ntheir guns except as a last resort.\nOn and on they roared, first zig-zagging to the right, then to the left,\nup, then down, always on the tail of the sky Hawk, driving him ever\nnearer the ground.\nDesperate, the masked bandit in the black plane turned on them and\nbullet after bullet ripped through the air as he blazed away at Tim and\nRalph with a sub-machine gun. It was dangerous work now, but Tim handled\nthe Good News in masterful fashion relentlessly teasing the Sky Hawk\ninto shooting at them when they had him at a disadvantage.\nFinally the sky bandit threw away his gun, his ammunition exhausted. Tim\nsaw the gesture and steeled himself for the end. Whatever its outcome it\nwould come quickly.\nThe Sky Hawk threw his plane into a crazy, twisting climb that\nthreatened to pull the motor out of the ship. Tim outguessed him and\nclimbed two feet to the bandit's one. Two, three, four, five thousand\nfeet they clawed their way into the sky, the Sky Hawk trying frantically\nto escape his pursuers for in the grimfaced flying reporters he could\nread his finish unless escape came soon.\nRalph had put together the tangled webs which put them on the Sky Hawk's\ntrail. Now it was up to Tim to bring about the end of the career of the\ngangster of the airways.\n\"Hang on,\" yelled Tim as he pushed the throttle to the end of its arc.\nThe song of the motor deepened and the Good News quivered as it felt the\nfull power of the 500 horse power engine.\nThe Good News dropped down on the Sky Hawk's ship like an avenging\neagle. It swooped low, ready for the kill.\nCloser and closer came the motor-maddened planes, each pilot intent on\nthe destruction of the other. Then, too late to escape, the Sky Hawk\nguessed Tim's plan but before he could move or throw his plane into a\nspin, there was the crash of wood and the scream of wires.\nHalf of the upper wing of the monoplane crumpled as Tim raked his\nlanding gear through it. The propeller shivered into a thousand pieces\nand the motor raced madly.\nTim and Ralph, peering from their plane, saw the black craft pause in\nmid-air for a moment. In that fleeting second they saw the Sky Hawk half\nrise in his cockpit and rip the gas mask from his face.\nIt was Kurt Blandin and in the anger-marked face Tim recognized the\nlikeness to Max Reuter, the German ace. The mystery was solved, the\npuzzle fitted and Blandin punctuated its completion with a final show of\nbravado as he raised clenched fists toward them.\nThen the black plane fell away in a tight spin. Blandin made no effort\nto escape and a thousand feet above the ground the wings collapsed and\nthe Sky Hawk crashed to his death.\nTim swung the Good News in a great circle, then headed for Atkinson. The\nSky Hawk was gone; the airways were clear once more.", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  Daring Wings\n"},
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1934, "culture": " English\n", "content": "Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed\n                      THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING CO.\n                    THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING COMPANY\nGray clouds of winter hung over the city as the noon edition of the\n_Atkinson News_ roared off the press.\nTim Murphy, famous young flying reporter and aviation editor of the\n_News_, pecked away half-heartedly at his typewriter trying to write a\nstory about a minor automobile accident that had happened a few minutes\nbefore in front of the _News_ building.\nThe raw, damp weather and the lead-colored sky had a depressing effect\non Tim. He felt earthbound, restless, and he longed to soar through the\nclouds in the _Good News_, the trim, fast biplane owned by the paper.\n\"What are you looking so gloomy about?\" asked Ralph Graves, who had been\nTim's flying companion on many an aerial adventure.\n\"This weather is enough to give anyone a grouch,\" replied Tim. \"Here it\nis, almost spring, and we have to get a week of sloppy weather that\nspoils all our plans. That job of overhauling the _Good News_ and\ninstalling the new motor will be done today but it won't do us any good.\nWith weather like this we won't get any flying assignments.\"\n\"I know just how you feel,\" sympathized Ralph, \"Ive been out chasing the\nfire trucks on a couple of chimney fires and I've slopped through all\nthe mud and slush I'm going to for one day. Gosh! But I'd like to hop\nover a few clouds in the _Good News_.\"\nThe telephone on Tim's desk rang and he turned to answer. He was smiling\nwhen he swung back and faced Ralph.\n\"Dash off your copy,\" he said. \"Carl Hunter, the manager at the airport,\njust phoned that the _Good News_ is ready for a test flight. If we cut\nlunch this noon we'll have time for a short hop. What say?\"\n\"Don't ask foolish questions,\" grinned Ralph. He hurried to his\ntypewriter where his fingers were soon beating a tattoo on flying keys\nas he wrote the story of the fires.\nRalph finished his story, turned it in at the copy desk, and was on his\nway to rejoin Tim when a deep rumble shook the building.\n\"Earthquake!\" shouted one of the copy boys as he dove under a desk.\nThe windows rattled in their frames and the entire building shook as the\nterrific noise continued. Then a great pall of black smoke could be seen\nmounting skyward. The building ceased its trembling, the copy boy\nscrambled out from under the desk and the telephones voiced their sharp\ncries.\nTim was the first to answer. From his attitude others in the news room\nsensed some major disaster. The managing editor, George Carson, human\ndynamo of the paper, ran to Tim's desk and leaned close to the receiver.\nHe could hear the words which were being shouted into the transmitter at\nthe other end of the line.\nThe managing editor turned to Ralph.\n\"Run to the composing room,\" he cried. \"Tell them to stand by for an\nextra. The storage tanks on the Midwest Oil Company property west of\ntown have caught fire and are exploding.\"\nRalph waited to hear no more, but ran to the composing room where he\ngave the managing editor's message to the foreman. Then he hurried back\nto the editorial office.\nTim was scribbling a bulletin for the extra with one hand while he\nlistened to the first report of the explosion.\nFive or six men were missing. They might have been caught in the first\nblast or perhaps they had escaped and were too excited to report their\nsafety.\nThe managing editor took the story as fast as Tim could write it, wrote\na new banner line for the front page, and rushed the copy to the\ncomposing room.\n\"Who's talking?\" he asked.\n\"One of the mechanics from the airport,\" said Tim. \"The storage tanks\nare only a mile and a half from the field and he saw the first one let\ngo. A man from the oil company is at the field now and they are getting\nthe story from him.\"\n\"Is the _Good News_ in condition to fly?\" asked the managing editor.\n\"Just got word a few minutes ago she was ready to test,\" replied Tim.\n\"Is it safe to go up on a picture assignment for photos of those burning\noil tanks?\"\n\"If you'll pay for all the paint I scorch off the plane,\" said Tim.\n\"We'll pay for it,\" cried Carson. \"Take Ralph with you and get all the\npictures you can. We'll want them for the city final. And whatever you\ndo, don't let your motor cut out when you're over those burning tanks.\"\n\"If it does you'll have to look for two new reporters,\" chuckled Ralph.\nTim turned the telephone over to another reporter and they stopped only\nlong enough to get a camera and make sure that it had a plentiful supply\nof plates.\nThe editorial office was in an uproar. Carson was shouting orders at\neveryone who came within hearing distance; reporters were running from\nthe room, starting for the scene of the explosion; others were hastening\nto hospitals where injured might have been taken and one was delving\ninto the files to compare the present disaster with fires of other\nyears.\nA heavy pall of oily, black smoke blanketed the city and some streets\nwere so dark the street lights had been turned on.\nTim and Ralph ran to the nearby garage where the cars used by _News_\nReporters were stored. They took the first machine available, a light,\nspeedy roadster. Tim climbed behind the wheel and they shot out of the\ngarage. Traffic down town was in a tangled jam that would take an hour\nto clear for the rumbling explosions from the oil tanks had alarmed the\nentire city. Many people, believing that the city was about to fall on\ntheir heads, had hurried to their cars in an attempt to flee to the open\ncountry. Now they were just as anxious to return to their homes.\nBy sliding through alleys, Tim managed to get to a fairly clear\nboulevard that led to the airport. A light breeze had started to clear\nthe smoke from the air and Tim stepped on the accelerator. The indicator\non the speedometer climbed steadily--forty, forty-five and fifty miles\nan hour.\n\"Look out,\" cried Ralph, \"Or we'll be picked up for speeding.\"\n\"No chance,\" replied Tim. \"All the police are at the fire. We've got to\nmake time if we want good pictures.\"\nTim and Ralph were supremely happy as they sped toward the airport. They\nwere going into the clouds again--into the clouds in quest of the news\nand the pictures. Barely a year before the _News_ had purchased an\nairplane and Tim had been assigned the duties of flying reporter. Ralph\nhad been selected to help and Tim had trained his friend as a flyer.\nTogether they had uncovered some of the biggest stories of the year for\nthe _News_ and their exploits had become exceedingly popular with the\npeople of Atkinson.\nIn their first year of following the sky trails they had flown across\nthe top of the world to prove that the ice and snow of the Arctic did\nnot cover a hitherto unknown continent; Tim had flown down into Old\nMexico and secured exclusive photographs of a rebel leader; and together\nthey had brought about the death of the Sky Hawk, a former German war\nace who had preyed on the air lines of the middle west.\nNow they were off on a new adventure and their hearts beat faster as\nthey neared the airport.\nTo their right great billows of smoke mounted skyward from the burning\nstorage tanks and occasionally tongues of flame could be seen as the\nfire made some new conquest.\nThe airport was just beyond the city limits and its administration\nbuilding and hangars flanked the boulevard. Tim spun the roadster\nthrough the gate and stopped beside hanger No. 5.\nThe broad doors of the hangar had been rolled open and the _Good News_,\nits nose pointed toward the field, was waiting for them.\nThe metal propeller was turning slowly as the engine idled. The fuselage\nhad been painted a brilliant crimson with the wings a contrast in silver\ngrey.\nCarl Hunter, quiet, efficient manager of the field, was waiting for\nthem.\n\"How does the new engine sound?\" asked Tim.\n\"Mighty sweet,\" replied Hunter. \"I haven't had her up for I knew you\nwould want the first flight. However, I gave her a thorough test on the\nblocks and she never missed a stroke. Boy, you've got some plane with\nthat new 250 horsepower radial motor. You'll do 200 miles an hour and\nhave plenty of power to spare.\"\nThey hastened to the plane where Tim and Ralph made a quick but thorough\ninspection. The biplane had been overhauled and re-rigged during the\nwinter with a new, more powerful motor. The _Good News_ would be fifty\nmiles an hour faster.\nThe flying reporters climbed into their cockpits. Ralph, who was to\nhandle the camera, took the forward cockpit and Tim handled the controls\nin the rear one.\nTim opened the throttle and listened attentively as he ran the motor up\nand down the scale. There was never a second's hesitation.\nHunter came close and shouted in Tim's ear.\n\"Don't get too close to the fire,\" he cried. \"The heat will raise the\ndickens with the air and it will be pretty rocky.\"\nTim nodded and motioned for the blocks to be cleared away.\nThe _Good News_ rolled easily out of the hangar, flipped its tail\nsaucily at the few mechanics left at the field, and roared over the\nsoggy ground and into the air.\nTim thrilled to the touch of the controls and the _Good News_ answered\neven to the slightest movement of the stick.\nThe new motor settled to its work in a manner that warmed Tim's heart.\nHe felt that he had reserve power for any emergency as he swung the\nbiplane around and headed for the burning oil tanks.\nTim put the _Good News_ in a steady climb and they gained altitude\nrapidly. At 1,200 feet he levelled off and Ralph got busy with the\ncamera.\nThe oil storage lot, a large tract of level land, was dotted with a\ndozen large tanks. Five of the tanks had caught fire and exploded, the\nforce of the explosion knocking off the steel tops. These tops, like\ngreat black pancakes, had been blown clear of the tract. One of them had\nhurtled down to crush the roof of the house nearest the fire.\nThe walls of two of the tanks had given way and Tim and Ralph could see\nthe firemen fighting desperately to stop the spread of the flames.\nSafety trenches had been a part of the protective system at the tank\nfarm, but some of them had been weakened by the explosion and the\nflaming gasoline was finding the vulnerable spots.\nTim swung the _Good News_ over the blazing storage tanks and even 1,200\nfeet in the air they could feel the heat. The plane danced crazily and\nRalph, who had been leaning far out, clutched the side of the plane and\nshook his fist at Tim.\nThe flying reporter snapped off the throttle and they glided down on a\ngentle incline, as the propeller turned slowly.\n\"Got enough pictures?\" yelled Tim.\n\"Three more plates left,\" shouted Ralph. \"Let's go down where I can get\nsome close ups. Make a run for the fire at about four hundred feet; then\nzoom up just before we get there. That will give us some real pictures.\"\n\"Also scorch all the new paint off the ship,\" protested Tim.\n\"Carson said he'd pay for a new coat,\" Ralph reminded him and Tim nodded\nand snapped on the switches again. The motor roared into action and they\nshot down out of the murky sky.\nAt four hundred feet Tim pulled back on the stick and the _Good News_\nlevelled off. They were a mile west of the burning tank farm when he\nbanked sharply and swung back toward the city.\nThe clouds of smoke, rolling upward, were streaked with vivid flashes of\nflame. Tim chilled as he thought of the fate that would be theirs if\ntheir plane failed to respond to the controls. He forced the thought\nfrom his mind and took a fresh grip on the stick.\nRalph glanced back and smiled. Tim motioned to his own safety belt and\ndirected Ralph to strap himself into the plane. No telling what might\nhappen in the next smoky-flame seared seconds.\nTim pushed the _Good News_ into several tight banks while Ralph strapped\nhimself into the plane. Then they were ready for their picture making\ndash.\nRalph trained his camera and glued his eyes to the sight. It would be a\ngreat action picture, awe inspiring in its power, if they could get it.\nTim, one hand on the stick and the other on the throttle, watched his\nair speed. It was increasing rapidly. Half a mile from the burning tanks\nthey were going one hundred and fifty miles an hour. A quarter of a mile\naway and their speed had increased to one hundred and seventy-five. Then\nthere was no more time to check the air speed. They were going fast\nenough and Tim knew his motor had plenty of reserve power for any\nemergency.\nRalph, in the forward cockpit, was busy with his camera. Two exposures\nof the rolling, mass of smoke and flame were made in the split seconds\nbefore Tim threw the _Good News_ into a steep zoom.\nThe towering pillar of smoke was less than five hundred feet ahead of\ntheir propeller when Tim put the pressure on the stick. The nose shot\nskyward and the _Good News_ danced upward along the outer rim of smoke.\nRalph was ready for the final exposure when a terrific explosion and a\nwave of rag flame and heat tore the heavens asunder. The _Good News_\nleaped upward, bucking like a wild horse. Tim, his eyebrows singed and\nlungs burning from the scorching heat, fought the controls.\nUp, up, up pitched the _Good News_, tossing wildly on the edge of the\ninferno of flame and smoke. The noise of the explosion had deadened\ntheir ears and neither Ralph nor Tim could hear the laboring of the\nmotor as Tim gave it full throttle.\nThe new paint on the wings and fuselage curled and darkened in the heat\nand for a second Tim thought the gasoline tank might explode.\nThen above it all came the sound of a second explosion and the _Good\nNews_ stood up on its tail. Tim was thankful that they had used their\nsafety belts for he was almost thrown from the cockpit.\nOut of the smoke hurtled a great piece of steel. Tim heard Ralph scream\na warning but he was powerless. The _Good News_ was out of control.\nFascinated by the sight of the great projectile which was approaching\nthem with terrifying speed, Tim lived an eternity. Actually it might\nhave been a second, probably it was less.\nThe _Good News_, falling tail downward, missed the deadly piece of steel\nby less than two feet.\nThey were past one danger only to be confronted with another even more\nhorrible to contemplate than the one they had just escaped. Ralph, his\neyes burning in his smoke-blackened face, was looking back at Tim,\ntrusting that the young flyer would be able to pull the _Good News_ out\nof the tailspin.\nWith a last despairing effort Tim crashed his fist against the throttle.\nIt leaped ahead a good inch. It had jammed in the emergency and he had\nnot noticed it. More fuel flooded into the laboring cylinders and the\nmotor, its full power unlashed, lifted them almost vertically into the\nsky.\nWhen they were out of danger and in the cool, clean air, Tim brought the\nnose of the plane down and they headed for the airport.\nThe _Good News_ looked to be ready to take first prize at a fire sale.\nThe entire ship was grimy from the heavy oil smoke and the dope on the\nwings and fuselage was curled and cracked from the terrific heat.\nTim nosed down over the airport and idled his motor as they skimmed to a\nperfect three point landing and rolled to a stop in front of their\nhangar.\nCarl Hunter ran to their plane.\n\"You crazy news hounds,\" he cried. \"I thought you were goners when those\nexplosions caught you. How did you ever get out alive?\"\n\"We'll thank the new motor for saving our necks,\" replied Tim. \"We were\nin trouble, believe me. The throttle stuck and the engine wasn't getting\nall the gas. In a moment of desperation I smashed the throttle with my\nfist and opened it. A second later and we were climbing to safety.\"\n\"Good thing you made me strap myself in,\" grinned Ralph, \"Or you would\nhave lost your passenger when we took that wild west ride.\"\n\"We were mighty lucky to get back,\" said Tim. \"Next time we cover a fire\non an oil tank farm we'll know enough to stay at a safe distance.\"\n\"But think of the great action pictures we've got,\" said Ralph.\n\"I'm thinking of my own neck right now,\" replied Tim. \"When the second\nexplosion came and that piece of steel picked us out for a target I just\nsaid good-bye to everything. While we're passing around the thanks for\ngetting out alive we'll have to include old lady gravity. The _Good\nNews_ was dropping earthward just fast enough for us to escape.\"\n\"We'd better get these pictures to the office so they can use them in\nthe final,\" said Ralph.\n\"You take the camera and the car and go on,\" said Tim. \"I won't be\nneeded at the office for a while and I want to check over the plane and\nsee if it suffered any serious damage. Tell Carson he'll have to okay an\norder for another coat of paint.\"\n\"I'll wait and see how the pictures come out before I tell him,\"\nchuckled Ralph as he got in the roadster and started for the office.\nTim and Hunter went over the _Good News_ carefully, checking every joint\nand strut. Then they gave the motor a thorough test. It was sweet and\ntrue.\n\"A real plane,\" was the field manager's comment when they had completed\ntheir inspection. \"After a test like the one to-day you can count on it\ncarrying you through anything short of a hurricane.\"\n\"I'm not so sure it wouldn't do that,\" said Tim.\n\"We'd better fill up the gasoline tank,\" he added. \"Never can tell when\nwe may get an assignment that will call for another quick getaway.\"\nThey refueled the ship and were rolling it back into the hangar when a\ncar skidded through the gate. The managing editor and Ralph were in the\nmachine and from their haste Tim knew that he would soon be in the\nclouds again on the trail of another big story.\nThe managing editor of the _News_ jumped from the car before Ralph\nbrought it to a stop and ran toward Tim.\n\"Can you start on another assignment right away?\" he asked.\n\"Whenever you say, Mr. Carson,\" replied Tim. \"We've just made a complete\ncheck and the _Good News_ isn't hurt in the least. She's refueled and\nready to go.\"\n\"Then you're heading for Cedar river valley,\" said the managing editor.\n\"Here's the situation. The village of Auburn you took food and medical\nsupplies to last spring when the Cedar was on a rampage is in need of\nhelp again. The river is causing trouble and the worst ice jam in the\nhistory of the country is just above the village. This changeable\nweather has kept the river thawing and then freezing and thousands of\ntons of ice are piling up behind the jam. I want you and Ralph to make a\ntrip there this afternoon, survey the situation, get all the pictures\nyou can, and report to me. When we know the size of the jam we can plan\nto get relief to them.\"\n\"We'll be on our way in ten minutes,\" promised Tim. \"The people at\nAuburn helped me when I was working on the Sky Hawk mystery and I'll be\nglad of the chance to do another favor for them.\"\n\"In the excitement of this new story,\" said the managing editor, \"I\nalmost forgot to tell you how much I appreciate your fine work in\ngetting the pictures of the fire at the oil tanks. I've never seen\nanything like them for action. They were so good we put out an extra\nwith nothing but pictures on the front page. Biggest selling extra ever\npublished in Atkinson.\"\n\"They may prove fairly expensive by the time you pay the cost of a new\ncoat of paint for the _Good News_,\" said Tim.\n\"Hang the cost of the paint,\" exclaimed the managing editor, \"Those\npictures were worth $500 to the paper. Why the one showing that piece of\nsteel hurtling up out of the smoke and flame is the best action picture\never taken.\"\n\"The what!\" said Tim.\n\"The picture showing that piece of steel coming toward you,\" repeated\nCarson.\n\"I'll explain,\" said Ralph, and he turned to Tim. \"We had a lucky\nbreak,\" he continued. \"When that explosion caught us I had only one\nplate left in the camera. In the excitement I snapped the shutter and it\nso happened that the camera was aimed to get that steel plate that\nalmost wrote 'finish' for us.\"\n\"We'll be able to sell that picture all over the country,\" said the\nmanaging editor, \"And I'll see that you boys get half of whatever the\npaper makes on it.\"\nCarl Hunter came out of the administration building to report that the\nweather in the direction of Cedar Valley was fair.\n\"Better get into some heavier clothes,\" he warned, \"For it will be\npretty breezy up there if Tim decides to step on the gas.\"\n\"Our winter flying outfits are all in town,\" said Ralph. \"Guess we can\nmake it this way.\"\n\"I've got some spare clothes,\" suggested Hunter. \"Some of them belong to\n'Tiny' Lewis but they'll keep you warm at least.\"\nThe young reporters laughed at the thought of wearing \"Tiny\" Lewis'\nflying togs. \"Tiny,\" was the exact opposite from his name. He was as\nround as a barrel and not much over five feet six in height.\nThe boys followed Hunter back to the administration building and made\ntheir way to the pilots' room. Hunter opened several lockers and finally\nfound the clothes he sought, heavy fleece-lined coveralls especially\ndesigned for cold weather flying.\nWhen the boys had donned their ill-fitting clothes they looked like a\npair of aerial scare crows for their legs projected awkwardly from the\nsuits, which were far too short for them.\n\"Throw a couple of robes over your legs and you'll be all right,\"\nsuggested the field manager.\n\"Not for me,\" grinned Tim. \"Ralph can bundle up all he wants to but I'm\nnot going to have a blanket tangled around the stick just about the time\nI have to get into action.\"\nWhen the boys returned to No. 5 hangar the mechanics had the _Good News_\nwarmed up and on the line.\nThe managing editor looked at his watch.\n\"Just a few minutes after one-thirty,\" he said, half to himself, half to\nhis star reporters. Then aloud he said, \"You won't be able to get to\nAuburn, snap your pictures and get back here in time for the city final.\nHowever, if you get some good shots we'll put out a five o'clock picture\nextra so step on it all the way.\"\n\"We'll be back in less than two hours,\" promised Tim. \"Wouldn't be able\nto do it with the old motor in the ship, but with this new power unit\nwe'll do 180 an hour steady over and back. The trip is about 125 miles\neach way and with the time it takes for the pictures we'll make it in\ntwo hours easy.\"\n\"Then I'll have the engravers and the composing room stand by for a five\no'clock picture extra,\" said the managing editor. \"This will be a\nred-letter day in the history of the _News_--two picture extras in the\nsame day and believe me, boys, that's what the readers want. Pictures,\naction, and more pictures. Now get going.\"\nRalph lifted his big camera into the front cockpit and settled himself\nfor the trip. He wrapped a heavy robe around his legs for he knew Tim\nwas going to tear loose on the trip to Auburn and even though it was\nmoderately warm on the ground the air at two thousand feet would be\nchilly.\nTim checked his instruments, waved for the mechanics to get in the\nclear, and opened his throttle.\nThe _Good News_ lifted her tail off the muddy field, splattered the\nwater out of half a dozen puddles, and then shot up into her own domain.\nThe new radial motor, tested in flame and smoke little more than an hour\nbefore, leaped to its task and they sped away into the east. Behind them\nthe fire still raged at the oil tanks, but firemen appeared to have\nchecked its spread.\nTim pushed the throttle steadily forward until the air speed indicator\nregistered 175 miles an hour. At 2,000 feet the ground was a dull, gray\ncheckerboard beneath them. In places there were splotches of dirty snow,\na last vestige of winter. Creeks, silver ribbons winding through the\ncountryside, were running bankfull of water. Several times they sighted\nstreams in which the outgoing ice had jammed around some bridge or sharp\ncurve. Behind these jams the stream had spread out until it formed a\nsmall lake. None of them were of major importance but at one bridge half\na dozen men were busy trying to dynamite the mass of ice which was\nthreatening the safety of the structure.\nAs they neared the valley of the mighty Cedar the country became rougher\nand there were fewer fields for an emergency landing. A plane in trouble\nin the valley would have small chance of making a safe descent.\nThey were fifteen miles from Auburn when they caught their first glimpse\nof the river, a great lake stretching for miles up its valley.\nThen they saw the jumbled mass of ice above the village. The towering\nblocks had jammed at a sharp bend in the river and hundreds of tons of\nice, born by the spring freshets, had built a great dam which was\nimpounding the waters of the river.\nThe bed of the stream below the ice jam carried little more than a\ntrickle of water when compared to the usual volume.\nFrom the position of the jam Tim could see that unless the pressure was\nrelieved soon the water behind the ice, spreading out over the valley,\nwould soon creep around the wings of the jam and sweep down on the\nvillage.\nThe _Good News_ slid down out of the clouds and swung over the scene of\nthe impending disaster. The village was practically deserted. Men and\nwomen were at the jam, working side by side in what appeared a futile\neffort to start the thousands of tons of ice moving down stream before\ntheir own homes were destroyed.\nTim guided the _Good News_ up the valley, over the jam, and on up\nstream. The jam of ice extended nearly a half mile above the village.\nThe river above that point, running free, was piling more ice on the\njam, adding to the pressure which hourly threatened to let go and sweep\neverything before it.\nRalph, leaning far over the side of the plane, was busy with his camera.\nHe motioned for Tim to return to the village. There they took pictures\nof the practically deserted town and Tim dropped low enough for Ralph to\nget some good flashes of the men and women working along the edge of the\nice jam.\nJust a year before the villagers had helped Tim when he was on the trail\nof the Sky Hawk and he felt that he owed them a real debt.\nThey gazed upward as the plane sped over them but they did not recognize\nthe scorched, blackened plane as the _Good News_. Tim and Ralph waved\neagerly, but there was no reply. The villagers were weighted down with\ndespair.\nRalph indicated that he had used the last of the plates in the camera\nand Tim swung the _Good News_ into the west. He headed back for Atkinson\nat 180 miles an hour, the motor singing as they shot through the greying\nsky.\nThe clouds were dropping on them and by the time they were half way to\nAtkinson they had a ceiling of less than six hundred feet. Tim tried to\nrise above the clouds, but they were massed solidly. He climbed to the\nfive thousand foot level only to find himself lost in swirling vapor and\nwith the air growing colder every minute.\nIce started to form on the wings of the _Good News_ and Tim realized the\ndanger. The plane was harder to handle, slower to answer the controls.\nRalph sensed the danger of the higher altitude and motioned for Tim to\ndive, but the flying reporter shook his head. He was too experienced an\nairman for a power dive when ice was gathering on his ship.\nTo have nosed the ship down at 180 miles an hour might be fatal for both\nof them. With the ceiling probably down to nothing they would flash out\nof the clouds at high speed with only a few hundred feet of clearance.\nNormally they could get away with it but with the wings weighted down\nwith ice one of them might snap off when he pulled back on the stick. It\nwas too dangerous to risk. He decided to take his time, come down\ngradually, and fight the ice as best he could.\nThe next ten minutes were an hour to Tim as he eased the _Good News_\ntoward the ground. Little by little they lost altitude. The ship was\nloggy now with its burden of ice but he managed to keep it out of a dive\nand they finally levelled off at two hundred feet. Even at that low\naltitude the clouds were brushing their wings but the air was warmer and\nthe ice gradually disappeared from the wings.\nFor a few minutes Tim had been too busy with his own troubles to think\nabout those of the villagers back at Auburn, but the danger of the ice\npast his mind returned to them.\nIt had been plain to him that unless something was done in the next few\nhours the massed ice would give way and march down the valley, sweeping\neverything before it. As towns went Auburn wasn't much to brag about,\nbut its people were friendly and the village was home to them. Tim, an\norphan, knew what it meant to be without a home and he resolved to do\neverything within his means to help the villagers.\nThey roared over the suburbs of Atkinson, sped across the heart of the\ncity, and skidded over the ground to roll to a stop in front of their\nown hangar.\nThe managing editor was waiting for them.\n\"Get the pictures O. K.?\" he cried.\n\"Camera full of the best ice photos you ever saw,\" grinned Ralph as he\neased his cramped legs over the side of the plane and dropped to the\nmuddy ground.\n\"How is the situation in the valley?\" asked the managing editor.\n\"Critical,\" replied Tim as he shut off his engine. \"I never saw so much\nice in my life. The jam is at a sharp bend in the river just above the\nvillage. Thousands and thousands of tons of ice has piled up there and\nthe river is bringing down more every hour. The flow of water below the\njam is practically shut off and it's spreading out above the ice. By\ntomorrow morning the whole thing will let go and that will be the end of\nthe village.\"\n\"What are the people doing?\" Carl Hunter wanted to know.\n\"Everything they can do,\" said Ralph. \"All the men and women are out at\nthe jam, working side by side. I saw them plant several charges of\ndynamite and they might just as well have been five inch firecrackers\nfor all the good it did. There isn't enough dynamite in this part of the\nstate to move that jam. They couldn't get it planted in time.\"\n\"I wish we could do something to help them,\" said the managing editor\nthoughtfully.\n\"If you really want to save the village,\" said Tim, \"I think I've got a\nplan that will work. Listen.\"\nIn a few words he outlined his plan. The managing editor listened\nthoughtfully.\n\"Sounds like it is the only chance of saving them, but you'll be running\na mighty big risk, Tim.\"\n\"I'm willing to take the chance if you'll let me have the _Good News_.\nI'll have to cover nearly a thousand miles before I can really start\nwork.\"\n\"The _Good News_ and anything else you need is yours,\" promised the\nmanaging editor.\n\"Then I'll get ready and start at once,\" said Tim.\n\"Count me in,\" added Ralph.\n\"Not in this first trip,\" said Tim. \"I've got to fly fast and far and\nthe less weight the faster I'll go. When I'm ready to start for Auburn\nagain I'll need you. In the meantime you see that we have at least a\ndozen flares ready to take with us for it will be midnight or later by\nthe time we reach the valley again.\"\nRalph promised to have the parachute flares ready and then followed the\nmanaging editor to one of the _New's_ cars. An extra was being held up\nfor the pictures in Ralph's camera and after all his duty was to the\npaper first.\nTim turned the _Good News_ over to the Mechanics for refueling and went\nover to Hunter's office to get warm and map out the course of his next\nflight.\nThe field manager unfurled a roll of maps and helped Tim check his\nplans.\n\"You're going to get plenty of hours in the air today,\" he grinned.\n\"I know it,\" smiled Tim, \"And only a little more than three hours ago I\nwas grumbling because there wasn't more chance for any flying\nassignments this week.\"\nTim took a ruler and laid out his course, an air line from Atkinson to\nFort Armstrong, the nearest army post. It was a good five hundred miles\nand with certain weather ahead Tim knew that he would have to count on\nthree hours for the flight. He should be at the army post by seven\no'clock. If he allowed himself one hour at the post he ought to be able\nto start back around 8 o'clock. Three more hours and he would be back in\nAtkinson at 11 o'clock. A stop to pick up Ralph, make final arrangements\nand then into the air again for Cedar river valley.\nEvery minute counted and after carefully checking his course Tim hurried\nback to his plane.\n\"Aren't you going to telephone the Fort you're coming?\" asked the field\nmanager.\n\"Carson promised to do that,\" replied Tim. \"I'll need his political pull\nto get the material I need at the Fort. You phone Carson when I take\noff. Have him tell the army people I'll drop in on them about 7 o'clock,\nwind and weather allowing.\"\n\"You'll make it all right, Tim,\" said Carson, \"But look out for ice if\nyou go too high.\"\n\"I had a taste of that coming back from the valley,\" said the flying\nreporter. \"No more of that for me if I can help myself.\"\nEnough gas for a four hour flight had been placed in the tanks of the\n_Good News_.\nThe engine, still warm, caught on the first turn and roared into action.\nTim adjusted the pack parachute Carson had brought from the office,\nsettled himself on his seat, and motioned \"all clear.\"\nWater and mud sprayed from the wheels as the _Good News_ picked up\nspeed. Then it lifted off the heavy field, shook itself free of the mud,\nand climbed the low-hanging clouds.\nThe ceiling was less than five hundred and by this time the afternoon\nwas grey and a sharp breeze was zipping down out of the north. It would\nbe a nasty night for flying over an unmarked and unlighted course.\nTim followed the air mail trail for half an hour and then turned to his\nleft. Fort Armstrong was now almost straight south on an air line. With\nprairie country the flight would have been easy but Tim knew that 200\nmiles out of Atkinson he would run into the Flint hills, a branch of the\nGreat Smoky Mountains which wandered out into the prairie at a most\ninconvenient angle. If the ceiling was low over the Flint hills, he\nwould be in for a nasty half hour of flying.\nThe first hour slid away as Tim roared southward at nearly 200 miles an\nhour. The thunder of his motor roused prairie villages from their winter\nlethargy and stampeded cattle on lonely farms. Occasionally some farmer,\nsurprised at his chores, shook his fist angrily as Tim sailed over the\nchimney tops.\nThe ceiling was still six hundred when Tim sighted the first low ridge\nof hills that marked the Flint range. He had flown over the territory\nonly once before and that time when he was returning the year before\nfrom Old Mexico with exclusive pictures of a rebel leader.\nThe hills were really ridges of rock, rearing their sharp, bleak heads\ninto the air--a trap for any unwary flyer. To crash on those\ninhospitable crags would have meant the end for plane and pilot.\nTim lifted the _Good News_ until his wing tips were brushing the massed\nclouds. Six hundred and fifty was the highest he could go without\nburying himself in the clouds and flying blind, something which he did\nnot relish.\nTim throttled down to half speed as he reached the first ridge of the\nFlint hills. He cleared the tops of the crags by two hundred feet and\nwas congratulating himself when another ridge loomed ahead of his\nspinning prop. The second one bulked higher and beyond he could see a\nthird which buried its head in the low-hanging clouds.\nTim slid over the second ridge and then swung sharply to the right.\nPerhaps he would find a gap in the third ridge which would let him\nthrough. For five minutes he sped along, hunting for some opening that\nwould let him through. He was almost ready to make a blind attempt\nthrough the clouds when he caught sight of a break in the hills. It was\nnot more than 200 feet wide but Tim took the chance, banked the _Good\nNews_ sharply, and dove for the opening.\nThe hills closed in on him and dismal masses of rock on each side waited\nfor him to crash. But he slid through the narrow break and found himself\nagain over the prairie, the hills in the background.\nThe rest of the trip to Fort Armstrong was easy going compared with the\ntask of getting through the hills and Tim sighted the lights of the army\npost at five minutes to seven.\nMarkers on the landing field flashed on when guards heard the sound of\nhis motor and mechanics were waiting to guide his ship into a hangar\nwhen he landed and taxied up the runway.\nTim's body ached from the cold and his legs were stiff and cramped. A\nmechanic reached up and gave him a hand as he clambered out of the\ncockpit.\nAn officer with a captain's bars on his shoulder, strode into the\nhangar.\n\"We were expecting you, Murphy,\" he said. \"Your managing editor\ntelephoned that you were on your way and we've tried to have everything\nready for you. How did you find the Flint hills?\"\n\"They gave me the shivers for half an hour,\" admitted Tim, \"But I\nmanaged to find a gap in the third ridge and got through without burying\nmyself in the clouds.\"\n\"You were lucky,\" commented the army man who introduced himself as\nCaptain John Nugent, in command of the air force at Fort Armstrong.\n\"Better come over to my quarters and get warm and have a snack to eat,\"\nsuggested the army man.\nTim readily agreed for he was chilled to the bone and hungry.\n\"I know you're anxious to start back,\" said Captain Nugent, \"But you'll\nbe more alert if you rest a few minutes and fill up with some hot food.\nI've had my boy keep things hot for you.\"\n\"That's mighty nice of you,\" said Tim, \"And I expect I'll save time in\nthe end if I take a few minutes rest here.\"\nWhen they reached the captain's quarters, the army man insisted that Tim\ntake off his things and enjoy a good meal.\n\"Have you planned your trip back?\" he asked.\n\"Looks like I'll have to try the Flint hills in the dark,\" said Tim.\n\"I've got to be in Atkinson before midnight if my plan to help the\npeople at Auburn is going to work. I'm sure that ice jam will go before\nmorning and if it does it's goodbye to that town.\"\n\"If anything goes wrong with your ship in the hills with the load you'll\nbe carrying, it will be curtains for you,\" said the army man.\n\"I haven't had time to think about that,\" confessed Tim. \"As far as I\ncan see it is the only way to get back in time. I'll have to bore up\ninto the clouds and take a chance.\"\n\"Columbus took a chance and was lucky,\" said Captain Nugent. \"However,\nyou're not Columbus and you've had just about your share of luck for one\nday. Don't tempt fate too much.\"\n\"I won't deliberately tempt fate,\" said Tim, \"But time counts tonight.\"\n\"Would half an hour make a great deal of difference?\"\n\"It might,\" replied the flying reporter.\n\"Half an hour isn't long when it comes to considering your own life.\"\n\"But I must think of the people of Auburn.\"\n\"If you crash in the Flint hills it won't help them.\"\n\"True enough. But what else can I do?\"\n\"Go around the hills.\"\n\"That would take too much time.\"\n\"Not more than an extra half hour,\" countered the army man. \"Look at\nthis map.\"\nThey bent over the map on the table and the army officer pointed out\nwhat he considered Tim's best route for the return flight to Atkinson.\n\"You'll have to swing to the east of the hills,\" he said, \"But your\nflight will be over level country and you'll have a chance if anything\ngoes wrong.\"\n\"I believe you're right,\" agreed Tim. \"The last thing I'm looking for\ntonight is a crack-up.\"\nAn orderly came in to announce that Tim's plane was ready for the return\ntrip.\nCaptain Nugent put on a heavy coat and accompanied Tim to the runway.\nThe _Good News_, outlined in the field's floodlights, was waiting for\nTim, motor idling.\nCaptain Nugent climbed up to the forward cockpit and made a thorough\ninspection of the contents. Satisfied that everything was ship-shape, he\ndropped back to the ground.\n\"You've got an even dozen demolition bombs,\" he told Tim. \"The men\ndidn't have time to rig a bomb rack on your plane but they did the next\nbest thing. They put the 'eggs' in a hammock that will carry them\nwithout danger unless you happen to crack-up.\"\n\"Pleasant prospect,\" smiled Tim.\n\"But I don't think you'll have any trouble if you swing out around the\nFlint hills,\" said the army officer.\n\"Say, what the dickens have you been doing to this plane?\" he demanded\nas he noticed for the first time, the smoke-blackened condition of the\nwings.\nTim explained what had taken place earlier in the day and the army\nofficer whistled as the flying reporter told how they had been caught by\nthe explosion of the oil tanks.\n\"If you've had a narrow escape like that today,\" said Captain Nugent, \"I\nguess flying the hills at night won't bother you.\"\n\"I've decided not to risk it,\" said Tim. \"I'm going to go around.\"\n\"The air is getting sharper,\" said the army man. \"Sure you've got warm\nenough clothes? We'll be glad to lend you some extra togs if there is\nanything you need.\"\n\"Thanks a lot,\" said Tim. \"You've been mighty good to let me have these\nhigh explosive bombs. I won't need anything more and now I think I'd\nbetter get under way.\"\nTim climbed into the rear cockpit, tested the motor, and after waving\nfarewell to Captain Nugent, sent the _Good News_ skimming down the\nlighted runway.\nThe motor barked lustily as the plane gained altitude, the lights of the\nFort Armstrong were soon lost in the night.\nTim followed the course Captain Nugent had helped him lay out. For more\nthan an hour he sped over the right-of-way of the Southwestern Railroad.\nMile after mile he was guided by the dim streaks of steel which were\nbarely discernible in the darkness.\nThe railroad skimmed the east end of the Flint hills and when the lights\nof Macon showed in the distance Tim knew he was around the worst\nbarrier. The dreaded hills now lay to his left and behind.\nHe glanced at his watch. He was making good time. With no unforeseen\nemergencies he would be in Atkinson by eleven.\nThe sky had lightened somewhat and Tim now had a ceiling of 1,000 feet.\nWith a greater margin of safety, he opened the throttle wide and the\n_Good News_ bored into the night.\nIn the dim light of the instrument board Tim could see the needle on the\nair speed indicator hovering near the 200-mile an hour mark. He was\nmaking more than three miles a minute. That was time! It was faster than\nTim had ever traveled.\nThen the indicator crept on up. Two hundred and five and then it wavered\nat two hundred and ten. The motor was not turning over any faster than a\nminute or two before so Tim knew he must have picked up a good tail\nwind.\nLet'er go! The sooner he reached Atkinson the sooner he would be on the\nlast lap of his trip to Auburn and the nearer the completion of his\nplans for the salvation of the village. On he roared through the night\nand the lights of small towns were little more than blurs in a magic\ncarpet.\nFar ahead the lights of Atkinson reflected against the clouds and four\nminutes later Tim was throttling down the motor preparatory to gliding\ninto the airport.\nFor the first time since leaving Fort Armstrong the load of high\nexplosive bombs which he had obtained at the army post worried him.\nSupposing he struck a mud puddle and nosed over? One blinding,\nshattering blast and it would be all over. So much depended on the\nsuccess of his landing that he dared not think of failure.\nThe flood lights came on and bathed the field in a chilling blue\nbrilliance. Tim cut his motor and sidled down, killing speed every\nsecond. He glanced at his watch. Ten fifty-five; five minutes to the\ngood.\nHe was less than two hundred feet above the field when the deafening\nroar of an incoming tri-motored passenger and express plane drowned the\nsound of his own motor. Tim looked up and froze at his controls. The\ntri-motor was coming in from the left, and their paths would cross in\nless than 300 feet.\nTim could see lights gleaming from the windows of the tri-motor. It was\nthe westbound transcontinental more than an hour late and its pilots\nwere bringing it in fast in an attempt to make up every minute possible.\nThe distance between the planes narrowed rapidly. The _Good News_ had\nalmost lost flying speed, was drifting in, when Tim first sighted the\ntri-motor and he was powerless to change his course.\nHe jammed the throttle open and the motor coughed as the raw fuel leaped\ninto the white-hot cylinders. There was only one chance; that he could\nget up enough speed to throw the _Good News_ into a nose dive. He could\navoid the tri-motor that way but his own chances of coming out of the\ndive would be slim.\nIn that split second Tim made his decision. He would attempt the dive.\nThere were probably women and children on the tri-motor for the night\nplane usually carried a heavy passenger list. If the two planes met they\nwould all be blown to eternity.\nThe _Good News_ picked up momentum again and Tim shoved the nose down.\nJust as he pushed the stick ahead he heard the engines of the tri-motor\nquicken their stride. Evidently the pilots of the big ship had seen him\nand were making a desperate effort to avert the collision. Tim hoped\nthey would have enough sense to climb.\nThe _Good News_ quivered under the sudden strain of the maneuver and Tim\nsaw the ground race up to meet him.\nThe undercarriage of the tri-motor almost brushed the upper wing of the\n_Good News_. Then the planes were clear but the _Good News_ was diving\ntoward the field.\nTim had only one hope. He pulled back on the stick and closed his eyes.\nHe could feel the ship falling, then the pitch of the descent lessened.\nHe opened his eyes. The _Good News_ was skimming along the field with\nits wheels less than five feet from the ground.\nTim looked up for the tri-motor. It was circling, waiting for him to\nland.\nThe flying reporter lifted the _Good News_ up again for he was going too\nfast to attempt a landing. He swung around and then dropped down on the\nfield, checking his speed with a delicate hand lest he bump hard enough\nto set off the \"eggs\" cradled in the forward cockpit.\nThe _Good News_ rolled to a stop in front of its hangar.\nCarson, Hunter, Ralph and a group of mechanics were waiting for Tim.\nThey were white and shaky for they had seen how death had ridden on the\nwings of the two incoming planes only a minute before. \"Tim, Tim,\" cried\nRalph in a choked voice, \"I thought you were a goner.\"\n\"So did I,\" admitted Tim, and for once he found it hard to smile.\n\"I'll report those flying yahoos,\" stormed the usually mild-mannered\nHunter. \"They'll be grounded for thirty days for pulling a reckless\nlanding like that. You had the right of way and they attempted to cut in\non you. Here they come now.\"\nThe tri-motor had come to a stop on the concrete apron in front of the\nadministration building and its pilots sprinted toward the No. 5 hangar.\nThey were red-faced and shaking with anger.\n\"What's the idea?\" stormed the first one as he addressed Tim. \"You\ncrazy, flying fool, you almost wrecked us. I've a good notion to beat up\non you.\"\n\"Shut up!\" The words whipped through the night and the angry pilot\nturned to face the field manager.\n\"But this nut almost wrecked us,\" he protested as he pointed at Tim.\n\"Shut up!\" cried Hunter and he almost choked with rage, \"if anybody here\nis going to get a licking you're one of them. You cut in on Murphy. We\nhad given him the right-of-way and you barged down and almost ran him\ninto the ground. As it happens he was on special duty tonight, flying in\nhere from Fort Armstrong. You may have something to explain to Uncle Sam\nand the least you'll hear about this will be thirty days on the ground\nwithout pay.\"\n\"You can't get away with that,\" protested the second flyer. \"Why this\nkid was trying to beat us in.\"\n\"I'll get away with it and I may have your skins to boot,\" promised\nCarson. \"You're so all-fired smart, suppose you step over here and take\na look at the load Murphy is carrying tonight.\"\nThe pilots of the big transport followed Hunter to the _Good News_ where\nthey peered into the forward cockpit.\n\"Bombs!\" exclaimed one.\n\"We'd have been blown to pieces if we had met in the air,\" gasped the\nother.\n\"Which is just exactly the reason Murphy took such a desperate chance to\navoid hitting you,\" exclaimed Hunter. \"Do you still want to beat up on\nhim?\"\n\"Not on your life,\" said the transport pilots and they turned to Tim to\noffer their apologies.\n\"We are lucky to be here,\" said Tim as the tri-motor men stammered their\nappreciation.\nRalph, who had gained control of his emotions, busied himself loading a\ndozen parachute flares into the forward cockpit.\nBy 11:15 the _Good News_ had been refueled for the flight to Auburn.\n\"What are the latest reports?\" asked Tim.\n\"The ice is piling up every hour,\" said the managing editor. \"People in\nthe village have started to move their belongings and they expect the\ntown will be swept away before morning.\"\n\"Have they been warned to watch for us and get in the clear when we\nstart dropping the bombs?\"\n\"Everyone has been ordered to be in the clear by midnight. Before they\nleave they will build large fires along the bank of the river to guide\nyou.\"\n\"That's a good idea,\" said Tim.\n\"All set,\" he called to Ralph, who had taken his place in the forward\ncockpit, squeezed in between high explosive bombs and parachute flares.\n\"All ready,\" replied Ralph. \"Only take it easy. I don't want to be part\nof another explosion today.\"\n\"Don't worry,\" said Tim. \"I'll handle the ship like we were carrying a\nbasket of Easter eggs.\"\nTim settled himself for the flight to Auburn and a minute later the\n_Good News_ was winging its way into the east.\nThe safety of the village depended on the success of their efforts.\nWithin the next hour and Tim and Ralph realized the seriousness of their\nmission.\nThey sped into the night at a chilling pace and both reporters welcomed\nthe signal fires which marked the course of the river. It was just\nbefore midnight when they swung down out of the sky to reconnoiter the\nice jam.\nRalph dropped a parachute flare which lighted the country-side for half\na mile around.\nThere was no one in the vicinity of the jam and the village had been\ndeserted.\nTim inspected the face of the jam closely, hunting for the key point\nwhere the pressure was greatest. Up and down the river they cruised\nwhile Ralph lighted three more flares.\nFinally Tim was satisfied that he had picked out the vulnerable spots in\nthe jam and he motioned for Ralph to get ready with the bombs.\nBy pre-arranged signal Ralph was to drop a bomb over board every time\nTim raised his left arm. Several of the flares had dropped on the ice\nand there was plenty of light.\nTim's arm jerked upward and a small, black object hurtled down from the\nplane.\nThe night was torn by a blinding flash followed by an ear-shattering\nroar. A geyser of ice and water mounted upward from the point where the\nbomb had struck.\n\"Score one,\" cried Ralph as he prepared another bomb.\nTim nodded grimly. The explosion had been spectacular but he wondered\nhow much it had weakened the jam.\nRalph dropped two more parachute flares and before their light had faded\nthey had time to plant four bombs. More flares and more bombs. They\nhoneycombed the face of the jam with the high-explosive missiles and\nabove the sound of their own plane they could hear the angry grumble of\nthe river as the restless water, impounded by the ice barrier, sought to\ncontinue its journey down stream.\nThey had one flare and two bombs left and they had failed to break the\njam.\nTim motioned for Ralph to light one of the two remaining flares and in\nthe calcium glare he made a final survey of the river. His arm moved\nquickly and Ralph tossed out the last of the bombs.\nThey watched the little black objects speed toward the ice; then saw\nthem swallowed in mounting sprays of ice and water.\nTim could hear Ralph's shout of victory above the sound of their own\nmotor and the rumble of the river as the waters, the ice barrier finally\nbroken, started down stream.\nThe river was a heaving, moving mass of ice. Great cakes leaped high\ninto the air and came down with thundering crashes as the pressure of\nthe water was unleashed.\nTim watched the breaking of the jam with apprehension. There was just a\nchance that the river might rush over its banks and sweep away the\nvillage but if he had calculated right the force of the onrushing water\nwould be expended on the far side of the valley.\nThe light from the fires on the edge of the river reflected dully on the\nscene and was not sufficient to show them what was taking place. After\nfive minutes of anxious cruising, Tim yelled to Ralph to light the last\nof their flares.\nThe brilliant white light revealed a scene majestic in its power yet\nterrible in its uncontrolled fury.\nThousands of tons of ice were moving down stream, sweeping everything\nbefore them but they were moving in the direction Tim had planned. The\nice was piling over the banks of the river, leveling great trees,\ncrushing the few barns and small buildings on the far side of the river,\nbut the village itself was safe and already the villagers were starting\nto return to their homes.\nA dozen men who had come down to the river bank to watch the ice go out\nwaved their thanks at the flying reporters.\nWith his goal reached and success at hand, Tim felt a great drowziness\ncreep over him. His hand lost its firm grip on the stick and his eyes\nclosed in spite of himself. He managed to shake off the fatigue and\nshouted to Ralph to take the plane.\nRalph fitted the extra stick in the control socket in the forward\ncockpit and waggled the controls, indicating that he was ready.\nThe _Good News_ turned away from Auburn, away from the tumbling mass of\nice in the Cedar River, and sped toward home. Tim, exhausted by the\nstrenuous experiences of the day, dropped into a deep slumber and did\nnot awaken until Ralph plopped into a mud puddle on their home field.\nThe story of the flying reporters and their successful effort to break\nthe ice jam which threatened Auburn was the front page news the next\nday. Tim and Ralph collaborated in writing the story of their night\nflights and the managing editor wrote a front page editorial praising\nthem for their heroism and devotion to duty.\nA telegram from the mayor of Auburn, in which he expressed the\nappreciation and gratefulness of the residents of the village, was also\nprinted in a box on the front page.\nDan Watkins, the veteran chief of the copy desk, smiled at Tim when the\nfirst edition came off the press.\n\"Looks like you and Ralph have just about monopolized the front page,\"\nsaid the gray-haired copyreader.\n\"I'd just as soon not be there,\" said Tim.\n\"I know, I know,\" said Watkins, \"but it is all fine advertising for the\n_News_. Wonder if you chaps will get a raise or a bonus.\"\n\"I wasn't looking for either one when I decided to make the attempt,\"\nsaid Tim. \"I only thought of those poor folks in the valley who were\nfaced with the loss of their homes if the jam broke.\"\n\"I know you weren't looking for personal gain or glory,\" replied the\ncopyreader, who had long been a friend and valued adviser of Tim's. \"You\ndo what you think is right; that's one reason why you are invaluable to\nthe _News_. Last night the managing editor paced the floor every minute\nyou were in the air. Keep at it, Tim, and one of these days you'll be\nthe managing editor of some large paper.\"\nAfter the noon edition was on the press the managing editor summoned Tim\nand Ralph to his desk.\n\"What about the condition of the _Good News_?\" he asked Tim.\n\"You'll have to pay for a complete repaint job, Mr. Carson,\" said Tim.\n\"The ship was badly scorched and smoked up when we got caught in the\nexplosion over the flaming oil tanks. It ought to have the rigging\nthoroughly checked to see that nothing was sprung in the hard flying I\ndid the rest of the day.\"\n\"All right, Tim,\" said the managing editor. \"You and Ralph take the\nafternoon off, go out to the field, and get a crew started on the\nrepainting. Never can tell when we'll need the plane in another\nemergency and it has become invaluable.\"\n\"Then the stories we've uncovered in the last year have justified the\nexpense of the plane?\" Tim asked eagerly.\n\"No question about it,\" replied the managing editor. \"You have done far\nmore than either the business manager or I expected and your aviation\ncolumn is one of our best news features. The only thing I worry about is\nthat you boys will crash one of these days.\"\n\"Don't worry about that,\" put in Ralph. \"There is little danger for we\nhave a good ship and we try not to take unnecessary chances.\"\nTim and Ralph went to the administration building when they reached the\nairport. They found Carl Hunter in his office.\n\"Hello, heroes,\" he called, whereupon Tim and Ralph gave him a\ngood-natured pummeling that left them all breathless.\n\"Now that the cyclone is over,\" smiled the field manager, \"I suppose you\nwant something.\"\n\"You're right for once,\" said Tim. \"We want you to put a crew on\nrepainting the _Good News_ and checking up on the rigging. Carson said\nto get it done in a hurry for we may need the ship at any time.\"\n\"I had a hunch you'd breeze in sometime today with a request like that,\"\nreplied the field manager, \"and I'm one up on you. A couple of painters\nare waiting in the hangar now. Same color job as before?\"\n\"The same,\" said Tim, \"and I hope this one will last longer than the one\nwe scorched off.\"\n\"You may not be so lucky the next time you start flirting with burning\ntanks of oil,\" warned Hunter.\n\"There won't be any next time,\" promised Ralph. \"We've had our fill of\nthose thrills. No more dodging a chunk of steel that's intent on\ndestroying us. Honestly, I lived a whole lifetime in that split second.\"\nHunter and the young reporters left the administration building and\nwalked to hangar No. 5. The scorched and blackened plane that reposed\ninside was hardly recognizable as the _Good News_.\nHunter gave his instructions to the painters and they started cleaning\nthe wings and fuselage preparatory to repainting the plane. Several\nmechanics were summoned and they set about the task of making a thorough\ncheck of the motor and the rigging of the _Good News_.\nWhen they left the hangar and started back for their car, a raw, wet\nwind cut through their clothes.\n\"Feels like another blizzard is getting ready to descend on us,\"\nremarked Ralph as he scanned the sky.\n\"Weather report says 'continued cloudy',\" replied the field manager,\n\"and I'm hoping it's right. Another blizzard would raise havoc with us.\nEveryone of our planes is carrying its capacity of mail and we're making\nevery possible effort to keep on schedule.\"\n\"Ralph is inclined to be pessimistic today,\" laughed Tim. \"He's always\npredicting a blizzard or cloudburst.\"\nA clerk ran out of the administration building and called to them.\n\"You're wanted on the telephone,\" he told Tim.\nThe flying reporter hurried to answer the summons. When he rejoined\nRalph several minutes later his face was grave.\n\"Something's in the wind,\" he said. \"Carson just phoned from the office\nand wants us to go to town as fast as we can.\"\n\"Have any idea what he wants?\" asked Ralph as they climbed into the\nroadster which had brought them to the field.\n\"Not a glimmer,\" replied Tim. \"There is something mighty mysterious. He\ntalked so low I could hardly hear what he said. We're not to go to the\noffice. Carson will meet us in room 309 at the Hotel Jefferson.\"\n\"Sounds like secret service,\" said Ralph.\n\"That might not be so far wrong,\" replied Tim thoughtfully.\nFifteen minutes later the reporters entered the Hotel Jefferson and made\ntheir way to the third floor. They stopped at the door of room 309 and\nTim knocked.\nThe door was opened by the managing editor of the _News_, who motioned\nfor them to enter the room.\nThere were two men beside the managing editor in the room when Tim and\nRalph entered. They were strangers to the reporters and they waited for\nCarson to introduce them.\n\"When I introduce these men,\" Carson told his reporters, \"You'll know\nwhy I had you come to the hotel.\"\nThe managing editor turned to the older of the strangers, a heavy-set,\ngray-haired man whose eyes were of an unusual, penetrating blue.\n\"Boys,\" he said, \"I want you to know Col. Robert Searle, head of the\nstate police department.\"\nTim and Ralph felt their pulses quicken as they heard the name of the\nvisitor. The managing editor turned to introduce the second man, who was\ntaller than Searle and younger by several years.\n\"And I also want you to know,\" went on the managing editor, \"Captain Ned\nRaymond of the bureau of investigation of the state police.\"\nTim and Ralph acknowledged the introductions and sat down on the bed.\nThey waited for the managing editor to continue.\n\"These men have called on us for assistance,\" explained Carson. \"I want\nthem to tell you their troubles and the final decision on what you do\nwill be up to you.\"\nColonel Searle moved restlessly.\n\"I've heard a great deal about you boys,\" he said \"especially in\nconnection with the Sky Hawk. You did great work there but I thought you\nwere older.\"\n\"An older man wouldn't be as fast, as alert, as Tim and Ralph,\" said\ntheir managing editor.\n\"Perhaps you're right,\" agreed Colonel Searle.\n\"Captain Raymond and I are playing a hunch,\" he went on, \"and we have\nboth agreed that if this hunch comes true we are going to need your aid.\nThe airplane has placed an entirely new means of escape in the hands of\ncriminals and we must be ready to combat this. With the present economy\npolicy of the state legislature it would be impossible for us to secure\nfunds for the training of our troopers as pilots or for the purchase of\nan airplane. For that reason we came here today to appeal to your\nmanaging editor.\"\nThe head of the state police paused for a moment.\n\"Interested?\" he asked.\n\"Go on,\" chorused Tim and Ralph.\n\"What we have in mind,\" continued Colonel Searle, \"is deputising you two\nfor special service. If any emergency arises in which we need an\nairplane in this section of the state, you would be available. It would\nalso insure your paper of being in first on big news stories.\"\n\"If Mr. Carson is favorable,\" said Tim, \"you can count on Ralph and me.\"\n\"Just a minute,\" put in Captain Raymond. \"One thing more. There has been\na change in the political set-up in Dearborn and as a result many\ncriminals are going to be driven out of that city and forced to other\nfields. It will be natural for some of them to transfer their activities\nto this state. If they come, as we confidently expect, they will be more\ndangerous than the average bandit. And remember, the Sky Hawk is gone\nbut some of his men are still alive. Through special police channels we\nhave learned that several of them have banded together again and have\nbeen operating in and near Dearborn. If they decide to come back this\nway your mission might be doubly dangerous.\"\n\"They couldn't be any worse than the Sky Hawk,\" said Ralph.\n\"In that case,\" said Colonel Searle, \"I consider it an honor and a\nprivilege to appoint you as special and secret members of the state\npolice.\"\nCaptain Raymond produced the records which Tim and Ralph were to sign\nand in less than five minutes they were in the state police.\nColonel Searle gave them identification cards and the small gold eagle\nwhich also indicated their position.\n\"We may not need you,\" said Captain Raymond, \"but if things come out as\nI predict, it won't be long before part of the Sky Hawk's old gang will\nbe back. The Hawk is gone, thanks to you boys, but the memory of his\nmethods and daring lives on in the minds of the men who associated with\nhim.\"\nAs the newspaper men prepared to leave, Colonel Searle added a final\nword of caution.\n\"Remember, not a word about our meeting here to anyone. If it becomes\nknown in any way, that we have enlisted you as special agents, it might\nexpose you to needless danger. That's why we had you meet us here\ninstead of in your office.\"\nTim and Ralph were the first to leave room 309. In spite of their\nexcitement they did not speak until they were back in their car where\ntheir conversation could not be overheard.\n\"What do you think of it?\" asked Ralph.\n\"Looks like the state police are expecting serious trouble and are\ngetting ready for it.\"\n\"You mean the Sky Hawk's old gang?\"\n\"Exactly.\"\n\"I thought they were through when we got the Sky Hawk,\" said Ralph.\n\"I had hoped so,\" said Tim, \"but I guess it was too good to be true. If\nthey do come this way, they won't have any love for us.\"\nRalph looked down at the little gold eagle in the palm of his hand.\n\"At least we'll have the power of the state police behind us,\" he said.\n\"And we'll probably need it,\" added Tim.\nTim and Ralph returned to the _News_ office where Tim busied himself\nwriting copy for his aviation column in the next day's paper.\nAmong the letters he found on his desk was one from the news director of\nthe Transcontinental Air Mail Company at San Francisco. The letter\ncontained an announcement of the company plans to increase their\npassenger and air mail service to three trips a day each way across\ncountry. It would mean the inauguration of the most auspicious air\ntransport program in the country.\nThe letter went on to say that giant tri-motored biplanes, capable of\ncarrying 18 passengers and half a ton of mail or express, were being\ncompleted in the Transcontinental's shops. A half dozen of the new\nplanes would be put in service with the opening of the new schedule and\na dozen more would be completed as rapidly as possible.\nThe letter indicated that all of the planes would stop at Atkinson,\nwhich meant Tim's home city would have the best transcontinental air\nservice in the country. The story was news, big news, and he devoted the\nremainder of the afternoon to writing it. He got in touch with Carl\nHunter at the field and learned that Hunter had just received\ninstructions to put on an extra ground crew. The postmaster supplied\ninformation on the value of the increased air mail service to bankers\nand business men and when Tim had finished gathering his material he had\nenough for a two column story.\nThe young aviation editor of the _News_ worked until six o'clock, went\nout for a hasty dinner, and returned to the office to complete his\nstory. The aviation copy must be ready the first thing in the morning to\nsend to the waiting Linotypes.\nTim checked the facts in his story carefully. When he finished reading\nit over he felt that it was a creditable news story, certainly it was\ninteresting and he thought it fairly well written.\nRalph, who had been sent out late in the afternoon to cover a service\nclub dinner, came stamping into the office.\n\"Of all the hot air,\" he exploded, \"I've listened to a prize assortment\nin the last hour and a half. I'm always getting stuck for some\nassignment like this.\"\nTim had little sympathy to offer and Ralph went over to his typewriter\nand banged savagely at the keys.\nAt nine o'clock the boys decided to call it a day. Tim had written the\nlast line of copy for his aviation department and Ralph had managed to\nfinish his story on the dinner.\nThe air was raw and bitter when they reached the street and heavy clouds\nobscured the stars.\n\"Nasty night for the air mail,\" commented Tim as he turned up the collar\nof his coat.\n\"Going to snow before morning,\" predicted Ralph.\n\"Hope you're wrong,\" replied Tim. \"We've had enough winter. I'm ready\nfor spring.\"\nThe young reporters walked to the corner where they boarded different\nstreet cars. Ralph started home and Tim went to his room.\nTim undressed when he reached his room, selected an interesting\nadventure novel, and stretched out on his bed to read. Lost in the\nthrilling exploits of the hero of the novel, he did not notice the\npassage of time. The coolness of the room finally aroused him and when\nhe looked at the clock it was nearly midnight.\nTim got up and felt the radiator. It was cold and the wind was whistling\nin the eaves outside his window. He looked down into the street. Faint\nswirls of snow danced along the paving and while he watched the air\nbecame thick with snowflakes.\nThe wind was increasing, whipping the snow into a blizzard. Tim could\nhardly see beyond the first street light. He looked at the clock again.\nIt would be tough on the air mail flyers if they were between landing\nfields or in the Great Smokies when the storm broke. The rugged peaks of\nthe mountains would be merciless on such a night.\nTim turned to the telephone and called the municipal airport. After an\ninterval Carl Hunter answered.\n\"How is the mail?\" asked Tim.\n\"Getting a bad break,\" snapped Hunter. \"The storm dropped like a blanket\nand two of the ships were caught in the Great Smokies. We haven't heard\nfrom either the eastbound or the westbound for more than half an hour.\"\n\"What are you going to do?\"\n\"Nothing until the storm breaks.\"\n\"And then?\"\n\"Send out rescue planes if I can find anyone to fly them. All of the\nmail pilots are on the east end of the division and even if the storm\nlets up at daybreak it will be noon before they can get here.\"\n\"You can count Ralph and me for anything we can do,\" promised Tim.\n\"Thanks a lot,\" replied the field manager. \"I'd appreciate it if you\nwould come out now. I'm here all alone and my nerves are getting jumpy\nin the storm. Bring plenty of heavy clothes for the temperature is\ndropping fast. May be near zero by morning.\"\nTim promised to go to the field at once and after Hunter had hung up the\nreceiver telephoned for Ralph. A sleepy-sounding voice finally answered\nhis summons and in a few words Tim explained what was needed.\n\"I'll throw on some clothes and hop a cab for the field,\" said Ralph,\nall thought of sleep having vanished.\nTim dressed carefully and warmly for he had a hunch it would be a good\nmany hours before he saw bed again and from past experiences he was wise\nenough to follow his hunch.\nThe flying reporter phoned for a cab and then went downstairs to await\nits arrival. He stopped at the door of his landlady's room and slipped a\nnote under to tell of his sudden departure. Then he went into the front\nhallway. The lights of a cab gleamed dimly through the snow and Tim\nhastened out into the storm.\nThe taxi driver, heavily bundled, grunted as Tim gave his destination.\n\"Sure you want to get to the airport?\" demanded the driver.\n\"Can't you make it?\" asked Tim.\n\"Don't know,\" replied the taxi man. \"The snow is drifting fast and that\nroad is bad on a night like this.\"\n\"See how far you can get,\" said Tim as he climbed into the cab.\nWith a grinding of gears the cab moved into the storm. The snow was\nfalling in a solid blanket that obscured even the buildings flanking the\nstreet. Lights were visible for only a few feet and Tim and the driver\nfelt as though they were in a world of their own.\nOnce or twice the cab slid into the curb but each time the driver\nmanaged to keep it under way and they finally pulled through the gate at\nthe airport. Tim told the driver to charge the trip to the _News_ and\nwas about to enter the administration building when another cab jolted\nto a stop.\nRalph, bundled in a heavy coat, hopped out and followed Tim into the\nfield manager's office.\nHunter, a radiophone headset at his ears, was listening intently to an\nair mail report. He motioned for the boys to take chairs and went on\nwith his work.\nThe reporters waited until Hunter had finished taking the message.\n\"What news now?\" asked Tim.\n\"Bad news,\" replied the field manager. \"Two planes lost somewhere in the\nGreat Smokies. It's a cinch that the storm forced them down and you know\nhow much chance there is of making a safe set-down on a night like\nthis.\"\n\"Who were on the ships?\" Ralph wanted to know.\n\"Tiny Lewis was coming east and George Mitchell was on the westbound,\"\nreplied Hunter.\n\"They don't make any better flyers than those two,\" commented Tim.\n\"But they can't buck a storm like this,\" Hunter reminded. \"Why, man\nalive, you can't see ten feet ahead of you.\"\n\"Maybe they had a break and landed when the first flakes started down,\"\nsuggested Ralph.\n\"You're too optimistic,\" replied the field manager. \"This storm wasn't\non the weather charts. It just dropped down from nowhere. I don't\nbelieve those ships could have stayed up two minutes after they nosed\ninto the storm and neither one of the pilots had time to use their\nradio-phones.\"\n\"Good thing they had parachutes,\" said Ralph.\n\"I'm afraid chutes wouldn't do them much good,\" said Tim. \"They wouldn't\nhave time to use them and wouldn't know where they were going if they\ndid. We'll find Lewis and Mitchell with the planes.\"\nConversation stopped. There was no use to say anything more. They knew\nthe air mail pilots had stuck by their ships. When the storm cleared\nthey would find the ships and the pilots and they only hoped that in\nsome miraculous fashion the ships had not crashed too hard.\nAt four o'clock the storm lessened and the wind abated. At five o'clock\nthere was only a trace of snow in the air and at six o'clock the\nmechanics had struggled through the drifts from town and were warming up\ntwo reserve mail planes. The _Good News_, its fuselage damp from the\ncoat of paint, was in no condition to take the air and Hunter had placed\ntwo of the Transcontinental's planes at the disposal of the flying\nreporters.\nTim and Ralph loaded thermos bottles of hot chocolate into the cockpits\nof their planes, put in first aid kits, ropes and hand axes and\ngenerally prepared for any emergency that might confront them.\nAbundant supplies of extra blankets were tossed into the mail\ncompartment ahead of the pilot's cockpit and the hood was strapped down.\nThe motors of the great green and silver biplanes droned steadily as Tim\nand Ralph seated themselves at the controls.\n\"Locate them first,\" Hunter shouted to the reporters. \"If you can't land\nand bring them out yourselves, come back and get help. Good luck\nand--hurry!\"\nTim and Ralph fully understood the urgency of their mission and they\nswung the tails of their planes around, opened the throttles and bounced\nover the field in a smother of snow.\nThe mail planes, their 525 horsepower motors barking in the near zero\nweather, lifted off the field and sailed away toward the Great Smokies.\nSomewhere hidden in the dim peaks to the west were the air mail planes\nand their pilots.\nThe heavy mail plane was much different from the _Good News_ and Tim\nspent the first five minutes in the air getting used to the controls and\nthe feel of the ship. The air speed indicator showed one hundred ten\nmiles an hour with a quartering wind.\nThe sky was clear and the cold air made him thankful for the heavy\nflying clothes he had donned before climbing into the ship.\nThe flying reporters had mapped out their plan of action before leaving\nthe field at Atkinson. Tim was to search for Lewis while Ralph would\nhunt for Mitchell. Lewis, on the eastbound plane, would have been the\nfarthest from the Atkinson field, and Tim gunned his ship hard as he\nheaded for the mountains.\nThe frosty peaks of the Great Smokies loomed ahead of the churning\npropeller, ready to snag any unfortunate plane and pilot.\nTim adjusted his headset and tuned the radiophone in on the station at\nAtkinson. Hunter was talking with the air mail station west of the\nmountains when Tim broke in with his buzzer signal.\n\"Any news?\" he asked.\n\"Not a word,\" replied the field manager. \"Looks like whatever rescuing\nis done today will have to be handled by you and Ralph. We won't have\nextra ships and pilots here until nightfall and that will be too late.\nYou'll have to find Lewis and Mitchell today.\"\n\"We'll find them if it is humanly possible,\" promised Tim.\nThey were well into the foothills of the mountains when Ralph signaled\nthat he was going to start his search for Mitchell, who had been on the\nwestbound ship the night before.\nRalph circled downward while Tim continued his dash toward the\nformidable, rocky crests in the west.\nAccording to all the information available, Lewis should have been on\nthe east side of the divide. Five minutes before the blizzard struck he\nhad radiophoned that he was about to cross the crest of the range.\nTim had been up an hour and a half when he reached the higher slopes and\nprecipices of the mountains. He shoved the mail plane up and up until he\nwas almost to the divide before he started his detailed search for the\nmissing plane and pilot.\nBack and forth Tim cruised the mail plane, dodging in and out of\ncanyons, circling over sheer precipices that fell away for a thousand\nfeet, scanning the snow and the rocks for some sign.\nThe powerful motor was using great quantities of fuel and Tim watched\nthe gasoline gauge with an anxious eye. At nine o'clock he had fuel for\na little more than another hour of flying. To have gone back to Atkinson\nwas out of the question. He would land at some village or ranch in the\nfoothills, replenish his gasoline tanks, and resume the search.\nHalf an hour later he switched on the radiophone and informed the field\nmanager that he was temporarily abandoning his search. Hunter directed\nTim to the nearest ranch where fuel would be available and the flying\nreporter snapped off the radiophone and glided down off the divide.\nTen minutes later he swung low over ranch buildings which nestled in a\nsheltered valley in the foothills. Below the buildings was a level\nmeadow, the only piece of ground that appeared safe to attempt a\nlanding.\nThe noise of the airplane motor brought men from the ranch buildings and\nTim waved at them.\nSmoke coming from a chimney of the ranch house gave him his wind\ndirection and he dropped down on the meadow to make a careful survey.\nThe field, although covered by six or seven inches of snow, appeared\nlevel.\nTim gunned the motor, banked sharply, and fishtailed down. The mail\nplane landed hard, bounced on a low ridge, threatened to dig its nose\ninto a drift, and finally straightened out, coming to a standstill not\nmore than ten feet from a barbed wire fence.\nThe flying reporter unfastened his safety belt and stood up in the\ncockpit. His legs ached with the cold, which had crept through his heavy\nboots and clothing to chill the very marrow of his bones.\nHalf a dozen cowboys plowed through the drifted snow. They greeted Tim\nwith cheery cries.\n\"You're off the trail, Big Boy,\" said the first cowboy to reach the\nplane.\n\"I'm all right,\" replied Tim, \"But I've been out all morning looking for\none of the air mail ships that was lost in the blizzard last night.\"\n\"Someone get caught in the mountains?\" another cowboy asked.\n\"Two planes,\" replied Tim. \"One of them was the westbound ship and the\nother was eastbound. They were last heard from just before the blizzard\nclosed down.\"\n\"Gosh,\" said the first cowboy, \"The Great Smokies are a tough bunch of\nhills for anyone to be caught in a storm.\"\n\"We've got two planes out searching for them,\" explained Tim. \"I ran low\non gas and thought maybe you fellows would have some at the ranch you\ncould spare. It would save me a long trip back to Atkinson.\"\nA heavy-set, red-faced man had made his way to the green and silver mail\nplane. He had overheard Tim's request and stepped up to the plane to\nintroduce himself.\n\"I'm Hank Cummins, owner of the Circle Four Ranch,\" he said. \"You're\nwelcome to all the gasoline you need and anything else we can do to help\nyou.\"\nTim introduced himself and found that the owner of the Circle Four and\nall of his men had read of his exploits as the flying reporter.\n\"You're one of the fellows who got the Sky Hawk last year!\" exclaimed a\ncowboy.\nTim grinned and nodded.\nThe owner of the ranch started giving orders and the cowboys hurried\naway to fill cans with gasoline and replenish the nearly empty fuel\ntanks of the mail plane.\nTim crawled stiffly from the cockpit. It felt good to be on the ground\nagain with a chance to exercise his stiffened muscles. He flailed his\narms to bring back the circulation and stamped his feet on the ground.\nIn five minutes the cowboys were back with the heavy cans of gasoline\nand Tim directed their efforts. A short time later and the mail plane\nwas ready to go again.\n\"Better come up to the house and have a snack to eat before you start,\"\nurged Mr. Cummins.\n\"I haven't any time to spare,\" replied Tim.\n\"It will be time saved,\" said the ranch owner. \"You get some warm food\ninside and you'll be a lot more alert. Come on up to the house and sit\ndown at the table for a few minutes.\"\nTim finally agreed and accompanied the rancher to the house.\nA Chinese cook served hot coffee, bacon and eggs and the food gave Tim\nnew courage and enthusiasm to resume his gruelling search.\nWhen the flying reporter returned to the meadow he found that the\ncowboys had appointed themselves a ground crew and had turned the mail\nplane around. Several of them, armed with shovels, were busy clearing a\npath through a heavy drift that extended across the middle of the field.\nTim thanked Mr. Cummins for his kindness and promised to send a check to\ncover the bill for the gasoline.\n\"That's all right,\" laughed the rancher. \"We're glad to be able to help\nyou.\"\nThe flying reporter climbed into the cockpit, switched on the starter,\nand heard the motor roar on the second or third time over.\nThe propeller spewed fine snow in every direction and the cowboys ran\nfor shelter before the driving white particles.\nTim throttled down, aimed his plane down the makeshift runway, and gave\nher the gun.\nThe mail ship bounced over the frozen surface of the meadow, swung\ndangerously as the wheels bit into the soft snow which the cowboys had\nattempted to clear away, and finally nosed into the air. Tim took his\ntime in gaining altitude and then swung back over the ranch. He waved at\nthe group below and could see them reply. Then he headed into the west\nto resume his search on the treacherous slopes of the Great Smokies.\nNoon found Tim deep in the fastnesses of the mountains, searching\nobscure pockets and canyons, then roaring along thinly forested slopes\nwhere a motor failure would have spelled instant destruction.\nOne o'clock.\nTwo o'clock.\nStill there was no trace of the missing plane.\nThe sun had cleared away the clouds of the morning and the visibility\nwas good. The air was a little warmer but Tim was forced to beat his\narms against his body to keep them from stiffening in the cold.\nThe supply of gasoline he had obtained at the ranch was getting low when\nhe knew that he was near the end of the search. There was just enough to\nexplore a distant tier of peaks that swung off to his right. Not much\nchance of the mail being that far off the regular airway but he didn't\ndare let any possibility escape.\nTim scanned the broken walls of rock ahead. There seemed little chance\nthat a pilot could escape if his plane crashed in such a country.\nThe flying reporter was about to abandon his search when something on\nthe crest of a jagged ridge drew his attention. He swung the mail ship\nnearer and circled down for a closer view. It looked--it looked--yes, it\nwas, the tail of an air mail plane sticking up above the rocks.\nTim stood up in the cockpit and cried aloud. He had found the eastbound\nmail!\nWas there a chance that the pilot had survived the crash? The question\nraced through Tim's mind and he sent the air mail plane hurtling\ndownward.\nHe levelled off two feet above the peak which had impaled the eastbound\nmail and circled carefully. He made two complete swings and there was no\nsign of life in the wrecked plane.\nLewis, pilot of the eastbound, must have been flying blind, attempting\nto make a landing, when he struck the crag. The mail had evidently hit\nthe peak at a sharp downward angle. The tail had been ripped off and\nleft to serve as a solitary beacon which eventually brought Tim to the\nscene. The rest of the plane had skidded and bounced along the far slope\nof the mountain for more than a hundred feet, finally coming to rest in\na small clump of straggling mountain pine. The tough tree trunks had\ncrumpled the wings back along the fuselage and Tim had to admit that it\nwas just about as complete a washout as he had ever seen.\nThere was no ledge along the mountain on which he could make a landing\nand he had about decided to return to Atkinson and report when a slight\nmovement in the wreckage attracted his attention.\nTim dropped the heavy mail plane as low as he dared and cut his motor\ndown to a minimum. He was not more than fifty feet above the clump of\npines which held the wreck of the air mail. From the splintered wood and\ncanvas he saw an arm emerge and then the face of Tiny Lewis, one of the\nbest pilots in the service.\nThe flying reporter was low enough to glimpse the wild stare in Lewis's\neyes and he knew that the pilot had been knocked out of his senses by\nthe crash. While Tim watched Lewis collapsed and sank back into the\nwreckage. The motor of Tim's ship had aroused some inner sense and Lewis\nhad made a supreme effort to make his presence known.\nTim looked about eagerly for a landing field. The nearest level ground\nwas at least three miles down the mountain and on the other side. There\nwas only one thing to do--speed for help. The Circle Four Ranch was\nnearest and Tim opened the throttle of the mail ship and sped into the\neast.\nHe wondered how Lewis had managed to withstand the cold of the night and\nday. Perhaps he had been sheltered somewhat by the wreckage of the\nplane.\nIt was just after three o'clock when Tim roared over the Circle Four\nranch house and set the mail plane down in the pasture with little\nceremony. By the time he had taxied back to the side of the field\nnearest the ranch buildings Cummins and his cowboys were climbing the\nfence.\n\"I've found the eastbound plane and pilot,\" shouted Tim, \"and I need\nmore gas and a couple of men to fly back with me and help get the pilot\nout. He appears hurt and is caught in the wreckage.\"\nHank Cummins roared orders with great gusto and the cowboys hurried to\ncarry them out. The fuel tanks were refilled in record time.\n\"You say you needed two men?\" asked the owner of the Circle Four.\n\"It will be a long climb up the mountain,\" said Tim, \"and we may have to\ncarry Lewis down. He weighs something over two hundred pounds and that\nwon't be any picnic if he can't walk.\"\n\"I'll say you need two men then,\" said Cummins. \"Looks to me like\nthere's room for three or four in that mail hole there.\"\n\"There is room enough,\" explained Tim, \"but remember we'll have to count\non bringing Lewis back with us.\"\n\"We could leave a couple of the boys on the mountain,\" said the\nranchman. \"Give them plenty of blankets and we can send after them\ntomorrow. Sounds to me like we'll need lots of help.\"\n\"All right,\" agreed Tim. \"You pick the men and we'll get under way.\"\nCummins turned to the cowboys, all of whom were eager to make the trip.\n\"Curly, Boots and Jim,\" he called, and three husky punchers stepped up\nto the side of the plane.\n\"Pile in boys,\" urged Tim. \"You'll have to lay down in the mail\ncompartment and you won't get a chance to see very much scenery if you\nput the top down.\"\n\"Leave her up,\" cried Curly, \"I've always wanted to see how this\ndog-goned country looked from the air.\"\n\"You're the doctor,\" laughed Tim. \"Don't blame me if you get pretty cold\non the flight to the mountains.\"\nExtra blankets for the punchers who would stay in the Great Smokies were\nstowed aboard and a haversack of food was handed up to the plane. Then\nwilling hands swung the mail ship around, Tim opened the throttle, and\nthey bounced over the meadow and into the air.\nIn a little more than half an hour Tim circled over the only level\nground on the side of the mountain. There was a long, narrow gash that\nappeared smooth enough for a landing and he set the mail ship down\ncautiously. The first time he overshot the mark and had to try again. On\nthe second attempt he made a perfect three point and killed his speed\nquickly.\nTim shut off the motor and climbed out of his cockpit. The cowboys\ntumbled down from the mail compartment while Cummins tossed the\nblankets, rope and hand axes after them.\nThe mail plane was rolled to some nearby trees and securely lashed down.\nTim was taking no chances on a sudden wind destroying their means of\nescape from the mountains.\nAfter making sure that the plane was safe, they started the long climb\nup the mountain. At times they moved rapidly, especially where the wind\nhad swept the snow off the rocks. But again their progress was\nheart-breaking, deep drifts forcing them to fight for every foot of\nheadway.\nUp and up they climbed, stopping only occasionally to rest. The cowboys\nwere in good physical condition and Tim was glad that he kept himself in\nshape. The strenuous climb might have killed a man who was not sound in\nheart and lungs.\nThe last, long climb was in sight when they stopped for a short rest.\n\"Boy,\" sputtered Curly, \"I'm glad I'm not a mail pilot. Believe me, I'll\nstay on the ground and chase the dogies. Think of smashing up in a place\nlike this.\"\n\"It is pretty wild,\" admitted Tim, \"but the boys don't crack up very\noften.\"\nThey resumed the climb and managed to reach the crest of the mountain\njust as the sun disappeared behind a higher range in the west.\nThe tail of the wrecked plane had been the lone sentinel which had\nguided them in their long climb. It had been impaled by a tooth-like\nrock that held it firmly. In the pines on the other slope they could see\nthe wreckage of the plane and the marks in the snow plainly showed the\ncourse of the stricken ship.\nThe rescue party hurried down the steep slope. Tim, in the lead, was the\nfirst to reach the wreckage.\n\"Tiny! Tiny!\" he called.\nThere was no answer.\n\"Tiny! Tiny!\" he shouted and the mountains mocked him with their echoes.\nTim plunged into the wreckage, working toward the place where he had\nseen the arm and face of the pilot when he had discovered the wreck.\nWith Cummins at his side, he fairly tore the wreckage apart until they\ncame to the pilot's cockpit. An arm through a piece of canvas was the\nfirst indication that Lewis was still in the plane.\nThen they found him! He was wedged into the cockpit. His eyes were\nclosed and he was breathing slowly. His face was white in the gathering\ndusk.\nThe cowboys, with their hand axes, hacked a path out of the wreckage and\nthey lifted Lewis from his trap and carried him out into the open where\nthey spread blankets and laid him down.\nThe owner of the Circle Four, who professed to have a slight knowledge\nof physical ailments, went over the injured flyer carefully.\n\"He'll probably be on the shelf a few months,\" he said when he had\ncompleted his examination, \"but I think he'll pull through all right.\"\n\"What's wrong?\" asked Tim.\n\"Looks to me like a considerable number of broken ribs, and a good hard\ncrack on the head that might be a slight fracture, and exposure, of\nwhich the exposure is about as bad as any.\"\nThe cowboys built a roaring fire that cast eerie shadows on the wreckage\nof the mail and then proceeded to loosen the injured flyer's clothes.\nLewis' body was thoroughly warmed and the circulation restored to his\narms and feet before they bundled him up for the trip down the mountain.\nIt was eight o'clock before they were ready to start the descent. The\nhours had been spent in cutting a plentiful supply of pine knots which\nwould serve as torches and in fashioning a stretcher on which to carry\nthe injured flyer.\nAccording to the plan outlined by the ranchman, four of them would carry\nthe stretcher while the fifth would go ahead, lighting the trail with\none of the pine knots.\nThe mail flyer was still unconscious when they placed him on the\nmakeshift stretcher but he was made comfortable with an abundance of\nblankets.\nTim took one of the forward handles of the stretcher, Cummins took the\nother and Boots and Jim undertook to carry the back end. Curly, his arms\nloaded with the pine fagots, went ahead to light the way.\nThe stretcher was heavy and bundlesome and even the short distance to\nthe crest of the mountain was a cruel struggle. They were almost\nexhausted when they reached the top and put down the stretcher. However,\nthe rest of the journey to the plane would be down hill.\nThey alternated carrying the stretcher and the torches and made fair\nprogress. When their supply of pine pieces ran low they were forced to\ncall a halt while Boots and Jim hunted up a clump of pines and secured a\nnew supply.\nThe trip down the mountains required three hours and it was eleven\no'clock when they finally staggered into the clearing that sheltered the\nwaiting mail plane.\nWhen they let the stretcher down, they heard the injured flyer groan.\nTim bent low over Lewis.\n\"Where am I? What's happened?\" demanded the air mail pilot, his voice\nlittle more than a whisper.\n\"You crashed in the storm,\" replied Tim. \"We found you in the Great\nSmokies and are getting ready to take you back to Atkinson. How do you\nfeel?\"\n\"Kind of smashed up inside,\" whispered Lewis.\n\"Hang on a couple of hours longer and we'll have you in a hospital,\"\nsmiled Tim. \"How about it, old man?\"\n\"Sure, Sure,\" was the low reply.\nThe cowboys helped Tim wheel the mail plane around and head it down the\nnarrow clearing. Then they lifted Lewis into the mail compartment and\nonto the bed they had prepared for him.\nTim turned to the owner of the Circle Four.\n\"I'd better head straight for Atkinson when I take off,\" he said. \"Two\nof the boys will have to stay here and I'll bring the two who go with me\nback to the ranch in the morning.\"\n\"That's all right with us,\" agreed Cummins. \"Curly and I will make the\ntrip with you and Boots and Jim can stay here tonight. In the morning\nthey can go back and bring down the mail. The boys from the ranch will\nmeet them with horses sometime in the forenoon.\"\nBoots and Jim took armsful of the pine fagots and hurried down the\nclearing. They placed flaming torches to light to take off and Tim\nstarted the motor while Cummins and Curly crawled into the mail\ncompartment to look after Lewis.\nTim exercised great care in warming up the motor. It must not fail him\nwhen he called on it to lift the heavy plane into the night sky. Finally\nsatisfied that the motor was functioning perfectly, Tim settled himself\nin the cockpit and opened the throttle. The narrow clearing, dimly\noutlined by the uncertain light of the pine torches, was none too long.\nThe mail plane started slowly, then gathered speed and flashed into the\nnight.\nTim fought the controls as the mail plane careened down the clearing in\nthe dim light of the blazing pine torches. He heard, faintly, the\nencouraging shouts of Boots and Jim as they cheered for a successful\ntakeoff.\nThe odds were terrific. The clearing was barely long enough for a\ntakeoff with the best of conditions. The ground was uneven and the snow\nmaterially checked his speed. Tim waited until the end of the clearing\nloomed. Then he pulled back on the stick and jerked the plane off the\nground. They zoomed into the night sky and Tim breathed easier, but only\nfor a second. The motor missed and he felt the loss of flying speed. He\ninstantly switched to the other magneto and the motor resumed its\nrhythmic firing. It was just in time for the plane had dropped\ndangerously low.\nTim circled over the clearing, got his directions, and then headed in a\ndirect airline for Atkinson. The mail plane hurtled through the night at\none hundred thirty miles an hour, its maximum speed, and Tim pushed it\nevery mile of the way.\nIt was hard work piloting the mail for every muscle and bone in his body\ncried with fatigue. The long hours in the air, and the struggle up and\ndown the mountain had sapped his energy. In spite of the cold, he found\nit hard to keep awake.\nThe motor droned steadily and its song lulled Tim into a dangerous state\nof lassitude. His eyes grew heavy and once or twice he caught himself\ndozing.\nThe flying reporter realized fully the danger of going to sleep at the\ncontrols and used every power at his command to ward off the sleepiness.\nHe beat his arms against his body, stamped his feet on the floor of the\ncockpit and even stood up so that the icy blast from the propeller beat\nagainst his cheeks. The remedies would be effective for four or five\nminutes. Then he would feel himself slipping again. Each time it was\nharder to arouse himself to the task of moving his arms and legs, of\nstanding up and facing the chilling slipstream.\nThey were not more than twenty-five miles from Atkinson when Tim's eyes\nfinally closed and his head fell forward. His hands, which had gripped\nthe stick in desperate determination, relaxed and the mail ship cruised\non with its pilot asleep in the cockpit.\nFor three or four minutes all went well. The mail plane, a well rigged\ncraft, maintained an even keel and Hank Cummins and Curly, crouched in\nthe mail compartment with the injured Lewis, had no intimation that Tim\nwas not at his post of duty.\nThen a vagrant night wind swept out of the north and caught the plane at\na quartering angle. The stick waggled impatiently as though signalling\nTim that his attention was needed. Finding no master hand to control it,\nthe stick gave up the job and surrendered to the wind.\nThe mail veered off to the south, went into a tight bank, and ended up\nin a screaming nose dive.\nThe wires shrieked as the air speed increased and the motor added its\ncrescendo to the din.\nThe plane had dropped one thousand feet and was less than nine hundred\nfeet above the ground when the terrific noise penetrated Tim's\nsub-conscious mind.\nWhen he opened his eyes he knew they were in a power dive, heading for\nthe earth at nearly two hundred miles an hour. Without glancing at the\naltimeter Tim seized the stick and attempted to bring the plane out of\nits dive.\nThe motor pulsated with new power and gradually, carefully he brought\nthe nose up. When he felt that the wings would not snap off under the\ntremendous strain, he levelled off.\nTim looked below. Not a hundred feet away he could see the outline of\nobjects on the ground. Another second or two of sleep and they would all\nhave been wiped out in a crash.\nHe wiped the cold perspiration from his brow, relaxed just a bit, and\nset a new course for Atkinson.\nTen minutes later he could see the lights of the city reflected in the\nsky and in another five minutes he was circling down to a landing on the\nmunicipal field.\nThe great Sperry floodlight, used when the air mail planes were landing\nor taking off, bathed the field in its blue-white brilliance. It was as\nlight as day and Tim set the heavy ship down as lightly as a feather. He\ntaxied up to the administration building and an ambulance, waiting near\nthe gate, backed down toward his plane.\n\"They telephoned from the Circle Four that you had found Lewis and his\nship,\" shouted Carl Hunter as he hurried up to the plane.\n\"Found him on top of a mountain,\" replied Tim. \"He's some smashed up\ninside but I think he'll pull through. The mail is still in the plane\nbut two of the boys from the Circle Four are watching it and they'll\nstart down with it tomorrow.\"\nThe field manager took charge of the situation and they lifted the\ninjured flyer down from the mail cockpit. Lewis was unconscious again\nbut was breathing deeply and freely. The young surgeon with the\nambulance gave him a cursory examination.\n\"He'll pull through all right,\" was his verdict as he swung into the\nambulance and it started its dash for the hospital in the city.\nTim was so tired and chilled that he had to be helped from the cockpit.\nHis legs, aching from the cold and the arduous exertion of the day,\nsimply folded up under him.\nHank Cummins grinned at him.\n\"I don't feel much better myself,\" he admitted. \"And gosh, what an\nappetite climbing a mountain gives a fellow. Let's eat.\"\nSupported by the ranchman on one side and the field manager on the\nother, Tim made his way to the administration building.\n\"Ralph must have come in early since he didn't wait for me,\" said Tim as\nthey entered the manager's office.\nHunter did not answer immediately and Tim turned toward him with anxious\neyes.\n\"What's the matter, Carl?\" he demanded. \"Isn't Ralph in; haven't you\nheard from him?\"\n\"We haven't had any news,\" admitted the field manager, \"but you know\nRalph well enough to realize that he can take care of himself in almost\nany kind of an emergency.\"\nTim knew that Ralph was capable and resourceful but he had also had a\nvivid demonstration of the dangers of flying in the Great Smokies.\n\"I've got to start out and hunt for him,\" he cried. \"Have the boys get\nthe plane ready to go.\"\n\"You'll do nothing of the kind,\" snorted Hunter. \"You're in no shape to\nfly. Look at your eyes. You'd be sound asleep in ten minutes and then\nwe'd have to start looking for you. No sir! You stay right here, put\nsome warm food inside and then roll in. The mail planes are going\nthrough tonight on schedule and they've all been instructed to look for\nsome sign of a campfire in the mountains. Ralph may have found the\nwrecked westbound, landed, and be unable to get back into the air\nagain.\"\nThere was sound advice in the field manager's words and Tim realized\nthat it would be folly for him to attempt to fly again that night.\nA waiter from the restaurant at the other end of the administration\nbuilding brought in a tray of steaming hot food and Tim, Hank Cummins,\nCurly, and Hunter sat down for a midnight lunch.\n\"There's just one thing I'd like to know,\" said the ranchman. \"What in\nthunder were you trying to do when you started for the ground all of a\nsudden. I was scared half to death and Curly was shouting his prayers.\"\n\"To tell the truth I went to sleep,\" confessed Tim. \"When I woke up we\nwere in a power dive and not very far from the ground. I was scared\nstiff but Lady Luck was with us and the wings stayed on when I pulled\nthe plane out of the dive. Otherwise, we might not be having hot soup\nright now. And boy, does this soup hit the spot!\"\nThey had nearly finished their lunch when the door opened and the\nmanaging editor of the _News_ hurried in.\n\"They phoned me you were coming in a few minutes ago,\" he told Tim. \"How\nare you? Where's Ralph? Is Lewis all right?\"\nThe flying reporter answered the managing editor's questions as rapidly\nas possible and then related the events of the day. He introduced the\nmanaging editor to Hank Cummins and Curly and told of the important part\nthe Circle Four men had taken in the rescue of the injured pilot.\n\"That's great work, Tim, great,\" exclaimed the managing editor. \"If\nRalph isn't reported by morning you'll want to start out again. How\nabout writing the story for the _News_ before you turn in?\"\nThe lunch and opportunity to relax had restored part of Tim's strength\nand he was eager to write the story of the day's happenings. It was all\nfresh and vivid in his mind. If he went to sleep and tried to write the\nstory in the morning part of the dashing action, the brilliant color of\nthe words, would be lost. He agreed to the managing editor's suggestion\nand sat down at the typewriter in the field manager's office.\nWith a handful of paper on the desk beside him, he started his story.\nThe other men in the room continued their conversation but they might as\nwell have been in another world as far as Tim was concerned. He was\nreliving the events of the day, transferring the story of what had\nhappened in the clouds into words and sentences that would thrill the\nreaders of the _News_ the next day.\nPage after page of copy fell from the machine as Tim's fingers hammered\nat the keys. The managing editor unobtrusively picked them up and read\nthem with increasing eagerness.\nIn glowing words Tim painted the story of the entire events of the day\nfrom the sudden onslaught of the blizzard to the final landing of his\nplane on the home field. It was a story high in human interest--a story\nevery subscriber of the _News_ would read and remember.\nWhen Tim had completed the last sentence, he turned to the managing\neditor.\n\"I'm all in,\" he admitted, \"And if Carl will lend me a cot in the\npilot's room I'm going to roll in.\"\n\"You deserve a week of sleep,\" said the managing editor, as he finished\nreading the story.\n\"This is one of the best yarns you've ever written,\" he added\nenthusiastically. \"Now when Ralph gets in and writes his story--\"\nCarson didn't finish. He saw the look of anxiety that his words brought\nto Tim's tired, white face and he added quickly.\n\"You head for bed and we'll let you know just as soon as we hear from\nRalph.\"\nTim nodded dully, almost hopelessly, and stumbled into the pilot's room\nwhere he threw himself on a cot. He was asleep before he had time to\ndraw up the blankets.\nHalf an hour later Tim was roused from his deep slumber by someone\nshaking his shoulders. Faintly he heard words.\n\"The pilot on the westbound tonight saw a campfire in the timber along\none of the lower mountains. It must be Ralph. We'll start the first\nthing in the morning.\"\nWhen Tim and Ralph parted in the foothills of the Great Smokies, Ralph\ntook up his search for George Mitchell, pilot of the missing westbound\nmail.\nThroughout the morning Ralph conducted his fruitless quest and when noon\ncame he was forced to turn back from the mountains and seek a ranch or\nvillage where he could refuel his plane. Ralph's ship was slightly\nsmaller than Tim's and consequently had a longer cruising radius with\nthe same fuel load.\nTen miles north of the regular air mail route lay the village of Rubio\nand Ralph set the mail plane down in a pasture east of the town. The\nnoise of the plane had drawn the attention of the villagers and they\nswarmed to the field.\nRalph quickly explained his needs and the owner of the village garage\nbrought out a truck loaded with gasoline. Refueling of the mail ship was\nsoon accomplished and Ralph then hastened into the village where he went\nto the only restaurant and managed to secure a good, warm meal. He\nordered a large lunch prepared and packed and by the time he had\nfinished his dinner the lunch was ready. He paid for the food and walked\nback to the plane.\nSeveral of the village boys volunteered to hold the wings while Ralph\nwarmed the motor. He gave the new fuel a thorough test and then\nsignalled for the boys to let go.\nThe propeller sliced through the air and its blast created a small\nblizzard which hid the crowd of villagers in a smother of snow.\nThe mail ship gathered momentum, bumped over the uneven ground and\nfinally bounced into the air.\nRalph headed back for the air mail route to resume his search. Back and\nforth he cruised, confining his search to the foothills of the mountains\nfor there was slight chance that Mitchell would have reached the Great\nSmokies.\nThe afternoon wore on and Ralph's hopes of finding the missing flyer\nthat day lessened. It was slow and tedious work cruising over the\nrolling hills whose slopes were covered by dense growths of trees,\nprincipally pines.\nIf Mitchell had come down in one of the forests it might be weeks before\nhe would be found.\nRalph was speculating on how long his fuel would last when he saw an\nirregular gash in the tops of the trees ahead. He swung the plane lower.\nSomething had taken off the tops of half a dozen tall, scraggly pines.\nIt looked as though some giant of the sky had paused a moment, swung a\nmighty sickle, and then gone on.\nA quarter of a mile further Ralph saw a repetition of the broken tree\ntops. Then he caught sight of the missing mail plane. The tail of the\nship was sticking straight up in the air; the nose was buried in a deep\ndrift at the base of a mighty pine. The propeller was splintered and the\nundercarriage gone but otherwise the plane did not appear to have been\nbadly damaged.\nRalph gunned his motor hard and watched for some sign of the pilot near\nthe wrecked plane. For ten minutes he circled the spot before looking\nfor a landing place for his own ship. In one of the valleys between the\nfoothills he found a small meadow that looked as though it would serve\nas an emergency landing field. He took careful note of the position of\nthe wrecked plane and then drifted down to attempt the landing.\nThe meadow was bordered by pines that stuck their spires into the sky\nand Ralph thought for a time that it would be impossible to avoid their\nscraggly tops and get into the meadow. He finally found a break in the\npines and sideslipped through. Then he straightened out and fishtailed\ndown into the meadow. The pines had protected the meadow from the\ndriving north wind of the night before and the snow had not drifted.\nRalph taxied the mail plane up under the shelter of the trees, lashed it\nsecurely, and then prepared for his trip to the wrecked plane.\nThe young reporter took his package of food he had had prepared at\nRubio, ropes and a hand axe and started the climb up the foothills. The\nsnow had drifted but little and he made good progress. In little more\nthan half an hour he reached the scene of the wreck of the air mail.\nRalph shouted lustily, but there was no response. The tail of the big\nship was pointing straight into the sky. Ralph could see that Mitchell\nwas not in the pilot's cockpit.\nThen he gasped with astonishment. The door of the mail compartment was\nopen.\nRalph ran across the small clearing and hastily climbed the wings and on\nup to the mail compartment. One glance was sufficient.\nThe sack of registered mail was missing!\nThere was no sign of a struggle at the plane and there was no response\nto his frantic shouts.\nRalph sat down in the mail cockpit to think things over. His first\nthought had been that the mail had been robbed. He discarded that belief\nand decided that Mitchell, possibly unharmed in the crackup had taken\nthe precious sack of registered mail and was attempting to find his way\nout of the forest and make for the nearest town.\nRalph dropped down from the fuselage and started a search in the snow.\nIt was light and powdery and had drifted just enough to make the\ndetection of footprints difficult. The reporter made a careful search\nbut it was not until he was on the far side of the plane that his\nefforts were rewarded.\nFootprints, almost concealed by the snow which had fallen later, were\ndimly visible.\nRalph, eager and alert, took up the trail and soon had lost sight of the\nwreck of the westbound air mail.\nThe footprints zig-zagged this way and that for it had been night when\nMitchell had deserted the plane and started to make his way out of the\nforest.\nRalph plowed steadily through the snow. The forest was silent except for\nthe occasional call of a snowbird and Ralph felt a mighty loneliness\naround him. The shadows were lengthening rapidly and Ralph pushed\nforward with renewed determination.\nAt intervals the reporter stopped and listened intently for some sound.\nIt was possible that Mitchell might call for help.\nSundown found the reporter far from the wreck of the air mail, weaving\nhis way along the dim trail. Ralph, although little versed in woodcraft,\ncould read certain signs in the dim footprints. He could see that\nMitchell had been tiring rapidly. The steps were more uneven and once or\ntwice the air mail flyer had stopped beside some tree to rest.\nThe light in the forest was fading rapidly and Ralph advanced as fast as\npossible. Once he lost the dim trail and had to retrace his steps. He\nbegrudged the lost time and when he found Mitchell's trail started at a\ndog-trot, but with the coming of the night he was forced to slow down.\nThe reporter stopped in a small clearing and called lustily through\ncupped hands. Again and again he shouted and at last he thought he heard\na faint reply. Perhaps it was only an echo. He called again and a voice,\nfar away, answered.\nConfident that he was near the missing pilot, Ralph hurried forward,\nbending almost double in order to follow the dim trail. He stopped every\nfew hundred feet and shouted. Each time the reply came clearer and\nstronger.\nRalph came out on the bank of a small stream. Below, on the rocks beside\nthe creek bed, he saw the crouched form of the air mail flyer.\n\"George! George!\" cried Ralph.\n\"Down here,\" came the reply. \"Take it easy or you'll slip and twist your\nankle just like I did.\"\nIn less than a minute Ralph was beside the man he had been hunting and\nMitchell told him of the events preceding the crash and how he had\nattempted to escape from the forest and reach some habitation.\n\"The storm struck so quickly I didn't have a chance to escape,\" said the\nair mail flyer as Ralph worked over the twisted ankle. \"The snow and ice\ncollected on the wings and forced me down. Maybe you saw where I took\nthe tops off the trees before I finally cracked.\"\n\"Sure did,\" said Ralph. \"Matter of fact, the only way I found your ship\nwas through seeing those broken tree tops. They gave me the clue that a\nplane had been in trouble. A little further along I saw the tail of your\nship sticking up in the air.\"\n\"I took a real flop,\" went on the mail flyer. \"Just nosed right straight\ndown and smacked the old earth. I ducked just in time and outside a few\nbruises wasn't hurt. Managed to get the sack of registered stuff out and\nfigured I could get out of the woods and reach some ranchhouse or the\nrailroad. Then I fell over this bank, twisted my right ankle, and I've\nbeen here ever since.\"\nRalph chopped some dry wood from a dead tree nearby and soon had a fire\nblazing merrily among the rocks. He made the mail flyer as comfortable\nas possible, warmed the lunch he had brought with him and they both\nenjoyed the meal, the first Mitchell had eaten in twenty-four hours.\nAfter the lunch had been devoured, Ralph turned his attention to the\ninjured ankle. It was a bad wrench but he managed to fix a makeshift\nbandage that held it firm. After that was done he picked up a blazing\npiece of firewood and struck out into the night. In a few minutes he was\nback with a forked branch which he informed Mitchell could be used as a\ncrutch.\nRalph picked up the sack of registered mail and with his assistance\nMitchell managed to negotiate the steep slope of the creek valley. When\nthey were in the woods Ralph went back and extinguished the fire.\nThe reporter returned and helped support the mail flyer as they started\nthe slow and painful journey to the plane which was to be their means of\nescape.\nMitchell did the best he could but his ankle throbbed incessantly and\nthey were forced to rest every few hundred feet.\nAfter an hour and a half of the gruelling work, Mitchell was exhausted\nand Ralph decided that it would be best for them to wait until morning\nbefore continuing their journey.\nHe selected a clearing which had only one large tree in the center.\nBrushing away the snow he cut enough pine branches for a makeshift bed\nand then constructed a barrier of branches to shield them from the wind.\nA fire was started and Mitchell, weak and chilled from his exertions,\nlaid down beside it. Ralph massaged the swollen ankle until the pain had\neased and the mail flyer fell asleep.\nThe reporter busied himself securing enough firewood to last until\nmorning and after that task was completed laid down beside Mitchell in\nthe fragrant pine bows. He dropped into a deep sleep of exhaustion and\nhad slept for some time when he awoke with a terrifying fear gripping\nhis heart.\nBlazing eyes were staring at him from the edge of the forest; eyes that\nburned their way into his mind. A whole ring of them were closing in,\ncreeping ever nearer the fire.\nFor a moment the terror of the situation held Ralph motionless. Then he\nleaped into action.\nThe fire had died low but there was still a few burning embers. He\nseized the ends of several of these and hurled them toward the hungry\neyes.\nThe flaming brands made fiery arcs through the night. Some of them\ndropped sizzling into the snow; others struck dark bodies.\nHoarse cries shattered the midnight stillness as the wolves fled before\nRalph's sudden attack. In a second it was over and when Mitchell wanted\nto know what had happened, Ralph felt as though he had been dreaming.\n\"Wolves were closing in on us when I woke up,\" he explained. \"For a\nminute I was too scared to do anything. Then I remembered that they were\nafraid of fire and I hurled half a dozen embers from our campfire at\nthem.\"\n\"I never thought of wolves,\" said the mail flyer. \"Good thing you woke\nup or we might have become 'A Great Mystery' or some such thing. It\nwouldn't take those timber wolves long to finish a fellow.\"\nRalph agreed that the wolves were dangerous and piled new fuel on the\nfire.\nMitchell still had his heavy service automatic and Ralph appropriated\nthe weapon.\nThe bright light from the fire kept Ralph awake for a time but after an\nhour and a half of struggling against fatigue his eyes closed.\nStealthy movements in the forest failed to arouse him and slinking\nfigures emerged from the timber. The wolves were advancing again.\nA dozen of the hungry, grey beasts of prey crept nearer and nearer the\nfire. In an ever narrowing circle they closed in upon their victims,\ntreading lightly lest they make some noise.\nMitchell, exhausted from his long battle through the snow and the pain\nof his injured ankle, was breathing deeply.\nThe reporter had fallen asleep sitting up and his head was bent forward\nas though he was in thought. In his right hand was the heavy .45 caliber\nautomatic.\nCloser and closer came the wolves.\nForty feet.\nThe fire crackled as it bit into a pine knot and the beasts stopped\ntheir advance. But Ralph failed to wake up and the deadly circle drew\nnearer to the little camp in the center of the clearing.\nThirty feet.\nMitchell stirred restlessly and then relapsed into the deep sleep that\nclaimed him.\nAnother moment and the wolves would spring, their glistening, bared\nteeth ripping at their victims. They crept closer, crouched for the\nfatal spring.\nThe fire was lower, its light making only a dim glow, and through this\ncould be seen the bright eyes of the wolves.\nFrom the heavens came the deep thunder of the motor of the westbound\nmail. Its echoes filled the night and Ralph awakened instantly.\nThe wolves, startled by the sudden burst of sound, were motionless.\nIn the brief second before they leaped, Ralph threw his body across\nMitchell to shield the injured flyer from the savage onslaught.\nThe automatic in his hand blazed, shattering the darkness with shafts of\nflame.\nBullets thudded into the gray shapes which swirled around the dim\ncampfire.\nA huge timber wolf landed on top of Ralph. He felt its hot breath, heard\nthe throaty growl of triumph, felt the muzzle seek his throat.\nWith desperate effort and strength born of terror, Ralph pressed the\nmuzzle of the automatic against the shaggy grey fur. The shock of the\nheavy bullet distracted the wolf and it ceased its efforts to kill Ralph\nand slunk into the shadows.\nThe reporter crouched over Mitchell, waiting for more onslaughts. The\nwolf cries continued and Ralph put more fuel on the fire.\nIn the light from the leaping flames he saw the explanation. His first\nbullets had brought down two of the huge beasts and their companions,\nscenting the fresh blood, had turned from their attack and were tearing\nthe stricken wolves to pieces.\nMitchell handed a fresh clip of cartridges to Ralph and the reporter\nsent another hail of lead in the direction of the wolves.\nFresh cries of pain filled the night but it was not until Ralph had\nbrought down two more of the great beasts that the others slunk away and\ndisappeared in the timber.\n\"How did they happen to get so close?\" Mitchell asked.\n\"I must have fallen asleep,\" admitted Ralph. \"First thing I heard was\nthe roar of the westbound plane going over and then I saw a whole circle\nof hungry eyes looking at us. They were crouched, ready to spring, when\nthe sound of the plane distracted them. It gave me just time enough to\nget into action with the gun.\"\n\"Good thing you did or all that would have been left of us by morning\nwould be soup bones,\" grinned Mitchell. \"I've had all the thrills I want\nfor one night. I'm not going to risk going to sleep again.\"\nThe reporter and the mail flyer sat up and talked for the remainder of\nthe night.\nAt the first lightening of the sky, they resumed their journey toward\nthe plane. In the clearing they left the bodies of four wolves and\nfurther along the trail they found the body of a fifth, the one which\nhad leaped upon Ralph.\nThey finally reached the wreck of the mail plane and continued until\nthey came to the clearing where Ralph had left his ship.\n\"Not any too much room to get out of this pocket,\" commented Mitchell as\nhe surveyed the tall pines which enclosed the valley.\n\"I had to fish tail in and dodge a few trees doing it,\" replied Ralph.\n\"But if I got in I guess I'll be able to get out all right.\"\nMitchell rested in the snow while Ralph unlashed the plane and turned it\naround. Then the reporter boosted the flyer into the mail cockpit and\nprepared for the take-off. He primed the motor and felt that luck was\nwith him when it started easily.\nMitchell leaned out of the mail cockpit and shouted back at Ralph.\n\"I know this ship,\" he cried. \"Let her get a good run. Then pull back\nhard and she'll climb almost straight up. Don't hold her in a climb for\nmore than two hundred feet or she may slip back on back and go into a\ntail spin.\"\nRalph nodded his thanks and made a final check to see that the plane was\nready for the attempt to get out of the valley.\nTall pines loomed on every side. Straight ahead there was a slight break\nin the tree tops he hoped to be able to slide through. It would require\nskilful piloting but they had passed through so many ordeals in the last\nfew hours that Ralph felt himself capable of meeting the emergency.\nThe reporter leaned ahead and tapped Mitchell on the shoulder.\n\"All set?\" he asked.\nMitchell nodded.\n\"Then hang on,\" cried Ralph and he opened the throttle and sent the\nplane skimming through the snow.\nThe barrier of pines rose ahead of the propeller. Ralph waited until the\nlast second and then jerked the stick back. The wheels lifted off the\nground and the ship flashed into the air.\nIt was going to be close but it looked like they would clear the trees\nand wing their way eastward in safety. Ralph whipped the plane through\nthe narrow opening in the tree tops. They were almost clear when one\nwing brushed the snow-burdened tips of the pine. It was just enough to\nthrow the plane out of balance. They lost speed and the nose started\ndown.\nRalph had visions of being impaled on the tops of the trees and he\nworked frantically to right the plane. Lower and lower they slipped.\nThen the motor overcame the pull of gravity and they resumed their\nclimb. Two tall trees barred their way and Ralph banked sharply.\nThere was a sudden jar as though some giant had reached up to pluck the\nplane from the sky. Then it was over and they were soaring towards the\nclouds.\nMitchell, who had been watching their progress, relaxed and slumped down\ninto the mail cockpit.\nRalph, perplexed by the last jarring sensation as they cleared the final\nbarrier, wondered what had happened to the ship. The wing tips had not\nbeen damaged and the tail assembly was all right.\nDetermined to find out what had taken place, Ralph leaned far out of the\ncockpit in order to see the landing gear. One glance was sufficient. The\nleft wheel had been smashed.\nRalph slid back into his seat and gave his attention to the handling of\nthe plane. He had more than an hour in which to decide how he would land\nat Atkinson.\nThe sky cleared and the sun peeped over the horizon. The last snow of\nwinter would soon be little more than a memory but it would be a bitter\none for the air mail with two planes wrecked.\nAtkinson was just waking up when Ralph roared over and circled the\nairport. He swooped low to attract attention and first on the field was\nTim, who had been awakened by the sound of the plane.\n\"One wheel of Ralph's ship is smashed!\" cried Hunter.\n\"And I'll bet he hasn't got a whole lot of gas left,\" said Tim.\n\"What will we do?\" asked Carson, who had returned to the field.\n\"Take a wheel up to him,\" replied Tim.\nTurning to the field manager, he asked, \"Have you got a spare wheel that\nwill fit that ship?\"\n\"Two of them,\" said Hunter. \"I'll have them in in less than a minute.\"\nHe hastened to the parts room and returned with a spare wheel. Together\nthey ran to hangar No. 5 which was the home of the _Good News_. The\nplane, repainted and with its motor and rigging carefully checked, was\nready to go again.\n\"You handle the controls,\" Tim told Hunter, \"and I'll do the plane\nchanging stunt.\"\nHunter warmed up the _Good News_ and Tim secured the extra equipment he\nneeded. He tossed a coil of rope into the forward cockpit and put an\nassortment of wrenches of various sizes into the pockets of his\ntight-fitting leather jacket. Then he vaulted into the cockpit and\nsignalled for Hunter to open the throttle.\nThe _Good News_ flipped through the open door of the hangar, made a\nshort run, and then, its powerful motor thrumming steadily, nosed\nskyward in a steep climb.\nHunter took the _Good News_ alongside the slower mail plane and Tim\nsignalled to Ralph what he intended to attempt. Mitchell, who was now\naware of the danger of their situation, was watching anxiously from the\nmail cockpit of Ralph's plane. Himself an expert flier, he was fuming\nimpatiently at his helplessness.\nHunter and Ralph coordinated the speed of their planes and Hunter\ngradually edged over the other plane.\nTim made one end of the rope fast to the cockpit and to the other he\ntied the spare wheel. He lowered the wheel over the side of the fuselage\nand slowly let it down until it was just above Mitchell. The mail flyer\nreached up and took the wheel, untying the rope to which it had been\nfastened.\nThen Tim pulled the rope back, knotted it in half a dozen places, and\ntossed it overboard again.\n\"Take it easy,\" he warned Hunter as he unfolded his long legs and eased\nthem over the side of the cockpit. The air was cold and clinging to a\nswaying rope one thousand feet above the ground while traveling ninety\nmiles an hour was no picnic. Little by little Tim slid down the swaying\nrope.\nRalph watched the controls of his plane like a hawk, creeping nearer and\nnearer to Tim.\nThe gap between Tim and the upper wing of the mail plane\nlessened--almost vanished. Then the flying reporter let go and sprawled\non the wing, his hands clutching the forward wing.\nThe drop had knocked the breath from his body and he gasped painfully.\nAfter a short rest he felt his strength returning and started edging\ntoward the center of the ship. Ralph held the plane steady and Tim made\ngood progress. In less than five minutes he was in the mail cockpit with\nMitchell.\nIn a few words the injured pilot told Tim what had happened, of his own\ncrash and attempt to get out of the timber with the registered mail, how\nRalph had found him and later fought off the wolves and how they had\nsmashed a wheel in getting clear of the trees surrounding the valley.\nTim told Mitchell that he had found Lewis, the other missing pilot, and\nbrought him safely to Atkinson. That done, Tim took the wheel and slide\nout of the cockpit and down on to the landing gear.\nThe axle was only slightly bent and was still strong enough to stand the\nstrain of landing in the snow. Tim worked hard to get the lock nut off\nthe smashed wheel for it had jammed. He finally worked it loose and then\ndropped the damaged wheel on to the flying field far below.\nThe new wheel slid into place and he managed to get the lock nut on. The\nwheel wobbled a little but it would permit Ralph to land in safety.\nTim clambered back into the mail cockpit and motioned for Ralph to land.\nThe pilot brought the mail ship down to an easy landing and taxied up to\nthe row of hangars where they were met by the impatient managing editor.\nA photographer was waiting and he snapped half a dozen pictures as Ralph\nand Tim helped Mitchell from the plane.\nThe flyer was sent in to town for treatment at a hospital and Tim and\nRalph accompanied the managing editor to the _News_ office.\n\"Don't you want something to eat?\" asked Carson as they reached the\noffice.\n\"I'll wait,\" grinned Ralph. \"If I eat now I'll go to sleep and you'll\nnever wake me up. I'll write the story first and eat afterward.\"\nThe afternoon editions of the _News_ that day featured the stories Tim\nand Ralph had written of their adventures in rescuing the air mail\npilots. Pictures of Ralph's plane landing and of Ralph and Tim helping\nGeorge Mitchell were spread all over the second page.\nBut long before the presses started their daily run Tim was in the air\nagain, refreshed by at least part of a night's sleep. Ralph, exhausted\nby his adventures and lack of sleep, went to bed as soon as he finished\nwriting his story.\nAfter returning to the airport, Tim prepared to take his cowboy friends\nback to the Circle Four Ranch.\nHank Cummins, the owner of the Circle Four, was waiting for Tim at the\nfield.\n\"Just had a telephone call from the ranch,\" he said, \"and by the time we\nget there they'll have the mail down where we can pick it up.\"\n\"That will be fine,\" exclaimed Tim. \"I'll have it back here by late\nafternoon.\"\nTim warmed up the _Good News_ and motioned for the ranchman and Curly to\nclimb into the forward cockpit.\n\"Better strap yourselves in,\" he warned them. \"This ship steps out and\nwe're going places. If we happen to hit some rough air you'll think\nyou're riding a bronco.\"\nCurly grinned as though he thought Tim was joking but the flying\nreporter insisted that the cowboy strap himself in the plane.\nThe _Good News_ was pulsating with power and Tim decided to give his new\nfriends a thrill or two.\nHe opened the throttle and the plane dusted down the field like a scared\njackrabbit. Tim pulled back hard on the stick and the powerful motor\ntook them almost straight into the sky. Up and up they spiraled, clawing\nfor altitude and getting it by leaps and bounds.\nFive hundred, seven-fifty, one thousand, fifteen hundred and then two\nthousand. They were flashing away from the earth at a dizzying pace.\nWhen the plane was about the two thousand foot level, Tim levelled off\nand headed in the direction of the Circle Four.\nThe air speed indicator started to climb. There was a favoring wind to\nboost them along and the needle advanced steadily. They breezed along at\na hundred and eighty miles an hour and when Tim pushed the speed up to\none hundred and ninety miles an hour Curly turned around. His face was\nwhite and scared looking. He motioned for Tim to slow down and the\nflying reporter shut off the motor.\n\"I don't want to get home in a minute,\" yelled the cowboy. \"Take your\ntime, take your time. All I've got to do when we get home is chase\ncows.\"\nTim grinned and shook his head.\n\"You haven't seen anything yet,\" he cried. \"If you think a horse can\nbuck, watch this.\"\nThe flying reporter switched on the motor again and fed fuel into the\nwhite-hot cylinders. Their speed increased until they were flashing\nthrough the sky at two hundred and five miles an hour. Curly and Hank\nCummins were clinging to the combing of the front cockpit, their\nknuckles white from the desperation of their grip.\nTim eased up on the throttle and slowed down to the sedate pace of one\nhundred and fifty miles an hour. Curly and Hank settled down in their\nseats, only to lose their hats when Tim swung the _Good News_ into a\nloop. From that he dropped into a falling leaf and ended up by flying\nupside down.\n\"Can a bronco do stunts like that?\" asked Tim when the _Good News_ was\nagain on an even line of flight.\n\"One or two,\" Curly managed to say, \"but they can't buck upside down for\nthat long a time. Take me home. I'll be glad to get out of this sky\nhorse.\"\nThe _Good News_ fairly snapped the miles out of its exhaust and it was\nonly a short time after they had left the field at Atkinson when Tim\nbrought the plane to rest in the meadow below the ranch buildings.\nBoots and Jim were waiting for him with the sacks of mail they had taken\nfrom the wreckage of Lewis' plane in the Great Smokies.\nTim checked the sacks.\n\"Every one of them here and nothing damaged,\" he said. \"By night they'll\nbe on their way east again by air mail.\"\nHank Cummins urged him to go to the ranch house for a warm lunch, but\nTim refused the invitation.\n\"Then pay us a visit this summer when you have your vacation,\" insisted\nthe owner of the Circle Four. \"Come out here with the boys. They'll\nteach you how to ride and rope and maybe do a little fancy shooting.\nThere's good fishing in the streams back in the hills and maybe, if the\nrustling that started last summer keeps on, you might run into a little\nexcitement.\"\n\"In that case,\" smiled Tim, \"I wouldn't be surprised if you had a couple\nof reporters spending their vacations with you this summer.\"\n\"Nothing would please me more,\" said the genial ranchman, \"and be sure\nand drop in whenever you fly this way.\"\n\"Thanks for all you've done,\" said Tim, \"and if we can ever do you a\nfavor, don't hesitate to call on us.\"\nWith the air mail pouches in the forward cockpit Tim headed the _Good\nNews_ for home. The headwind slowed him somewhat but even with that\nhandicap he was back in Atkinson by mid-afternoon.\nA special section of the air mail eastbound had just come in and the\nsalvage mail was placed aboard it to continue the journey to eastern\ncities.\nWhen the air mail had taken off, Hunter turned to Tim.\n\"I'm writing a complete report and forwarding it to headquarters,\" said\nthe field manager. \"It was certainly great of you and Ralph to help out\nas you did. Lewis might have died and Mitchell certainly would have had\na rough time of it before we could have reached them if you fellows\nhadn't volunteered.\"\n\"We're always ready in an emergency,\" said Tim. \"Besides, we got some\ndandy stories for the paper.\"\n\"The company will reward you in some way,\" said Hunter, \"And they won't\nbe stingy about it when they read my report.\"\n\"Don't lay it on too thick,\" urged Tim.\n\"Not very much,\" grinned Hunter as he went into his office.\nTim was about to leave the field when Hunter called that he was wanted\non the phone. When Tim answered he recognized the voice of Captain Ned\nRaymond of the state police.\n\"I'd like to see you at the Hotel Jefferson right away. Same room as\nbefore,\" said the Captain.\n\"I'm just starting for town,\" replied Tim. \"I'll be there in fifteen or\ntwenty minutes.\"\nCaptain Raymond was pacing up and down the narrow confines of room 309\nwhen Tim entered.\n\"Glad to see you again, Murphy,\" said the state police official. \"Sit\ndown,\" and he waved toward the bed.\nCaptain Raymond continued his pacing, chewing nervously at the end of a\nheavy pencil.\n\"Trouble brewing,\" he said in the sharp, short way of his. \"Got a tip\nfrom Chicago today. We'll have to keep a sharp lookout.\"\n\"Just what for?\" asked Tim.\n\"That's it, that's it,\" exploded the fiery policeman. \"If I knew where\nto look, but I don't.\"\n\"Then we'll have to sit back and wait for something to happen.\" said\nTim.\n\"But keep our eyes open,\" added Captain Raymond. \"My tip is that some of\nthe members of the Sky Hawk's gang have worked out a new scheme of some\nkind and are planning a lot of robberies. Going to make a wholesale\nbusiness out of it. Our part of the country has been picked first\nbecause it will be easy for them to make a getaway. The mountains west\nof here, the river east. Good hiding for anyone who is evading the law.\"\nTim waited while Captain Raymond continued his pacing of the room.\n\"You have that plane of yours ready to go at a minute's notice,\" said\nthe trooper.\n\"It's always ready,\" replied Tim, \"For we never know just when a big\nstory will break and we'll need the plane.\"\n\"Good, good. And have no fear but what you'll get all the excitement you\nwant in a short time.\"\n\"I've had about all I want for a while,\" smiled Tim and he told of what\nhe and Ralph had gone through in the rescue of the air mail flyers.\n\"That's the stuff,\" explained Captain Raymond. \"You boys are just the\ntypes we need. I know I can count on you to come through in an\nemergency. Guess that's all for this time. I just wanted to warn you to\nexpect trouble soon. If you want to get in touch with me at any time\ntelephone the troop barracks at Harris. If I'm not there, they'll know\nwhere to locate me within a few minutes.\"\nWhen Tim left the hotel it was with the knowledge that he would soon be\nin conflict with members of the Sky Hawk's old band. He knew they would\nbe formidable foes but there was no fear in his heart.\nThe flying reporter returned to the _News_ office and started writing\nhis aviation column for the following day. He was tired and made slow\nprogress, but he had a little more than a column of material ready when\nhe closed his desk at six o'clock.\nDan Watkins, the head of the copy desk and one of Tim's closest friends,\nwas waiting for him.\n\"Where are you going to eat tonight?\" asked the copy chief.\n\"Anyplace where it is quiet,\" replied Tim. \"My head feels a little\nlight.\"\n\"Then some clam chowder could just about hit the spot with you,\"\nsuggested Watkins and they left the _News_ building and walked to a\nsmall, cozy restaurant on a nearby sidestreet. The quiet and the soft\nlights eased Tim's taut nerves and he felt his whole body relaxing.\n\"You've had some mighty busy days,\" commented Watkins when they were\ncomfortably seated.\n\"Busy but lots of fun,\" replied Tim.\n\"How about the chances you've been taking?\"\n\"They weren't chances,\" said the flying reporter. \"I always had a sturdy\nplane and I tried to use good judgment. Once or twice, I'll admit that I\ntook chances but in those cases the object far surpassed the risk.\"\n\"I heard the business manager and the managing editor talking about you\ntoday,\" said Watkins.\n\"Isn't my work up to standard?\" asked Tim.\n\"It wasn't about your work it was about you.\"\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\"Both of them are worried about your health. They are afraid you're\nworking too hard and when the managing editor and the business manager\nstart to worry about your health you can bet your bottom dollar you're\nvaluable to the paper. With me, I could have a nervous breakdown and\nthey'd never bat an eye. Probably be glad to get rid of me.\"\n\"Don't talk like that, Dan,\" pleaded Tim. \"You know that's not so. Why\nyou're the balance wheel of the editorial office. Carson wouldn't know\nwhat to do if anything happened to you. He depends on you to keep things\nrunning smoothly, see that the boys all cover their assignments and that\nthe copy goes steadily to the machines.\"\n\"We won't argue over that,\" smiled the copy chief, \"But you should have\nheard those two going at it this afternoon. The business manager fairly\nripped into Carson.\"\n\"What for?\"\n\"For letting you be sworn into the state police.\"\n\"You know that!\"\n\"Of course.\"\n\"But how?\"\n\"It's my business to know things like that. Anyway, the business manager\nsaid the state police could take care of themselves and that you were\ntoo valuable for the paper to lose. He said that hundreds of people took\nthe _News_ just to read about the adventures you and Ralph go through.\"\n\"What did Carson say?\" asked Tim.\n\"Oh he explained what the state troopers were up against and they had it\nhot and heavy for a while. All of which gets back to what I wanted to\nsay to you. Be careful, Tim, on this state police job. The troopers are\npaid to take chances with criminals; you're not. Help them where you can\nbut don't risk your own life unnecessarily.\"\n\"I don't intend to take unnecessary risks,\" said Tim, \"but you know how\nI feel about crime. Anything I can do to stop it or, after it is\ncommitted, to bring the criminals to justice, I'll do.\"\n\"I realize that, Tim, and I admire you for it,\" said Watkins. \"All I ask\nis that you be careful. The _News_ has done a great deal for you and it\nwill do a great deal more if you give it a chance.\"\nRoutine work filled the next ten days and there was no further news from\nCaptain Raymond of the state police. The warm winds of spring swept in\nfrom the south and the last traces of the late winter blizzard\ndisappeared. The grass sprang up and the trees started to leaf.\nDuring the lunch hour the reporters gathered on the south side of the\n_News_ building to exchange yarns and gossip. Gray skies of winter had\nbeen replaced by the cheerful ones of spring and life on the paper moved\nsmoothly. The menace of the Sky Hawk's gang had almost been forgotten\nwhen Tim was given an assignment that was to lead to many a strange and\nthrilling adventure.\nWhen Tim returned to the editorial room after lunch that day the\nmanaging editor summoned him to his office.\n\"I've got an assignment that is somewhat different from your usual run\nof things,\" explained Carson, \"but I'm sure you'll enjoy it. The\nSouthwestern railroad is speeding up the time of its midnight mail. The\nnew schedule calls for an average speed of fifty-one miles an hour. The\nsuperintendent of this division has invited me to send a reporter on the\nfirst trip tonight. How would you like to ride the cab of the mail down\nto Vinton?\"\n\"I'd like it, Mr. Carson,\" replied Tim. \"I've always wanted to ride in\nthe cab of a fast train.\"\n\"You'll have your chance tonight,\" smiled the managing editor, \"for if I\nknow anything about train schedules the mail is going to throw the miles\nup her stack when she hits her stride.\"\nCarson telephoned the railroad offices that Tim would ride the cab that\nnight.\n\"You'd better go down to the station about eleven o'clock,\" said the\nmanaging editor. \"You'll get your pass at the ticket office. Then go\ndown to the roundhouse and get aboard the engine there. The engineer and\nconductor will be expecting you. This is quite an event for the railroad\npeople and I want to give them a good yarn. I'll send Ralph to Vinton\nthis afternoon in the _Good News_ and he'll wait there and bring you\nhome in the morning. One of the staff photographers will be at the\nstation to take flash-lights when the mail pulls out.\"\n\"I'll finish my aviation column for tomorrow,\" said Tim, \"and then get\nsome old clothes for I don't imagine it will be any too clean on the\nengine.\"\nWhen Ralph returned from an assignment he was told to take the _Good\nNews_ and fly to Vinton, there to await the arrival of Tim on the\nmidnight mail.\nTim accompanied his flying companion to the airport and helped him wheel\nthe _Good News_ out of the hangar.\n\"Traveling on a train will seem kind of slow compared to the _Good\nNews_,\" suggested Ralph.\n\"I don't know about that,\" replied Tim. \"The mail's new schedule is a\nhair raiser and they'll have to pound the steel pretty hard to make\ntheir time. It won't be any picnic, I can tell you that.\"\nRalph, satisfied that the motor was thoroughly warm and ready for its\ntask, waved at Tim.\n\"See you in the morning,\" he called. Then he whipped the _Good News_\nacross the field and streaked into the southwest.\nTim watched the plane until it disappeared before he turned to the car\nwhich had brought them from town. On his way back to the city he drove\nleisurely, thoroughly enjoying the sweetness of the spring afternoon.\nThe road swung onto a viaduct that spanned the myriad rails of the\nSouthwestern. A transcontinental limited was pulling into the long\nstation, feathery puffs of steam drifting away from the safety valve.\nThe train came to a stop, porters swung their stools down on the\nplatform and the passengers descended. The engineer dropped down from\nthe cab and started oiling around the iron speedster of the rails.\nThere was something thrilling, fascinating about it and Tim looked\nforward with high interest to his trip that night. He drove on up town,\nreturning the car to the garage.\nAfter dinner alone he walked to his room, found a suit of coveralls and\nan old cap and bandanna handkerchief. These he rolled up and wrapped in\npaper. That done he sat down for an hour of reading the latest aviation\njournals and at eight o'clock he set his alarm clock for ten-thirty and\nlaid down for a nap.\nThe next thing Tim knew the alarm was ringing steadily and he roused\nhimself from the deep sleep into which he had fallen. He washed his face\nand hands in cold water and felt greatly refreshed, ready for whatever\nthe night might have in store in the way of adventure.\nOn the way to the station Tim stopped at an all night restaurant and\nenjoyed a platter of delicious country sausage. Then he continued his\nwalk toward the railroad yards.\nThe reporter descended the steps from the viaduct and entered the\nbrightly lighted station. It was two minutes to eleven when he walked up\nto the ticket window and introduced himself. The agent on duty handed\nhim his credentials and told him the shortest way to the roundhouse.\nTim left the station and its glow of light. Outside the night air was\ncool and he pulled his leather jacket closer around him. Great arc\nlights gleamed at intervals in the yard and a chugging switch engine\ndisturbed the quiet.\nThree blocks from the station was the roundhouse with its countless\nchimneys and numberless doors. Tim picked his way carefully over the\nswitches, skirted the yawning pit that marked the turn-table and entered\nthe master mechanic's office at the roundhouse.\nThe master mechanic, old Tom Johnson, was checking over the schedule of\nthe mail with Fred Henshaw, who was to pull the mail.\n\"What do you want?\" growled Johnson when he saw Tim standing in the\ndoorway.\n\"I'm from the _News_,\" replied Tim. \"The superintendent wanted a\nreporter to ride the mail tonight.\"\n\"What's your name?\" asked the master mechanic.\n\"Tim Murphy.\"\n\"Oh, so you're the flying reporter,\" smiled Johnson as he got out of his\nchair and shook hands with Tim. \"I've read a lot about you. Glad to know\nyou. Meet Fred Henshaw. He'll give you a few thrills tonight.\"\nTim and the engineer shook hands.\n\"We won't go as fast as you do by plane,\" smiled the engineer, \"But\nwe'll go places.\" \"I'm looking forward to the trip,\" said Tim. \"It will\nbe a real experience.\"\nThe telephone rang and the master mechanic answered.\n\"The dispatcher says the mail will be in on the advertised,\" he said.\n\"That gives us a break for the test run.\"\nHenshaw nodded and motioned for Tim to accompany him into the\nroundhouse.\nElectric lights high up under the roof tried vainly to pierce the\nshadows which shrouded the hulking monsters of the rails as they rested\nin their stalls. There must have been fourteen or fifteen locomotives in\nthe roundhouse, some of them dead; others breathing slowly and\nrhythmically, awaiting their turn to be called for service on the road.\nAt the far end of the roundhouse there was a glare of light as hostlers\nfinished grooming the 1064 for its run that night on the mail.\nThe 1064 was the latest thing the Southwestern boasted in the way of\nfast-passenger motive power. It was capable of hauling sixteen all-steel\nPullmans at seventy miles an hour and was as sleek and trim as a\ngreyhound.\nThe engineer took his torch and made a final inspection to be sure that\neverything was in readiness for the test run. Then he extinguished the\ntorch, threw it up into the cab, and motioned for Tim to follow him.\nThe little engineer scrambled up the steps and swung into the cab. Tim\nfollowed but with not nearly as much grace.\nThe fireman was busy with a long firehook and the glow from the open\ndoor of the firebox lighted the cab with a ruddy brilliance. When the\niron doors of the firebox slammed shut and the fireman straightened up,\nthe engineer introduced his fireman, Harry Benson.\nIntroductions completed, the engine crew fixed a place for Tim on the\nseat behind the engineer.\nHenshaw looked at his watch. It was eleven forty-five. He stuck his head\nout the window and looked at the turn-table. It had been swung into\nplace ready for the 1064 to steam out of the house.\nHarry Benson started the bell ringer, Henshaw released the air and\nopened the throttle a notch. The 1064 came to life, steam hissed from\nits cylinders, the drivers quivered and moved slowly in the reverse\nmotion. The 1064 slid out of the roundhouse, rocked a little as it went\nover the turn-table and then eased down the darkened yards until it came\nto a stop near the end of the long train shed.\nAt eleven-fifty a penetrating whistle came through the night to be\nfollowed several minutes later by the blazing headlight of the westbound\nmail.\nThe long string of mail cars came to a halt in front of the station, the\nengine which had brought them in was cut off, and steamed down the yard\non its way to the roundhouse. A lantern at the head end of the mail\nsignalled for the 1064 to back down and Henshaw set the engine in motion\nagain.\nWith a delicate handling of the air he nosed the tender of the 1064\nagainst the head mail car. The work of coupling the engine to the train\nwas a matter of seconds. Then Henshaw tested the air. It worked\nperfectly and the midnight mail was ready to continue its westward race\nacross the continent.\nThe interior of the cab was lighted by a green-shaded bulb just above\nthe gauges on the boiler. The sides were in the shadows and there was no\nreflection to bother the engineer as he stared into the night.\nThe conductor ran forward along the train and handed a sheaf of order\ntissues into the cab. Henshaw and his fireman read them together to make\nsure that they understood every order.\n\"Slow order for that new bridge at Raleigh is going to hurt,\" was the\nonly comment the engineer made as he climbed back on his box.\nMail trucks rumbled along the platform as extra crews hastened the work\nof unloading and loading the mail. Then they were through. The mail was\nready for the open steel.\nThe conductor's lantern at the back end of the train flashed in the\n\"high ball\" and Henshaw answered with two short, defiant blasts of the\nwhistle.\nThe engineer dusted the rails with sand, opened the throttle, and the\n1064 settled down to its night's work. With nine steel cars of mail to\nhold it down, the giant engine plunged out of the yards.\nOver the switches they clattered, the cab rocking and reeling as they\nstruck the frogs. They had a straight shot through the yards to the main\nline and Henshaw wasted no time in getting the 1064 into its stride.\nThey flashed past the outer signal towers and now only two twin ribbons\nof steel lay ahead of them. The mail was speeding down the right-hand\nwestbound track. They would meet the eastbound trains coming down the\nleft-hand pair of rails.\nThe needle on the speed indicator mounted steadily as Henshaw opened the\nthrottle notch by notch. The 1064's exhaust was a steady, deafening\nvolley that made conversation impossible.\nBlock signals popped up in the searching rays of the headlight to\ndisappear in the thunder of the train almost before Tim had time to read\ntheir signals. But the engineer saw them all and knew that the steel\nhighway ahead of him was clear.\nHarry Benson was busy feeding the fire. He swayed to and fro in the\nglare from the open firebox. First to the tender, then to the cab with a\nscoop of coal, then back to the tender for more coal.\nBy the time the mail was five miles out of Atkinson, Henshaw had the\n1064 near the peak of its stride. They were rolling down the line at\nbetter than seventy miles an hour. It was a dizzy pace and the cab\nrocked and rolled over the steel.\nTim marveled at the easy grace of the fireman as he swung back and forth\nbetween the cab and the tender, feeding great shovels of coal into the\nhungry firebox.\nThe mail flashed through sleeping villages and past darkened farmhouses.\nThe country through which they were speeding was sparsely settled and\nthere were few grade crossings. Only occasionally did Henshaw reach for\nthe whistle cord and send a sharp warning into the night.\nRaleigh was their first scheduled stop and five miles this side of the\ncity they slid down into a valley where a roaring stream rushed under\nthe rails. A repair crew had been strengthening the bridge and had not\nquite completed their work. As a result the dispatcher had put out a\nslow order which called for a speed not in excess of thirty miles an\nhour over the bridge. Henshaw glanced at his watch and grumbled to\nhimself as he pinched the mail down to comply with the orders. The air\nbrakes ground hard on the wheels and Tim looked back at the train.\nSparks were flying from every truck, cascading in showers along the\nright-of-way.\nThey rumbled over the bridge and Henshaw opened up again. Every minute\ncounted and he rolled the mail into Raleigh at a lively clip.\nThere was no need to handle the mail as he would a crack\ntranscontinental limited with extra fare passengers and a diner full of\nchinaware and Henshaw whipped the mail into the station and ground her\ndown hard. They stopped with a jerk that jarred every bone in Tim's\nbody.\nThe doors of the mail cars were rolled open and the crew started tossing\nthe pouches. Henshaw picked up his torch, lighted it, and dropped down\nto oil around while Benson pulled the spout down from the nearby water\ntank and gave the engine a drink.\nHigh speed means lots of steam and steam means water and more water.\nHundreds of gallons gushed into the tank on the tender and the fireman\nhad just completed his task when they got the highball. He was still on\ntop of the tender when Henshaw cracked his throttle and started the mail\non another leg of its fast run.\nThe fireman scrambled down off the swaying tender, opened the firebox,\nand started throwing in coal like a man possessed. There was a slight\ngrade out of the station at Raleigh and the laboring exhaust fairly\npulled the fire out the stack.\nOnce over the grade the 1064 hit her stride and they rolled away along\nthe foothills of the Great Smokies. This particular main stem of the\nSouthwestern ran through the foothills for several hundred miles,\nfinally finding a pass through which the rails continued their journey\nto the coast.\nThe running would be more precarious now and there was only one more\nstop and that for water at the village of Tanktown, a hamlet where a few\nrailroad men made their home.\nTim was fascinated by the precision with which the great locomotive\nworked, with the confidence the engineer displayed in its handling and\nwith the dexterity of the fireman as he fed fuel to the firebox.\nOn and on rushed the mail, the speed never under sixty miles an hour and\nsometimes well over seventy. Just before they plunged into the foothills\nthey struck a stretch of ten miles of almost straight track with only\none or two gentle grades.\nHenshaw yelled at his fireman and Benson grinned and motioned for the\nengineer to open the throttle. The bar went back into the last notch and\nTim felt the engine pulsate with new power. The needle on the speed\nindicator climbed to seventy-five and kept on. It paused at eighty and\nthen went on up to eighty-three. They were bouncing around in the cab\nwhen the little air whistle which the conductor uses in signalling the\nengine peeped.\nHenshaw waited until the conductor had signalled several times before he\neased off on the throttle and they dropped down to the slow pace of\nsixty-five miles an hour.\n\"I guess we gave the boys behind a thrill,\" yelled Henshaw and the\nfireman nodded as he straightened up to rest his weary muscles.\nOnce in the foothills where the grades were frequent and the curves\ntighter, their speed dropped below sixty miles an hour.\nWhen they stopped at Tanktown for coal and water, they were seven\nminutes ahead of their schedule and Henshaw took ample time to touch up\nthe journals and bearings of the great engine with liberal doses of oil.\nThe conductor ran forward.\n\"What's the idea,\" he demanded. \"Were you trying to put us all in the\nditch?\" \"Keep cool, keep cool,\" grinned Henshaw. \"Our orders were to\nmake time and we made it.\"\n\"Our orders didn't call for eighty-three miles an hour,\" sputtered the\ntrainman. \"Next time you try a stunt like that I'll pull the air on\nyou.\"\n\"You'll lose time if you do,\" smiled the engineer. \"You sit back in your\nmail cars and I'll do the worrying about keeping the train on the\nrails.\"\nThe fireman yelled that he was ready to go. Henshaw looked at his watch\nand climbed into the cab.\nThe whistle blasted two short, sharp calls and the flagman on the back\nend swung aboard. The mail sped on the last lap of its inaugural run on\nthe new schedule.\nMile after mile disappeared behind the red lights of the last car. They\nwere less than forty miles from the end of the division when they swung\naround a curve to see the rails ahead of them disappear in an inferno of\nflame.\nHenshaw jammed on the air and leaned far out of the cab. Tim dropped\ndown in the gangway and looked ahead. A small patch of timber through\nwhich the right-of-way passed was on fire, and a wall of flame barred\ntheir way.\nThe engineer pinched his train down to a stop about two hundred yards\nfrom the burning timber. Even at that distance they could hear the roar\nof the flames and feel the heat from the cauldron of fire.\n\"Looks like this is the end of your run,\" said Tim.\n\"Don't know,\" replied the engineer. \"We might make it.\"\n\"Going to try and run the fire?\" asked the fireman.\n\"Orders say to get the mail through to the west end on time,\" said the\nengineer, \"And orders are orders. What say, boys?\"\n\"I say yes,\" grinned the fireman. \"The steel ought to hold us and we can\ncoast through without much push or pull on the rails.\"\n\"I'm riding the mail,\" said Tim when the engineer turned to him.\n\"Then here we go,\" decided Henshaw. He threw over the reverse lever and\nstarted backing away from the flames. When the 1064 was a mile from the\nburning timber he brought the train to a stop.\nMail clerks and trainmen had their heads out the doors, wondering what\nthe engineer was going to do.\nThe conductor hurried up.\n\"We'll have to stay here,\" he told the engineer.\n\"Stay here? Well, I guess not,\" replied Henshaw. \"Orders say 'on time'\nat the west end. If you're going to stay with this train, swing on and\nmake it snappy. We're going to run for it.\"\nThe conductor protested but the engineer set his train in motion and the\nconductor finally swung on one of the mail cars and climbed inside.\nThe 1064 picked up speed rapidly and they rolled down on the fire.\n\"Duck down behind the boiler when I yell,\" said the engineer and Tim and\nthe fireman nodded that they understood.\nThe distance between the pilot and the flames was decreasing rapidly.\nTim slid off the box behind the engineer and clung to one side of the\ncab. The world ahead was a wall of fire that leaped toward the heavens.\nTim heard the engineer yell and he ducked behind the head of the boiler.\nThe engine swayed sickeningly but held to the steel. There was the roar\nof the fire, the stifling heat that seemed to sear its way into his\nlungs, hot brands filled the cab and he felt his hair scorching in the\nterrific heat. Then the engine stumbled onto cool steel and they were\nthrough the burning timber and into the cool night air again.\nTim shook the cinders from his hair and straightened up. He looked for\nthe engineer and found Henshaw industriously beating out tongues of\nflame which were licking around the window. Between flailing his arms at\nthe fire he would stop momentarily to widen out on the throttle as the\n1064 swung into her stride again.\nThe reporter turned to the fireman's side of the cab. Benson was\nmissing.\nWith a cry of alarm, Tim summoned the engineer from his side of the cab.\n\"The fireman's gone!\" he cried.\nBoth of them felt the hand of death grip at their hearts. Perhaps a\nlurch of the cab had thrown Benson out and into the flaming woods. There\nwould have been no chance for his survival and they looked at each other\nwith horror written in their faces.\nThe shock of the sudden tragedy left Tim speechless and the engineer\nclimbed slowly back to his throttle. There was no joy in the cab of the\n1064 over their victory with the flames for Henshaw had lost the best\nfireman he had ever had.\nTim was used to sudden shocks but the one of turning to look for the\nfireman and finding him gone was one that would remain with him through\nlife.\nThe needle on the steam gauge wavered and started down as the 1064 made\nits heavy demands for power. Someone must keep the fire hot.\nHenshaw glanced anxiously at his watch.\n\"We're right on the dot now,\" he shouted at Tim. \"If you can throw the\nblack diamonds for about thirty minutes we'll go into the west end on\ntime.\"\n\"I'll do my best,\" shouted Tim above the noise of the madly working\nmachinery.\nA foot lever which operated a small steam engine opened the door of the\nfirebox and Tim stepped on the lever. The heavy iron doors swung open\nand he looked into a white-hot pit. The fire was thin in spots and he\npicked up Benson's scoop, set his legs for the pitch and roll of the\ncab, and swung a scoop of coal into the firebox. The first one went\nwhere he intended it but on the second attempt they struck a tight curve\nand most of the coal went up the engineer's neck.\nHenshaw laughed.\n\"Better luck next time,\" he shouted encouragingly.\nTim took a fresh grip on the scoop and in less than five minutes had an\neven bed of coal scattered over the firebox.\nThere was something strange and mysterious about the woods being on fire\nand it troubled Tim, who sought some solution as he swayed from tender\nto firebox and back to tender. Here it was, the spring of the year, and\nthat patch of woods afire. A campfire started by tramps might have\nspread, but Tim doubted that thought. Sparks from a passing train might\nhave been the cause but for some reason, perhaps just a newspaperman's\nintuition, he felt that there was something sinister behind the cause of\nthe fire.\n\"Take it easy, we're almost in,\" shouted Henshaw as he pointed to the\nlights of Vinton as they swung around a curve.\nTim stuck his scoop into the coal pile and straightened up for the first\ntime since he had taken the fireman's place.\nThe muscles in his back ached and his arms were sore, but he felt that\nhe had earned his ride. His thoughts still on the fire, he stepped over\nto the engineer's side of the cab.\n\"Anything of special value on tonight?\" he asked.\n\"Don't know for sure,\" replied Henshaw as he eased up on the throttle.\n\"There were rumors back at Atkinson that there was a lot of _specie_\naboard for some coast bank. Never can tell but the mail usually has a\npouch or two of valuable mail.\"\nTim was silent as Henshaw guided the mail through the maze of tracks\nthat marked the east entrance of the yards at Vinton. Green and red\nlights blinked out of the night at them.\nThere was the hollow roar as they rumbled past long lines of freight\ncars on the sidings, the sharp exhaust of a laboring switch engine, the\nmultiple lights of the roundhouse and finally the station itself loomed\nin the rays of their headlight.\nAt the far end of the big depot Tim could see another engine waiting to\nbe hooked onto their train to continue the mail's dash for the coast.\nHenshaw cracked his throttle just enough to bring them in with a\nflourish and stopped his scorched string of mail cars at the station on\ntime to the second.\nWhen Tim dropped out of the cab he was astounded to see Colonel Robert\nSearle, head of the state police, striding toward him.\n\"Hello, Murphy,\" said the officer, \"what's this I hear about you fellows\nrunning through a piece of burning timber?\"\n\"That's right, Colonel,\" said Tim. \"We struck a patch about forty miles\ndown the line and it looked for a time like we weren't going to get\nthrough. Then Mr. Henshaw, the engineer, decided to run for it.\"\n\"You didn't waste much time when you first stopped for the fire did\nyou?\"\n\"Not any more than we had to,\" said the engineer. \"The string of\nvarnished cars was stepping on a fast schedule.\"\n\"Then that explains why there wasn't a million dollar robbery on this\nline tonight,\" said the head of the state police.\n\"Million dollar robbery!\" exclaimed Tim and the engineer. \"What do you\nmean?\"\n\"Just this,\" explained Colonel Searle. \"There's a million in cold cash\nback in one of those mail cars. We got a tip after you were out of\nRaleigh that there might be trouble and there isn't any question but\nthat the timber was set afire in an attempt to stop the train. Whoever\nplanned the robbery figured that the train crew would leave the train\nand go up for a closer view of the fire. When you decided to back up and\nrun for it, you threw a monkey wrench into their plans. It must have\nbeen a small gang or they would have attempted to have stopped you even\nthen.\"\n\"Our fireman is missing,\" put in Tim. \"When we got the cinders out of\nour eyes after dashing through the fire we found Harry Benson gone.\"\n\"Maybe he was in with the gang,\" suggested Colonel Searle.\n\"Not Benson,\" said the engineer firmly. \"He's one of the most loyal men\non the line. Only one thing could have happened to him. He lost his\nbalance and fell out the gangway.\" Tears were in the engineman's eyes\nand they were silent for a moment.\nGray streaks of dawn were making their appearance on the eastern sky\nwhen Tim and the head of the state police left the mail train.\nRailroad officials had indicated that they would start an investigation\nof the cause of the fire, but Colonel Searle informed Tim that he\nintended to make his own inquiry.\nThey were leaving the station when the fresh engine which had been\ncoupled on the mail sounded the \"high ball\" and another engineer took up\nthe race for the coast.\nThey went to a hotel were Ralph, who had just dressed, greeted them. He\nwanted to know all about the events of the night and Tim painted a vivid\nword picture of what had happened.\n\"We'll get something to eat,\" said Colonel Searle, \"and then fly down\nthe line and take a look at that timber patch.\"\n\"Do you think this may have something to do with the old Sky Hawk gang?\"\nasked Tim, giving voice to a thought that he had harbored for some time.\n\"Looks like one of their fiendishly clever jobs,\" admitted the colonel,\n\"and it's just about time for them to start something.\"\nHalf an hour later they were at the Vinton airport, warming up the motor\nof the _Good News_. The sun was just turning the eastern sky into a\nwarm, rosy dawn when Tim gave the motor a heavy throttle and sent the\n_Good News_ winging off the field.\nHe swung the plane over Vinton, picked up the twin tracks of the\nSouthwestern and headed back toward Atkinson. His hands, sore and\nbruised from handling the heavy scoop, ached as he held the controls of\nthe plane. Unconsciously he compared the massive, brute power of the\nlocomotive with the graceful, birdlike machine he was flying. Riding the\ncab of the mail had been an experience he would never forget but he was\nhappy to be back in the clouds on the trail of what promised to be\nanother sensational story.\nThe rails twisted and turned through the foothills and Tim marveled as\nhe thought of the speed they had made with the mail, wondered how they\nhad ever stayed on the steel at the dizzying pace with which they had\nsplit the night.\nThe hills broadened out, wider valleys appeared and it was in one of\nthese that they found the smouldering patch of timber which had been an\ninferno of flame and smoke only a few hours before.\nRailroad section men had already gathered at the scene and Tim could see\nother gasoline handcars speeding down the rails. Ties would have to be\nreplaced, new ballast put in and the rails tested to make sure that the\nheat had not warped them. Traffic on the system must not be held up a\nminute longer than necessary and the railroad men were rallying to the\nemergency.\nTim found a small meadow which was large enough for a landing. He\nfish-tailed the _Good News_ into the field and set the plane down\nlightly. They lashed it with spare ropes which Tim carried in his own\ncockpit and then started for the railroad, a quarter of a mile away.\nBlackened stumps of trees reared their heads into the gay sunlight of\nthe spring morning, grim reminders of the near tragedy. Perhaps they\nwere the only headstones Harry Benson would ever have, thought Tim, as\nhe wondered if they would find any trace of the fireman.\nA husky section boss told them to get out and stay out but Colonel\nSearle displayed his badge, which gave them access to anything they\nwanted to see.\nThe entire timber lot was not more than four or five acres in extent. It\nhad been covered with a heavy growth of underbrush and with the drought\nof the year before it had been tender for any careless or intentional\nmatch.\nSmall patches of timber were still burning but along the railroad\nright-of-way the flames had either died down or had been smothered by\nsection men beating at them with wet sacks.\n\"Find anything of the fireman?\" Tim asked one of the workers.\n\"Sure,\" replied the railroad man, \"he's up the line a couple hundred\nfeet.\"\n\"Alive?\"\n\"You bet. Got a broken leg but all right outside of that,\" grinned the\nman as he continued beating a sack at a stubborn blaze at the base of a\nstump.\nTim waited for no further question but ran toward the far side of the\ntimber lot where a group of railroad men had gathered. They were in a\ncircle around someone on the ground. The flying reporter pushed them\naside and looked down on the scorched, smoke-blackened features of Harry\nBenson. The fireman was in great pain from his broken leg, but he was\nmaking a brave attempt to smile.\n\"Hello, reporter,\" he said. The words were close clipped and came from\nlips tense with pain.\n\"Hello yourself,\" said Tim. \"We thought you must have been thrown out\ninto the fire after we missed you last night.\" \"Not me,\" said the\nfireman. \"It was a close call but I didn't get anything more than a bad\nscorching. Who fired for the rest of the run?\"\nTim held out his sore, cramped hands and the railroad men joined in the\nfireman's laugh.\n\"Laugh all you want to,\" smiled Tim, \"but I kept that kettle of yours\nhot and Henshaw took her in on time.\"\n\"How did you happen to fall out of the cab?\" asked Colonel Searle, who\nhad joined the group around the fireman.\n\"I was trying to get one more shovel of coal into the old pot,\" said\nBenson. \"I misjudged the distance and speed and was caught half way\nbetween cab and tender when we hit the fire. Figured I knew my way back\nto my side of the cab and made a jump for it. Instead of going where I\nintended I dove out the gangway. Good thing for me it only took us about\nfive seconds to run that fire or I'd have plunged right into the center\nof it. I landed rolling, hit a rock and broke my leg and have been here\never since. Now we're waiting for a special that is coming down from\nVinton with a doctor.\"\n\"Notice anything peculiar about the fire while you were lying here?\"\nasked the officer.\n\"Only one thing,\" admitted the fireman. \"It smelled kind of oily and the\nsmoke was mighty dark but my leg was hurting so much I didn't pay a lot\nof attention to the fire except to worry for fear it might spread and I\nwouldn't be able to get out of the way.\"\n\"Did you hear any strange sounds?\" asked Tim.\n\"Only once,\" replied the fireman. \"Sounded sort of like a high-powered\ncar but when I didn't hear it again I thought I must have been going\nbatty.\"\n\"Didn't see anyone?\" asked the colonel.\n\"Not until some of these section hunkies came chugging down the line,\"\nsaid the fireman.\nSatisfied that they could gain no additional information from\nquestioning the fireman, Tim and Colonel Searle turned away and joined\nRalph to start a systematic search of the blackened timber.\nThe two reporters and the head of the state police moved back and forth\nacross the timber, searching for something that might indicate how the\nfire had started. They covered the section of timber on the right side\nof the railroad without result and then crossed over the rails and\nresumed their search on the left side.\nFor half an hour they combed the charred underbrush but without success\nand they met on the far side of the timber lot to discuss further plans.\n\"Slim pickings,\" commented the colonel. \"I haven't found enough to hang\non a toothpick.\"\n\"About all I've got is an idea,\" said Tim as he started toward an old\nstream bed which cut through the valley. The colonel and Ralph, their\ncuriosity aroused, followed the flying reporter.\nThe creek which ran through the valley had changed its channel a number\nof times and its old courses were filled with rubbish which the wind had\ndeposited. It was in these old creek beds that Tim resumed his search.\nHe had not been hunting five minutes when his cry brought the colonel\nand Ralph to his side.\nBelow them, hidden in the underbrush of the old channel, they saw half a\ndozen large tin containers.\n\"That's how your fire was started,\" said Tim. \"Someone doused the timber\nwith a generous supply of crude oil and how that stuff does burn.\"\nThey slid down the bank of the old creek bed and Tim and Ralph pulled\none of the containers out where they could get a better view.\n\"Careful how you handle those,\" warned Colonel Searle, \"and don't move\nmore than one or two. I'll have a fingerprint expert out here to look\nthem over. We may find a valuable story in the fingerprints if the chaps\nwho started the fire got careless.\"\n\"They're not the type to overlook any clues,\" said Tim.\n\"Not as a rule,\" conceded the colonel, \"but you must remember they\nwouldn't have figured in the state police being in on this so soon.\nBelieve me, it was a clever stunt of theirs setting fire to the woods\nand using that as a ruse to stop the mail. If it hadn't been for the\ndetermination of engineer Henshaw to get his train through on the new\nschedule on time, we'd have had something to really worry about this\nmorning. If it had been a large gang they would have attempted to stop\nyou anyway so it must have been a small, brainy outfit. Just the type of\nfellows the Sky Hawk used to have in his outfit.\"\nThere were no identifying marks on the containers and Tim and Ralph were\ncareful not to disturb more than the one they had pulled into view.\nThe whistle of the special from Vinton sounded and when they climbed\nback to the level floor of the valley, they saw the stubby three car\ntrain grinding to a halt.\nBehind the engine were two cars loaded with construction material, new\nrails and ties and fresh ballast. The last car was a passenger coach\nwhich was disgorging half a hundred workmen. A doctor, nurse and several\nrailroad officials also got off the rear car and hastened toward the\ninjured fireman.\n\"Benson will soon be out of his agony,\" said Tim. \"What a night he must\nhave had, lying there with the flames all around and practically\nhelpless because of his broken leg.\"\nA telegraph operator who had come down on the special was busy shinning\nup a telegraph pole to cut in his instrument and place the scene of the\nfire in communication with the dispatcher and other points on the\ndivision.\n\"I'm going to have that fellow telegraph for our fingerprint expert to\nmeet you at Atkinson,\" said the colonel. \"You boys fly back home, write\nyour stories, and bring him back. It will save hours over the best train\nconnections he could make, and he may be able to read a surprising story\nif there are any fingerprints on these empty oil cans.\"\nTim and Ralph left the colonel and started for the _Good News_. On their\nway they passed over a small, level piece of ground. Two strange looking\nmarks, about six feet apart and from thirty to forty feet long,\nattracted Tim's attention and he stopped to examine them.\n\"Trying to read 'footprints in the sands of time'?\" asked Ralph.\n\"Not exactly footprints,\" grinned Tim, \"but these marks didn't just get\nhere. Someone made them and I'd like to know what for.\"\n\"They look like those made by airplane landing wheels,\" suggested Ralph,\n\"but a plane couldn't land or take off in this short a space.\"\nTim studied the marks carefully and then proceeded toward the _Good\nNews_ without making any further comment on his discovery.\nThe flying reporters swung their plane around and Ralph unblocked the\nwheels while Tim warmed up the motor. Then they sped away toward\nAtkinson, leaving the charred and blackened remains of the timber behind\nthem.\nWhen they landed at their home field, the managing editor was waiting\nfor them.\n\"What's this about an attempt at a million dollar robbery?\" he demanded.\nTim and Ralph looked at each other blankly. They had not dreamed that\nthe news might have preceded them for they thought the railroad people\nand the state police were trying to keep it under cover.\n\"How did you find out about it?\" asked Ralph.\n\"A little birdie flew in and whispered in my ear,\" grinned the managing\neditor.\n\"The rumor is correct,\" admitted Tim. \"Some gang set a patch of timber\non fire last night in an attempt to stop the mail and get away with that\nshipment of money to the west coast. The only thing that averted the\nholdup was the quick action of the engineer in deciding to run through\nthe fire and his speed in reversing his train and backing up a mile to\nmake a run for it.\"\n\"It must have been a thrill riding in the cab when you shot through the\nflame and smoke,\" said Carson.\n\"Almost too much of a thrill,\" conceded Tim. \"The fireman fell out of\nthe cab and broke a leg. I finished firing on the run into Vinton and\nthis morning they found the fireman lying along the right-of-way. He was\nsuffering from shock. Lucky thing for him the fire didn't spread.\"\n\"Then you've plenty of material for a corking good yarn,\" exclaimed\nCarson. \"Hop in the car and we'll head for the office.\"\nTim and Ralph told everything that had taken place and the managing\neditor became more enthused as their story progressed.\n\"You think it may be some members of the old Sky Hawk gang?\" he asked.\n\"I've got a hunch that it is,\" said Tim.\n\"That will make a fine angle to bring into the story,\" said Carson.\n\"If I mention that we suspect any of the old gang, it will queer our\nchances of getting them,\" said Tim. \"I'll write you a story every reader\nof the paper will find interesting but I don't want to give away whom we\nsuspect. Those oil cans back there may have some fingerprints on them\nthat will prove valuable clues.\"\nThe managing editor finally agreed to Tim's wishes and when they reached\nthe _News_ building Tim and Ralph went to their typewriters and started\nwriting their stories.\nTim wrote the main story of the attempt to rob the train, making it\nvivid with glowing descriptions of the train's race through the flaming\ntimber.\nRalph wrote the story of the investigation and then Tim dashed off a\ncolumn about the fireman who, his leg broken, had laid along the\nright-of-way with the flames threatening to bring his death.\nBoth young reporters were alive to the excitement of the hour and they\nbreathed their own interest into their stories. As a result the copy\nthey placed on the managing editor's desk was brilliant, readable\nmaterial of the kind that would make any managing editor's heart warm.\nCarson read the stories with a quick eye, pencil poised to mark out\nerrors. But he found none and when he had finished he leaned back in his\nswivel chair and smiled at Tim and Ralph.\n\"Another piece of fine work,\" he said. \"Believe me, you boys can write.\"\n\"Stories like those don't have to be written,\" said Tim. \"They write\nthemselves.\"\nCarson glanced at the clock. It was almost noon.\n\"Better get some lunch if you're going to fly the fingerprint expert\nback to the scene of the attempted robbery,\" he said.\n\"We won't have time to eat,\" said Ralph.\n\"You'll take time,\" ordered the managing editor. \"After all the energy\nand brain power you've used in writing these stories you need to give\nyour bodies food.\"\n\"Now this is an assignment. Go down to the Red Mill and order the\nbiggest steaks they have in the house. Take at least forty-five minutes\nfor your lunch and forget to pay the check as you leave. They'll put it\non my account. Mind now, I want you to relax. Your minds will work much\nbetter after you've had something to eat.\"\nThe boys promised they would obey the managing editor's instructions and\nwent to the Red Mill where they discussed the events of the preceding\nhours over thick, juicy steaks.\nWhen the flying reporters returned to the airport, a thin, bespectacled\nyoung man who carried a black brief case under one arm was waiting for\nthem.\n\"I'm Charlie Collins, fingerprint man for the state police,\" he told\nthem.\nThe flying reporters introduced themselves and then turned to the\nmanager of the airport, who was standing nearby.\n\"Plane all ready to go?\" asked Tim.\n\"Everything O. K.,\" replied Hunter, \"And the sky's clear all the way.\nThere's a tail wind that will help all the way.\"\n\"Faster the better,\" grinned Tim.\n\"How fast will you travel?\" asked the fingerprint expert nervously.\n\"Oh, about two hundred,\" replied Tim.\n\"Two hundred miles an hour!\"\n\"Sure,\" said Tim. \"We can even do a little better than that if you're in\nsuch a hurry to get down there.\"\n\"I'm in a hurry all right,\" said Collins, \"but not 'two hundred miles an\nhour' in a hurry. I've never been up before.\"\n\"You'll like it,\" said Ralph. \"Greatest thrill you'll ever have.\"\n\"Will it bump and jump around badly?\" asked the fingerprint expert.\n\"Rides smoother than a Pullman on a day like this,\" promised Tim.\n\"Well, since Colonel Searle ordered me to come down with you, I'll have\nto go,\" concluded Collins, \"But I'd much rather make the trip by auto or\nby train.\"\n\"You'll like it once you're up,\" said Tim as he helped the suspicious\none into the forward cockpit. Ralph buckled the safety belt on their\npassenger and then fastened his own.\nTim flipped the wings, waggled the stick, and they roared off the field.\nWhen the wheels left the ground, the fingerprint expert let out a shriek\nthat even Tim could hear above the motor but as soon as they were in the\nair, Collins' nerves settled and he started to enjoy his ride.\nTim shoved the throttle well ahead and their air speed climbed to one\nhundred eighty miles an hour. There were plenty of clouds in the sky but\nthere was a ceiling of three thousand feet and Tim sent the _Good News_\ndancing along.\nAlmost before they knew it they were circling down to land in the field\nthey had used earlier in the day.\nColonel Searle was waiting to greet them and he gave Charlie Collins a\nhand down from the forward cockpit.\n\"How did you like the ride?\" Tim asked the fingerprint expert.\n\"I was scared stiff at the start,\" admitted Collins, \"but after we were\noff the ground I enjoyed every minute of it.\"\n\"Thought you would,\" smiled Tim.\nThey staked down the _Good News_ and then hurried across the railroad\ntracks and on to the old creek bed where they had found the empty oil\ncontainers.\nCollins took charge of the investigation and Tim and Ralph sat down to\nwatch him work. The fingerprint expert moved slowly and carefully,\nfearful lest he might blot out some print that would be valuable.\nEvery tin was examined and the fingerprints recorded and filed for\ncomparison with the records at the headquarters of the state police.\n\"Anything that looks familiar?\" asked Colonel Searle when Collins had\nfinished his task.\n\"Can't be sure,\" replied the expert. \"Some of them look like prints by\nthe Sky Hawk's old crowd. I won't know for sure until I can get back to\nthe records in the office.\"\nTim and Ralph looked at each other significantly. Here was another\nmention of the Sky Hawk. The trail was getting warmer.\nThe railroad men had completed the work of repairing the right-of-way\nwhere it had been damaged by the fire, and trains, delayed for hours,\nwere on their way once more. Transcontinental limiteds and long strings\nof refrigerator cars were wheeling down the steel as fast as their\nengineers could roll them.\nColonel Searle decided to ride back to Vinton on one of the trains and\nrequested Tim and Ralph to take Collins to Atkinson with them. This the\nflying reporters agreed to do and in less than ten minutes they were\nwinging their way homeward, passing train after train which seemed to be\nlittle more than crawling along the twin ribbons of steel.\nWhen they slid down out of the sky to a perfect three point the sun was\nfar down in the west. Less than twenty-four hours had elapsed since Tim\nhad climbed into the cab of the midnight mail at the union station but\nmany things had happened in those few hours and more portended.\nA car was waiting at the field to whisk the fingerprint expert away, but\nbefore Collins left he promised to telephone the _News_ office whatever\nsecrets the fingerprints might unfold.\nTim and Ralph helped the mechanics wheel their plane into the hangar and\nthen started for the city. They had dinner and then went to the _News_\noffice to await whatever word there might be from the fingerprint\nexpert.\nThe building was deserted except for a scrub-woman who was busy swishing\nher mop around the desks in the business office on the main floor.\nTim and Ralph walked up to the editorial office and switched on the\nlights over their desks. The telephones, which kept up an almost\nincessant clamor during the daytime, were silent, sulking on the desks.\nThe electric printers which brought in the news of the world in never\nending sheets of copy paper slept beneath their steel hoods. It was\nstrange how quiet the plant could be at night. With the setting of the\nsun its life seemed to drain away, only to return again with the\nsunrise.\nTim worked on his aviation column for the next day while Ralph wrote a\nfeature on the speed with which the railroad crews had repaired the\nright-of-way damaged by the fire.\nIt was mid-evening before the telephone on Tim's desk rang. The summons\nwere imperative.\nTim took the receiver off the hook and his hand shook. Ralph stopped\nwork and came over to lean over his shoulder.\nThe call was from the headquarters of the state police. It was Collins,\nthe fingerprint expert, speaking.\nThe connection was poor and Tim was forced to call the operator and ask\nfor a better wire. Finally they were able to hear Collins distinctly.\n\"I've checked up on the fingerprints,\" said the expert, \"and they tally\nwith those of Shanghai Sam and Pierre Petard, two members of the old Sky\nHawk gang!\"\nTim's hand trembled as he heard the words. Shanghai Sam and Pierre\nPetard were considered the two most dangerous members of the gang next\nto the Sky Hawk himself. The Hawk was gone but Sam and Pierre were\ncarrying on for him.\nCollins talked steadily for several minutes.\n\"Remember how you chased the Sky Hawk when he had the death ray?\" he\nasked.\nTim replied in the affirmative.\n\"From all the dope I can get,\" said Collins, \"Sam and Pierre were with\nthe Hawk that night, one of them in the plane itself and the other\nwaiting to help with the getaway on the ground. Of course they'll have\nno scruples if you cross their path. In fact, they would probably go out\nof their way to meet you. Pleasant prospect, isn't it?\"\n\"Not so pleasant,\" replied Tim, \"for those chaps will stop at nothing.\"\nThe reputation of Shanghai Sam and Pierre Petard was known to every\npolice official in the central west. Petard had served in the Allied\naviation forces during the war but he had later been revealed as a\nGerman spy and had thrown his lot with that of the Sky Hawk, former\nGerman war ace. Shanghai Sam came from the opposite end of the world, a\nwhite man who had been king of the crooks in the far east. When the\nmiddle west had offered a richer field he had not hesitated to transfer\nhis activities and had joined the Sky Hawk and his band.\n\"Have you found any trace of either of them, except the fingerprints,\nnear the scene of the attempted robbery?\" asked Tim.\n\"I looked over the reports a few minutes ago,\" replied Collins, \"and\nthey must have vanished into thin air.\"\n\"I'm not so sure but what that's exactly what they did,\" said Tim as he\nthought of the queer marks he had found near the railroad right-of-way.\nCollins warned them to be extremely careful of their movements for the\nnext few days and then hung up.\n\"Well, what do you think of that?\" asked Ralph.\n\"Just about what I expected,\" said Tim, \"I was convinced that men\ntrained under the Sky Hawk were behind the attempt. They are the only\nones with the brains and the daring to have thought of such a way to\nstop the mail. The only thing that averted a million dollar robbery last\nnight was the quick hand of engineer Henshaw and his decision to run\nthrough the fire.\"\n\"The railroad ought to retire him on a double pension,\" said Ralph.\n\"Don't think he'd want to retire,\" said Tim. \"He's the kind who will\nstay at the throttle until he is too old to stand the strain of the high\nspeed demanded today.\"\nTheir conversation turned to what might happen in the future and how\nbest to protect themselves against Shanghai Sam and Pierre Petard.\n\"Our best protection will be to keep on the alert,\" said Tim. \"We'll\nkeep our eyes open and our wits about us. In the morning we'll get some\npictures of Sam and Pierre from the state police and become more\nfamiliar with their looks. They'll try another job in a few days and\nwe'll want to be ready to cope with them in any emergency.\"\nThey left the office together and long after Tim had gone to bed he\nthought of the strange marks. They were connected in some important way,\nhe felt, with Shanghai Sam and Pierre Petard.\nThe next day Tim went to the public library where he spent the morning\nreading all that was available about Pierre Petard, the former war hero.\nThere was nothing in the library about Pierre Petard the criminal. Tim\nalso read voluminously about the development of airplanes and of the\nmany freak planes that had been invented and of a few that had been made\nto fly. There was a growing conviction in his mind, but he was not yet\nprepared to divulge it even to Ralph. It was so simple that they might\nall laugh at him.\nWhen Tim returned to the office, Captain Ned Raymond was talking to\nRalph. The captain had pictures of Shanghai Sam and Pierre Petard for\nthe flying reporters to study.\n\"They'll try something else soon,\" asserted the state police official,\n\"and we'll rely on you boys to help us in running them down. The\nrailroad has offered a five thousand dollar reward and it will be yours\nif you bring about their capture.\"\n\"We'll do the best we can,\" promised Tim, \"for the five thousand dollars\nwould come in handy.\"\n\"Just two thousand five hundred dollars apiece,\" smiled Ralph. \"What a\nlot of ice cream that would buy,\" he added.\nCaptain Raymond cautioned the flying reporters against taking any undue\nchances and warned them that the state police were without a single clue\nas to where Sam and Pierre were hiding.\n\"You'll never find them in Atkinson,\" said Tim.\n\"Why not?\" asked the police official. \"It's the largest city in this\npart of the state.\"\n\"They'll never hide in any city,\" said Tim. \"When you find them it will\nbe in some isolated section of the state, perhaps in the valley of the\nCedar.\"\n\"Have you any clues?\" demanded Captain Raymond.\n\"Nary a clue,\" replied Tim, \"but I've a hunch and I believe in playing\nhunches.\"\nCaptain Raymond was about to leave when one of the telephones on the\ncopy desk rang. They heard the copy-reader who answered shout, \"Bank\nRobbery!\"\nThe words sent a chill of apprehension through Tim and Ralph. Tim had\nbeen convinced that the gangsters of the sky would strike again but he\nhad not expected it would be within forty-eight hours after their\nfailure to rob the million dollar train.\n\"What bank?\" he cried.\n\"Citizens National,\" replied the copyreader, who was busy writing a\nbulletin in longhand as the police reporter dictated the story.\n\"How much?\" demanded Captain Raymond.\n\"One hundred and ten thousand in cold cash,\" said the copyreader.\n\"Let's go,\" said Tim, and they dashed for Captain Raymond's car, which\nwas parked in front of the building.\nIn five minutes they were at the Citizens National Bank building,\nelbowing their way through the crowd which had gathered.\nTheir state police badges got them past the cordon of guards and they\nrushed into the lobby.\nThe robbery had been well planned and executed. The two bandits had\nentered the bank just before closing time and secreted themselves in a\nwashroom. Just as the cashier was about to place the currency in the\nvault, they emerged and covered the employees with a sub-machine gun.\nOne of them took the money, stuffing it in a brown leather portfolio.\nThen they slipped out a side entrance and into a waiting car. Twenty\nmore seconds and they were lost in the heavy traffic.\nA clerk had gathered his wits enough to obtain the license and a brief\ndescription of the car. It had been a black coupe, low and powerful,\nwith license No. 52-621.\nState police were scouring the highways but so far there had been no\nreport of the car. Then came the news that the coupe had been stolen\nonly a few hours before in a village fifty miles away and toward the\nCedar river.\nWhen that news reached the bank, Tim determined to take up the chase in\nthe _Good News_ and fifteen minutes after leaving the bank the plane was\nsoaring into the sky.\nThe flying reporters headed into the east toward the valley of the Cedar\nriver.\nTim's mind was working rapidly. The robbery had all the signs of having\nbeen done by Shanghai Sam and Pierre Petard. The smooth efficiency with\nwhich they had worked and the perfection of their escape pointed to the\nplans of men well versed in crime.\nThe _Good News_ roared over the village from which the bandit car had\nlast been reported and Tim swung the plane low. Excited residents\npointed down a road that angled away to the right. Tim kept the _Good\nNews_ low and they sped along the country highway, every nerve tensed\nfor some glimpse of the bandit machine.\nThey were not more than fifteen miles from the village and in a desolate\npart of the state when they saw smoke rising from the highway ahead of\nthem.\nWith a startled cry Tim realized what had happened. The bandits' car had\nbeen wrecked and had then caught on fire. Even though Shanghai Sam and\nPierre Petard were villains of the deepest dye, he had no desire to wish\nany man death under a flaming car.\nThe _Good News_ circled slowly over the twisted, red-hot wreckage of the\nmachine. There was no sign of life and Tim decided to attempt a landing\nin a small, level space nearby.\nThe pilot of the _Good News_ brought his ship down in the field and made\na quick stop.\nRalph, white-faced and shaking, turned to face Tim.\n\"Do you think they were caught in the wreckage?\" he asked.\n\"Can't tell,\" replied Tim. \"We'll have a look.\"\nThe reporters crashed through the underbrush along the road and came\nupon the smouldering remains of the car. They made a careful survey but\ncould find no trace of anyone having been trapped under the machine.\n\"Don't tramp all over the road,\" Tim warned his companion. \"There may be\nsome footprints we'll want to follow. I've a hunch this burning car was\nnothing more than a clever ruse to throw pursuers off the trail. We've\nwasted plenty of time landing and getting over here. In the meantime,\nthe bandits are well on their way in some other kind of a machine.\"\n\"They didn't get away in a car,\" said Ralph. \"Look at the road. There\nhasn't been a wagon or auto along since the light rain last night.\nThey've taken to the brush.\"\n\"We'll never find them in the brush,\" promised Tim. \"They're too clever\nfor that. A posse would smoke them out. We'll have a look around and see\nwhat we can find.\"\nThey discovered the footprints of two men but the marks looked as though\nsomeone had made a hasty attempt to cover them up. When the trail\nentered the brush the footprints were soon lost to view.\n\"We'll swing around the car in circles,\" said Tim. \"In that way we ought\nto come upon their trail somewhere. Keep an eye on the direction it was\nheaded when we lost it.\"\nRalph nodded and disappeared in the closely matted underbrush.\nTim could hear his companion's footsteps growing fainter and fainter\nuntil they could be heard no longer. The flying reporter moved\ncarefully, eyes on the alert for any sign which might give him some clue\non how the bandits had escaped after wrecking and setting fire to their\nmachine.\nHe found what he was looking for in a small clearing in the underbrush.\nThere were two parallel marks, spaced about six feet apart, and\nextending for thirty or forty feet. They were exactly like the marks\nwhich he had found near the scene of the attempted holdup of the\nmidnight mail only a few days before.\nTim cupped his hands and called lustily for Ralph. An answering cry came\nfor a distance and five minutes later Ralph threshed his way through the\nheavy scrub.\n\"Look at those,\" Tim cried exultantly. \"Same thing we saw near the\nrailroad right-of-way after they tried to hold up the mail train. When\nwe find out what they mean and what they were made by we'll have the\nsecret of these robberies.\"\n\"They look like they had been made by the wheels of an airplane,\" said\nRalph, \"but no plane could take off in such a short distance.\"\n\"How about an autogyro?\" suggested Tim.\n\"Good heavens,\" exclaimed Ralph. \"I'll bet you've got the solution.\"\n\"I only wish I had,\" smiled Tim, shaking his head. \"When I first saw\nthose marks the day after the burning of the timber along the railroad\nright-of-way I thought of an autogyro. When I looked up their\ncapabilities I found that they wouldn't fit into the picture. No, Ralph,\nit's not an autogyro.\"\n\"But whatever makes those marks must help them to escape,\" said Ralph.\n\"We can only guess at that,\" Tim warned him. \"Those marks might, just\npossibly, be coincidence and not be connected with the bandits.\"\n\"You'll never make me believe that,\" said Ralph.\n\"And I probably never will myself,\" conceded Tim, \"but I'm not going to\ntake anything for granted. We're up against something that is going to\ntest our brains and our nerves to the utmost.\"\nThe young reporters continued their search but after half an hour had\ndiscovered nothing which would aid them.\n\"We'd better get back to our plane and report where we found the bandit\ncar,\" said Tim.\n\"All right,\" agreed Ralph, \"but before we do I want to take a final look\nat the wreck of their machine. It's cooled off somewhat and I'd like to\nlook it over. There may be some marks on the body that will give us a\nclue.\"\nThe wind had been rising steadily and was whipping through the\nunderbrush, whining a symphony all its own. Then the young reporters\ncaught a sudden alarming smell of smoke and heard the crackling of\nflames.\n\"Someone must be near us,\" said Ralph. \"I smell smoke and can hear a\nfire.\"\nThe words were hardly out of his mouth when a sheet of flame, whipped by\nthe angry wind, leaped into the air.\n\"The fire from the car has spread to the underbrush,\" cried Tim. \"Quick,\nRalph, or we'll be cut off from our plane.\"\nIn another second their danger was clearer. Some vagrant tongue of\nflame, gnawing at the woodwork of the car, had reached out and fired the\nunderbrush. The shower of the preceding night had been only enough to\ndampen the dust of the road and the brush and weeds were quickly\ndevoured by the spreading flames.\nTim and Ralph raced through the underbrush, tearing their clothes to\nshreds as they crashed against stumps or fought their way out of tangles\nof briars. Their faces were scratched and bleeding but they did not\nstop. Their life depended on their legs and they used every ounce of\ntheir strength in the grim race against the fire.\nThe flames were roaring hungrily, advancing on them with a terrible\ncertainty of purpose.\nThe reporters' lungs ached cruelly as the boys plunged on, gasping for\nthe breath that was needed to give them the strength to continue. The\nclearing in which they had left the _Good News_ should be near at hand\nbut still they crashed through the undergrowth. On and on they stumbled,\nthe crackling of the flames spurring them to new effort.\n\"I'm all in,\" gasped Ralph as he dropped in a pitiful huddle. \"Go on,\nTim, go on! I'll make it out of here somehow.\"\n\"Get up, Ralph, get up!\" cried Tim as he tugged at his companion's limp\nbody.\n\"The fire,\" he screamed, \"the fire! We can't stay here! We must go on!\"\nRalph made a brave effort to get to his feet and with Tim supporting him\nstumbled on. Clouds of smoke billowed around them, filling their lungs,\nand waves of heat beat down upon them as the wind swept the fire nearer\nand nearer.\nWith cries of relief they staggered into the small, level place where\nthey had left the _Good News_. The biplane was waiting for them, eager\nto sweep them up into the air and away from the fire.\nThe boys tumbled into their places and Tim snapped on the switches. The\nmotor coughed once or twice and then roared into its sweet, even song of\npower.\nThere was no time to turn the plane around, no time to wonder if there\nwas room to take off. There was only time for one thing; to jam the\nthrottle wide open, send the _Good News_ roaring down the wind and hope\nthat she would lift clear of the brush when the time came.\nRalph snapped on his safety belt and Tim secured himself in his own\ncockpit. Then they were off, rocketing over the uneven ground as the\nplane gained speed. The powerful motor shattered the heavens with its\ndefiance of the flame and smoke billowing after and lifted the plane\nclear of the tangled underbrush which raised its arms in a futile effort\nto entangle the plane.\nThe boys filled their lungs with the clear, pure air of the upper\nregions as the _Good News_ started on the return trip to Atkinson. Both\nRalph and Tim were busy thinking of the recent events and of their\ndiscoveries at the scene of the wrecked car. They were thankful for\ntheir escape, narrow though it had been, from the brush fire.\nWhen they landed at their home field Tim went straight to the\nadministration building and telephoned news of the fire to the state\nconservation office where steps would be taken to send men to fight the\nflames.\nAfter seeing that the _Good News_ was properly cared for the boys\nreturned to the _News_ office.\nCaptain Raymond was waiting for them.\n\"What news?\" he asked eagerly.\n\"Not very much,\" replied Tim. \"They got away. We found their car,\nwrecked and on fire, along a little used road. Thought they might have\nbeen caught in the wreckage and we landed nearby and went to have a\nlook. It was only a ruse to throw us off the trail and slow up the\nchase. They might have had another car hidden nearby. At least we\ncouldn't find any definite trace of them.\"\n\"I've checked up on the descriptions of the men who robbed the Citizens\nNational,\" said the state policeman, \"and I'm sure that Shanghai Sam and\nPierre Petard did the job. Find them and we'll rid the middle west of a\nreal menace.\"\n\"Find them is right,\" said Ralph. \"Looks to me like that is about the\nhardest thing anyone around here ever tackled.\"\n\"I think it is the hardest,\" said Captain Raymond grimly, as he got up\nto leave the office.\n\"Thanks a lot boys,\" he said. \"Too bad you couldn't have been in the air\nsooner or you might have traced them from the time they left the city.\"\n\"That's an idea,\" said Tim. \"We could arrange to have one or the other\nof us at the field all the time. When an alarm comes in flash it to us\nthere and the _Good News_ could be in the air in less than five\nminutes.\"\n\"Good suggestion,\" said Captain Raymond. \"I'll see Mr. Carson at once.\"\nThe lanky figure of the state officer disappeared into the managing\neditor's office and Tim and Ralph looked at each other and smiled.\n\"If Carson will agree to a plan like that, we'll get somewhere,\"\npromised Tim.\n\"Why didn't you tell him about the strange marks we found?\" asked Ralph.\n\"Wouldn't do any good and besides I want to do a little private\nsleuthing of my own. We might just as well have that fat reward the\nrailroad people have out. The bank may offer a sizeable sum and it won't\nbe long until the capture of Shanghai Sam and Pierre Petard will mean a\nsmall fortune.\"\nCaptain Raymond, accompanied by the managing editor, came into the\neditorial office.\n\"Boys,\" said Carson, \"Captain Raymond believes one of you should stay at\nthe airport all the time in case there are any more robberies. I agree\nwith him and we'll work out arrangements at once.\"\nIn less than an hour Tim was back at the airport where he explained his\nneeds to the genial manager.\nHunter agreed to put an extra cot in the pilot's room and Tim sent into\ntown for bed clothes and toilet articles he would need. It had been\ndecided that Tim would take the night shift, sleeping at the field while\nRalph would remain there during the day.\nThe reporters soon settled into the new routine. Hours lengthened into\ndays and there was no further word of the gangsters who had robbed the\nCitizens National. It was as though the world had swallowed them.\nThe state police never relaxed their vigilance and extended their\ntentacles into every section of the state but without avail. No one\nseemed to know where Shanghai Sam and Pierre Petard had gone after they\nhad wrecked their car.\nThe spring days faded into those of early summer and Tim and Ralph were\nrestless under the routine which kept them on such confining hours. They\ndidn't dare venture away from the airport, yet both of them had\ncommenced to feel that their steady vigil was of little avail.\nTim continued to read avidly all of the aviation journals he could buy\nas well as spending considerable time looking into the files of old\ntechnical magazines and heavy volumes which he borrowed from the library\nTim had returned to the field late in the afternoon to relieve Ralph and\nthey were discussing plans for their summer vacation when the telephone\nrang.\nHunter summoned Tim.\nThe young reporter instantly recognized the voice of Captain Raymond,\ntense with excitement.\n\"Another robbery,\" he cried. \"This time there is no mistake. It was\nShanghai Sam and Pierre Petard. They weren't even masked.\"\n\"Where was it?\" cried Tim.\n\"At Hospers,\" shot back the captain. \"They walked into the bank just\nbefore it closed, made the employees shut the doors right on time and\nthen took an hour to thoroughly loot the institution. First reports\nindicate something over $50,000 in cash.\"\n\"They don't bother with chicken feed,\" exclaimed Tim. \"What direction\ndid they head?\"\n\"Toward the river valley!\" cried the captain. \"My men are after them but\nyou may be able to spot them from the air.\"\n\"We'll start at once,\" promised Tim.\nRalph, who had heard Tim's excited voice, was ready to go.\n\"Where to?\" he asked.\n\"Hospers,\" replied Tim. \"It's that little industrial town about fifteen\nmiles northeast of here. Sam and Pierre just picked the bank clean and\nmade a getaway. Captain Raymond's men are on their trail but maybe we\ncan spot them from the air and force them to cover.\"\n\"Right,\" agreed Ralph. \"Let's go.\"\nTim stopped only long enough to snatch a repeating rifle from a case on\nthe wall of the field manager's office and then they were on their way.\nThe _Good News_ was ready for them and Ralph climbed into the front\ncockpit. Tim handed the rifle up to him and then swung into his own\nplace.\nThe motor roared into action, blasted the dust from under its wheels,\nand then flirted them across the field and into the air.\nTim opened the throttle and the air speed indicator went up to the one\nhundred ninety mile an hour mark. In almost no time they were over the\ntown of Hospers and the red-roofed buildings which comprised its large\nfarm machinery factory. On into the east they sped, high enough to get a\ncommanding view of all the highways for miles around.\nTim figured that the robbers had started their escape less than half an\nhour before and they should sight the bandit car soon unless they had\nalready taken to cover. Beneath them powerful touring cars, loaded with\nstate troopers, were dashing madly along the highways but there was no\nsign of the machine they sought.\nTim and Ralph swept the countryside with eyes trained for the slightest\nunusual sign. They roared well ahead of the troopers and then swung in\never widening circles in their effort to find their quarry.\nA cry from Ralph fixed Tim's attention on a small smudge along the road\nahead. Something was on fire!\nThe _Good News_ dropped out of the sky like an avenging eagle, motor\nwhining and wires shrieking. The plane hurtled earthward in a power dive\nthat made the fuselage quiver and it was not until they were under the\nfive hundred foot level that Tim brought the nose up and checked their\nmad descent.\nBelow them was the body of a wrecked automobile with flames licking at\nthe cushions and woodwork.\n\"The fire's just started,\" cried Ralph. \"They can't be far away.\"\nTim nodded and set the _Good News_ down in a field a quarter of a mile\nback from the road.\n\"We may be able to get them this time,\" exulted Ralph as he leaped out\nof the front cockpit, rifle in hand.\n\"Don't see how they could be far away,\" admitted Tim. \"The least we can\ndo is take a look at that wrecked machine.\"\nThe boys broke into a fast trot and were soon at the edge of the road\nwhere the powerful touring car in which the bandits had made their\nescape had been ditched.\n\"Smells to me like they had taken some gasoline out of the tank and\nthrown it over the car,\" said Ralph.\nTim had been making a quick survey of the road. It was a graveled\nhighway and there were no footprints to give them a clue on which\ndirection the robbers had fled.\n\"We'd better get back to the _Good News_ and get into the air again,\"\nsaid Tim.\nThe words were hardly out of his mouth when they heard the motor of the\n_Good News_ break into its familiar song.\n\"They've tricked us!\" cried. Tim. \"They're stealing our own plane!\"\nThe reporters plunged madly toward the field in which they had left\ntheir plane but before they had covered half the distance they saw the\n_Good News_ shoot into the air.\nRalph and Tim, weeping with rage, watched their plane gain altitude and\nthen circle over them.\nThe pilot leaned far out and waved derisively. Ralph's answer was to\ndrop on one knee and send a stream of well directed bullets at the plane\noverhead.\nThey could see the bullets rip through the wings. Ralph, aiming at the\npropeller, was undershooting his mark. If he could land just one good\nshot in the whirling blade, it would disable the plane and bring the\nbandits back to earth.\nRalph exhausted the supply of ammunition in the magazine of his rifle\nand was helpless as the bandits headed the _Good News_ in an easterly\ndirection.\n\"What chumps we were, knowing they couldn't be far away, to leave the\n_Good News_ unguarded,\" mourned Tim.\n\"We may have to hunt for new jobs when Carson hears of this,\" added\nRalph.\n\"I'm not thinking of that so much as I am the humiliation,\" said Tim.\n\"Here the state police feel that we are reliable and brainy enough to\nhelp them and then we go and pull a boner like this. I'll tell Carson\nwhat happened if you'll tell Captain Raymond and Colonel Searle.\"\n\"Here comes the captain now,\" said Ralph as a touring car, loaded with\nstate police, skidded to a stop in the gravel.\n\"Get them?\" cried Captain Raymond.\n\"They got us,\" said Tim. \"We spotted their burning car and landed to\nhave a look. While we were hunting around their wrecked machine they\nslipped behind us and stole the _Good News_. If you look east, you may\nsee a speck against the clouds. That's the _Good News_ and they're in\nit.\"\nCaptain Raymond stared incredulously at Tim.\n\"You mean to tell me you let them steal your plane?\" he demanded.\n\"I'm afraid that's about right,\" put in Ralph. \"We didn't exactly offer\nthem the plane but they helped themselves anyway.\"\nCaptain Raymond broke into a hearty laugh, but stopped abruptly as he\nsaw the expressions on the faces of Tim and Ralph.\n\"You wouldn't blame me for laughing,\" he said, \"if you could have seen\nthe woebegone looks on your faces just now. Come on, cheer up. They\npulled a fast one on you this time but they won't do it again. We were\npretty close this time; next time we'll be close enough so we can land\nthem in jail. Pile into the car, boys and we'll swing further east,\npicking up what information we can on the direction in which they are\nheading.\"\nTwenty-five miles east of the place where the bandits had stolen the\n_Good News_, Tim, Ralph and the state police came upon the crumpled\nremains of the plane.\nFrom all indications the bandits had landed safely, then opened the\nthrottle and sent the _Good News_ charging into a clump of trees. The\nwings of the crimson plane had folded back along the fuselage, the\npropeller was splintered into a thousand bits and it was generally ready\nfor the scrap heap.\nTim went wild with rage and wept in his futile anger. When he finally\ncalmed down it was with a quietness that foreboded no good for Shanghai\nSam and Pierre Petard.\n\"We can't learn anything more by inspecting what's left of the _Good\nNews_,\" he said. \"Let's circle around and see if we can find trace of a\ncar they might have had waiting for them to make their getaway.\"\nCaptain Raymond agreed that Tim's suggestion was a good one and the\nstate police spread out in their search for clues.\nTim and Ralph, working together, found the only clue of the afternoon.\nHalf a mile beyond the wreckage of the _Good News_ they found two marks,\nabout six feet apart and nearly forty feet long, in a small field which\nwas hidden from the nearest road by a heavy growth of trees. Tim made a\ncareful inspection of the marks.\n\"That settles it,\" he said finally. \"I'm going east tonight and when I\ncome back we'll make it hot for the fellows who stole the _Good News_\nand then deliberately crashed it.\"\nWhen they returned to Atkinson, Tim carried his story to the managing\neditor and Carson was wrathfully indignant. He had no word of censure\nfor his flying reporters. Instead, he praised them for their daring and\nurged them to new efforts in the detection of Shanghai Sam and Pierre\nPetard.\n\"I'm playing a long hunch,\" said Tim, \"but I feel that if I can go east\ntonight, I'll be able to learn information there that will bring about\nthe arrest of this pair of air pirates.\"\n\"Go as far as you like, Tim,\" said the managing editor, \"just as long as\nyou deliver the goods.\"\n\"Thanks, Mr. Carson. I'll leave on the early night train for New York.\"\nRalph helped Tim throw a few things in a traveling bag and saw his\nflying companion to the union station and aboard the limited which would\ncarry him on his quest for new clues.\n\"What's clicking in the old bean?\" Ralph asked as they stood beside the\nPullman.\n\"Just a wild hunch,\" said Tim, \"and I don't want to be laughed at if it\ngoes wrong. That's why I'm keeping it under my hat. If there is anything\nto it, you'll be the first to find out. And say, while I'm away, beg a\nplane off Carl Hunter and have it ready when I return. We may need a\nship in a hurry. We've done plenty of favors for Carl and he'll be glad\nto help us out.\"\n\"I'll have a ship ready before you're back,\" promised Ralph as Tim swung\nup on the steps of the slowly moving train. \"Good luck.\"\nThe limited picked up speed and its tail lights vanished as Ralph stood\non the platform, wondering what queer mission had taken Tim east so\nsuddenly.\nThirty-six hours after leaving Atkinson Tim awoke to find his train\npulling into the outskirts of New York. The steam locomotive was\nuncoupled from the long string of Pullmans and an electric engine took\nits place at the head of the train for the few remaining miles into the\nheart of the city. The train picked up speed rapidly and rolled steadily\ninto Manhattan, hesitating only a moment before it plunged into the\ndarkness of the tunnel under the river. Then they were in the great\nterminal, where trains were arriving or departing continuously\nthroughout the day.\nTim went to a hotel the managing editor had recommended and after\nleaving his traveling bag set forth in quest of the information which he\nfelt would result in the apprehension of Shanghai Sam and Pierre Petard\nand put an end to the series of crimes which they had carried out\nsuccessfully in the middle west.\nThe flying reporter's first call was at the office of the largest\naircraft manufacturer in the United States. After some insistence he was\nadmitted to the office of Herman Bauer, the chief designer, a quiet,\ngray-haired man. In a few words Tim explained his mission.\n\"I'm glad you came to us,\" said Bauer. \"I've been reading of these\nrobberies and once or twice the stories have mentioned how completely\nthe bandits disappear and that the only marks they leave behind are\nthose parallel lines in small clearings.\"\n\"Then you've guessed what they must be using?\" asked Tim eagerly.\n\"Yes,\" assented Bauer, \"but I'm afraid I can't help you much more than\nto say that I believe you're on the right track. Our company doesn't go\nin for that sort of thing and if we did we'd have to have assurance that\nthe machine would be used legally.\"\n\"I hardly expected that your firm was involved in any way,\" explained\nTim, \"but with your knowledge of the companies capable of doing such a\njob I thought you might be able to give me some valuable leaders.\"\n\"I can't off hand,\" replied the designer, \"but if you'll come back this\nafternoon I'll make some inquiries in the meantime and may have\ninformation that will help you.\"\nTim thanked the aviation expert and passed the remaining hours of the\nmorning walking through the streets of busy, restless New York.\nAt two o'clock he returned to Herman Bauer's office. The designer\ngreeted Tim cordially and turned to introduce a younger man who was in\nhis office.\n\"I want you to know Mac Giddings,\" he told Tim. \"Mac is one of my\nassistants and has managed to uncover some information that should help\nyou.\"\nTim and the assistant designer shook hands cordially. They were of the\nsame type, tall and slender, with a seriousness of purpose that brought\nan immediate and warm friendship.\n\"I've heard rumors for some time that a little company back in the\nJersey mountains was up to some kind of a trick that wasn't altogether\nabove board,\" said Giddings. \"One of our draughtsmen was fired by them\nbut before he left he saw enough of the plans to see what they had in\nmind. If you say the word, we'll hop in my car and drive out. We can\nmake it before sundown.\"\nTim agreed to the assistant designer's suggestion and they were soon\nthreading their way through the heavy mid-afternoon traffic. Once out of\nthe heart of the city they struck a thoroughfare and sped across the\nJersey flats.\nThe flying reporter told his new friend of their experiences with\nShanghai Sam and Pierre Petard and gave him an outline of his own\nconclusions.\n\"Seems to me you've found the solution,\" said Giddings as he swung his\nmachine off the main highway. \"And I wouldn't be surprised if we verify\nit within the next two or three hours.\"\nThe roads became rougher and their car labored up steep grades. Farm\nhouses looked less prosperous and by six o'clock they had reached a\nsection of Jersey with which few people were familiar. They were almost\nto the Pennsylvania line in a wild, sparsely settled region.\n\"We'd better leave my car here,\" said Giddings, \"and go the rest of the\nway on foot.\"\nHe drove his car behind a thicket that screened it from the view of any\nchance passerby and they continued their journey afoot.\nHalf an hour later they topped a ridge and looked down on a valley,\nflanked on each side by small clearings. To the right of the creek were\nseveral frame houses while on the left side was a wide, low building,\nhalf frame, half canvas, which could be nothing but a hangar.\n\"Take it easy,\" cautioned Giddings. \"These people don't like strangers\nand they're apt to shoot first and ask questions afterwards.\"\nTim and the assistant designer made their way toward the clearings with\ngreat caution. Fortunately they were on the left bank of the stream and\nwould not have to cross it in order to reach the hangar.\nA small crew of mechanics who had been at work in the hangar came out of\nthe building and made their way across the rough bridge and to one of\nthe houses which evidently was used as a mess house.\n\"Now's our chance,\" whispered Giddings as he moved toward the hangar.\n\"You don't need to go,\" said Tim, grabbing at his companion. \"There is\nno need for you to take any chances. This is my game and I can see it\nthrough now.\"\n\"I've voted myself in on it,\" said Giddings. \"Let's go.\"\nThey moved quietly through the underbrush and made their way toward the\nrear of the hangar. There they stopped and listened to make sure that no\none had been left on guard.\n\"All clear,\" whispered Tim. \"I'm going in.\"\nThe flying reporter found a place where he could wiggle under the canvas\nwall at the rear of the hangar. Giddings was right behind him and when\nthey stood up it was to look upon the most unusual workshop either of\nthem had ever seen.\nWorkbenches and lathes were along the walls of the makeshift hangar but\nthe object which held their attention was the monoplane in the center.\n\"I'm right!\" exclaimed Tim jubilantly, \"I'm right!\"\n\"You sure are,\" agreed Giddings. \"I'm going to have a look at this\ncontraption.\"\nThe monoplane was the strangest plane either of them had ever seen. They\npinched themselves to make sure that they were not dreaming for it was\nsuch a bizarre looking craft.\n\"Old Man Bauer will have a fit when he hears about this,\" chuckled\nGiddings, \"for he has always had a pet theory that this type of machine\nwould never fly. Said you couldn't get enough power into the wing\npropellers.\"\n\"I'd like to try it,\" said Tim as they started a quick inspection of the\nmonoplane.\nThe machine had been camouflaged by an expert. On the ground it would\nhave been invisible from the air while in the air it would be\npractically invisible from the ground, so cleverly had the colors been\nmixed and camouflage been applied. But the feature of the monoplane\nwhich drew their attention was the wing propellers. At the outer tip of\neach wing were mounted horizontal propellers, each about four feet in\ndiameter. Small, powerful air cooled motors supplied the power for the\nwing propellers while a standard whirlwind was the motive power for the\nmain propeller in the nose of the ship.\n\"Talk about autogyros,\" exclaimed Tim. \"Why this thing could take off\nand land in a flower bed. I'll bet those wing propellers can pull it\nalmost straight up.\"\n\"That's the theory,\" said Giddings, \"and from the robberies that this\ngang you're after has been getting away with successfully it looks to me\nlike they've been using one of these machines, probably the first one\nthis outfit ever turned out.\"\n\"When I first saw those parallel tracks after the attempt to rob the\nmidnight mail I figured they must be using some kind of a machine like\nthis,\" said Tim, \"but I knew it would have to be more efficient than\nanything sold on the commercial market.\"\n\"Let's get out of here before dark,\" said Giddings. \"We've got a long\ntrip back to the city and we can discuss plans on our way back.\"\nTim agreed and they made their way out of the hangar and back to the car\nwithout detection.\nOn the trip to New York Tim discussed plans for the capture of Shanghai\nSam and Pierre Petard with the young aircraft designer.\n\"I've got something I've been fooling with for a long time,\" said\nGiddings. \"It's a sort of radio detector designed for use in time of\nwar. When it is fitted into a plane you can ascertain whether any other\nships are in the air and by adjustment of the detector tell how far away\nthey are.\"\n\"Just the thing I'll need,\" said Tim enthusiastically. \"Is there any\nchance that you'll lend it to me for a few days?\"\n\"That's why I mentioned it,\" said Giddings. \"The device needs a thorough\ntesting and once I've proved its value I'll have no trouble in selling\nmy patents. We'll both profit by your using it.\"\nWhen they reached the city Giddings drove to his apartment, which\ncontained living quarters and a room which he had fitted up as an\nelectrical laboratory.\nFar into the night they worked in the laboratory, Giddings explaining\nthe use of his radio detector and Tim working with it to be sure that he\ncould handle it to the best advantage.\nWhen the flying reporter left Giddings' apartment he was burdened with\nthe radio detector, which, although placed in a compact cabinet, was\nheavy.\n\"I'm going to report this outfit over in the Jersey woods,\" said\nGiddings, \"and it won't take Uncle Sam long to put a damper on their\nactivities. There will be no objection to their manufacture of their\nplane for commercial use but to make them especially for aerial bandits\nis a proposition that Uncle Sam won't stand for.\"\n\"I'm glad you'll take care of that,\" said Tim. \"They really have a\nwonderful plane and it's a shame that a crooked outfit has gotten hold\nof it. Undoubtedly money which the Sky Hawk obtained when he was at the\npeak of his career is behind them.\"\n\"Which will be just one more reason why Uncle Sam will be glad to shut\nthem up,\" said Giddings. \"By tomorrow afternoon the woods will be full\nof federal men for a surprise raid. Be sure and let me know how you come\nout and send the radio detector back as soon as you're through.\"\n\"I'll do that,\" promised Tim, \"and thanks so much for all you've done\nfor me.\"\nWhen the flying reporter reached his hotel, he found a telegram.\n\"We've been trying to find you since late afternoon,\" said the clerk who\nhanded him the message. \"It was marked important.\"\nTim tore open the yellow envelope and read the brief message. His senses\nreeled as the import of the telegram flashed through his mind.\nRalph had been kidnapped!\nThe message, from the managing editor of the _News_, was brief and to\nthe point.\n\"Ralph kidnapped this afternoon. Come home.\"\nThe shocking news paralyzed Tim's brain and he leaned helplessly against\nthe clerk's desk, his face drained of all color.\n\"Are you ill?\" asked the clerk.\n\"No, I'll be all right in a minute,\" Tim managed to say. \"Just some\nsurprising news from my managing editor.\"\nThe flying reporter went to a nearby lounge and sat down.\nRalph kidnapped.\nIt must be impossible; it was impossible, he told himself. Yet there was\nthe telegram from Carson--so simple and yet so startling.\n\"Ralph kidnapped this afternoon. Come home.\"\nThey needed him in Atkinson and Tim pulled himself together and went to\nthe desk to inquire about the air passenger service west.\n\"You can get a plane at seven in the morning,\" said the clerk. \"By\nchanging at Dearborn you'll land at Atkinson at five in the afternoon.\"\n\"Telephone my reservation,\" said Tim and he turned to hasten to his\nroom.\nHe partially undressed and threw himself on the bed, still dazed from\nthe shock of the telegram.\nWhat could Ralph have been doing; what had he run into that had resulted\nin his kidnapping? Who would want to kidnap him and how had they done\nit? These and a dozen other questions raced through Tim's tired mind.\nFinally, in complete physical and mental exhaustion, he dropped into a\nsound sleep.\nAfternoon of the following day found Tim disembarking from the mail and\npassenger plane at his home airport. Carson and the field manager were\nwaiting to greet him.\n\"What's this about Ralph being kidnapped?\" demanded Tim, to whom the\nhundred and ten mile an hour schedule of the passenger plane had seemed\nslow as they winged their way westward from New York.\n\"There isn't a whole lot to tell,\" said the managing editor. \"The day\nafter you left Ralph took one of the cars and headed for Cedar river\nvalley. Said he had a hunch that the bandits had a hideout there and\nthat he might improve his time while you were away by making a sort of a\nlone search for them. He was still boiling mad over their stealing the\n_Good News_ and cracking it up.\"\n\"I feel that way myself,\" said Tim. \"Go on.\"\n\"Ralph never got to the valley,\" said Carson. \"In fact, he didn't get\nmore than fifty miles from Atkinson. The first we knew he was in trouble\nwas a report late in the afternoon of one of our cars being found\nabandoned on a road east of here and on the way to the valley I knew it\nwas the machine Ralph had taken and personally headed the\ninvestigation.\"\n\"What did you find?\" asked Tim breathlessly.\n\"Signs of a hard scrap,\" said the managing editor. \"Ralph must have\nstumbled on Sam and Pierre or they might have been trailing him. It was\nalong a lonely road with lots of underbrush nearby.\"\n\"Anything to show that Ralph was hurt?\"\n\"There were several bullet marks in the body of the car but there was no\nsign of blood,\" said the managing editor.\n\"Find anything else?\"\n\"Some peculiar marks in a clearing nearby. They were similar to those\nyou reported at railroad fire and bank robbery.\"\n\"I was sure those marks would be there,\" mused Tim. \"Well, one thing\nsure,\" he added, \"Sam and Pierre are about at the end of their string. I\nknow what they've been using to make their escapes and have the means of\ndetecting them the next time they come into the open.\"\nTim told Carson and Hunter of his visit to the aircraft company in New\nYork and how the chief designer and Mac Giddings had helped him, of the\ndiscovery of the secret airplane factory in the Jersey woods and of the\nmarvelous plane that they had developed. Then he explained the radio\ndetector which Mac Giddings had perfected and his plan for catching\nShanghai Sam and his companion.\n\"It sounds O. K.,\" said the managing editor enthusiastically.\n\"I've got a plane here at the field you can equip,\" volunteered the\nfield manager. \"I'll have the mechanics start getting it in shape.\"\nThroughout the night Tim remained at the airport, supervising the\ninstallation of the radio detector in the fast biplane which Hunter\nprovided for his use.\nBy dawn the plane was ready to go.\n\"What are you going to do now?\" asked the managing editor.\n\"Start a steady patrol of the Cedar river valley,\" said Tim. \"When I get\ntired Hunter has agreed to relieve me. We'll both ride the plane and\nonly come down when we need gas and oil.\"\n\"Won't they get suspicious of what you're up to?\" asked the managing\neditor.\n\"I doubt it,\" said Tim. \"We'll be up ten to twelve thousand feet all the\ntime and with the muffler Carson has fitted on the exhaust they won't be\nable to see or hear us on the ground.\"\n\"And will the radio detector work at that height?\"\n\"Giddings said it was good up to twenty thousand feet,\" replied Tim. \"At\nleast it is the best we have and if it does work we'll soon put an end\nto these marauders.\"\nAn hour later the silver-gray biplane which they had equipped was\ncruising over the Cedar river valley. The altimeter showed 10,000 feet\nand Tim throttled down the engine as he started the patrol of the\nvalley. Hunter, in the forward cockpit, had a headset on and was\nlistening for some sound in the radio detector.\nThrough the hours of the morning they maintained their vigil and at noon\nflew halfway back to Atkinson to land at an air mail emergency field and\nrefill their gasoline tanks.\n\"I'll take the controls this afternoon,\" said Hunter, and Tim agreed to\nthe suggestion.\nWhen they were near the valley again Tim set the radio detector going.\nThere was a low, steady hum in the earphones for the noise of their own\nmotor was cut out of the set's pickup.\nAt two o'clock a sound came through the earphones that electrified Tim.\nHunter, in the rear cockpit, could see Tim's body tense as the flying\nreporter bent over the detector and adjusted the dials for more delicate\ntuning.\nSomewhere below them the motor of a powerful plane was being warmed up!\nThe roaring in the earphones was strong; then weak, as their own biplane\nswung away from the source of the sound. By following the path of the\nstrongest sound they would be able to find their quarry and Hunter\nwatched Tim's hand carefully for directions on how to pilot the plane.\nWhen they reached the center of a dense forest along the right bank of\nthe Cedar the roaring was loud and steady. They were still up eight\nthousand feet and too high to see what was going on below. Tim took a\npair of field glasses out of a case and leaned over the side of the ship\nwhile Hunter banked the biplane in easy circles.\nThe powerful lenses made the ground leap toward them and Tim could see\nevery object clearly. He gasped as his glasses focused on a clearing in\none of the densest parts of the forest.\nHe was looking down on an exact replica of the plane he had seen in the\nmakeshift hangar in the Jersey woods only two days before. The upper\nwings, as he had expected, were carefully painted so that detection from\nthe sky was almost impossible.\nUnder normal conditions Tim and Hunter could have flown low over the\nclearing without seeing the plane but thanks to the radio detector they\nhad been able to spot it with little trouble.\nHunter shut off the motor and leaned toward Tim.\n\"What are they doing?\" he cried.\n\"Getting ready to take off,\" shouted Tim. \"They're climbing into the\nplane. Here they come!\"\n\"See anything of Ralph?\"\n\"No, but there's a small shack on one side of the clearing and he is\nprobably in there. We'll take care of these chaps first and then drop\ndown and see where they've hidden Ralph.\"\nHunter snapped on the switch and the motor roared into action again.\nTim kept his glasses trained on the plane below. The wing motors had\nbeen started and the ship, after a run of thirty or forty feet, was\nrising almost vertically. It was a beautiful take-off and Tim knew that\nthe master hand of Pierre Petard was at the controls.\n\"We'll let them get out of the forest country,\" Tim shouted at Hunter.\n\"If we swoop down on them now we'll have them sneaking into some small\nclearing where we can't follow.\"\n\"Right,\" cried Hunter as he swung his biplane westward and took up the\npursuit.\nFor half an hour the strange game of hunted and hunter continued with\nTim and Hunter keeping five to six thousand feet above the other ship.\nWhen they were finally over open country Tim motioned for Hunter to give\nhis plane the gun and the field manager, anxious for action, opened the\nthrottle and sent his ship thundering downward.\nTim opened a black leather case in the forward cockpit and swung a\nsub-machine gun over the side of the plane. They had come prepared for\nany emergency for both of them realized that the men they sought would\nstop at nothing to make their escape.\nThe biplane shrieked down on its unsuspecting quarry, flashing out of\nthe heavens like an avenging eagle.\nIntuition must have caused Pierre Petard to glance over his shoulder\njust in time to see Hunter preparing for the final swoop. They saw\nPierre reach quickly and tap Sam on the shoulder.\nInstantly the man in the forward cockpit turned and in another second a\nlight machine gun, similar to the one Tim held, belched a stream of\nbullets at them.\nSam's aim was good and the bullets traced a wicked line along one wing,\ncoming ever closer to the fuselage. But it was for only a second.\nHunter was a master of the air and he sent his plane into a screaming\ndive that ended only when he was under the other plane and in a position\nfor Tim to pour a hail of bullets into the fuselage of the ship above\nthem.\nThe bandit plane veered sharply and for a second Tim had a clear shot at\nthe propeller. The bullets from the machine gun shattered the whirling\nblade and the air was full of bits of wood.\nHunter pulled his own ship into the clear and they watched anxiously\nwhile Pierre attempted to bring his damaged plane to a safe landing. It\nfluttered down like a crippled bird, turning this way and that, now\nlimping along for a few feet and then abruptly dropping away until it\nseemed inevitable that it should end in a deadly tailspin.\n\"They'll make it all right,\" cried Tim. \"They're heading for that big\npasture,\" and he pointed to a large field.\nHunter gave the biplane full throttle and sped earthward at a daredevil\npace. They must beat the bandit ship down. The field manager sideslipped\ninto the pasture and set his plane down hard. Tim leaped from the\ncockpit, his machine gun freshly loaded and ready for action. Hunter, a\nrepeating rifle in hand, joined him.\nThe bandit plane was staggering down toward the field. It barely cleared\nthe fence and bounced toward them.\n\"Get back of this ridge,\" Tim warned Hunter. \"They may try to shoot it\nout and we'd make good targets out here in the open.\"\nHunter agreed and they sought shelter behind a low ridge along the edge\nof the field.\nThe bandit plane rolled on and on. They could see Pierre working\ndesperately at the controls.\n\"The wing motors,\" cried Tim. \"He's trying to start them. If he does\nthey'll get away from us.\"\n\"Keep down,\" warned Hunter, \"I think the burst of bullets you put into\ntheir ship disabled the controls to the wing motors or he'd have used\nthem before he landed.\"\nThe bandit plane finally rolled to a stop less than two hundred feet\naway.\n\"Come out with your hands up!\" ordered Tim.\nThe answer was a flicker of flame from the forward cockpit, the staccato\nof a machine gun and the thud of bullets into the dirt which protected\nthem.\nTim answered instantly, his machine gun tracing a steady, deadly line\nalong the fuselage. Hunter pumped shell after shell into his repeating\nrifle.\nThe firing from the plane ceased abruptly.\n\"We'll come out,\" cried a weak voice and Pierre Petard stood up in his\ncockpit.\nTim and Hunter moved forward cautiously, fearing a ruse, but they found\nthat Shanghai Sam had been wounded in the shoulder in the last exchange\nof shots and Pierre, knowing that the end of his career was near, was\nwhite and shaken.\n\"Where is the reporter you kidnapped?\" demanded Tim.\n\"Back in the clearing where we made our headquarters,\" replied Pierre.\n\"We didn't harm him,\" he added as though fearing Tim might manhandle\nhim.\n\"If he is,\" promised the flying reporter, \"I'll give you something to\nremember me by.\"\nShanghai Sam refused to talk and Hunter went to the nearest highway\nwhere he stopped a motorist. Within an hour Captain Raymond and a detail\nof state police were on the scene, ready to take charge of the\nprisoners.\nTim, relieved of the responsibility of capturing the sky pirates,\nhastened to a farmhouse where he telephoned the story to the _News_.\nCarson, the managing editor, was jubilant.\n\"But how about Ralph?\" he asked.\n\"State police are on their way to get him now,\" said Tim. \"The whole\ncase will be cleaned up in another hour or two.\"\n\"Splendid,\" exclaimed the managing editor. \"We're going on the street\nwith an extra now with the _News_ taking full credit for the capture of\nthose fellows.\"\nEarly that evening Tim and Ralph were reunited in the _News_ office.\nThey had much to tell and they had an interested audience in their\nmanaging editor, the field manager and the members of the _News_ staff.\nRalph told how he had been on his way to the Cedar river valley when he\nhad seen the bandits bring their plane down in a small clearing near the\nhighway. Ralph had left his car to make a closer inspection but had been\ndiscovered by Pierre and Sam. He had fled to his car but had been\ncaptured before he could make his escape. He had been forced into the\nbandit plane and taken to their hiding place in the wilderness of timber\nand underbrush in the river valley.\n\"They took good care of me,\" grinned Ralph, \"but I realized that when\nthey completed their series of daring robberies they would probably\nleave me tied up in the shack, which wasn't such a pleasant prospect.\nThe money they had obtained in their robberies was all in the shack and\nbelieve me I was sure happy when the state police arrived.\"\nFrom New York came a telegram from Mac Giddings congratulating Tim on\nthe use of the radio detector and adding that federal agents had raided\nthe hidden factory in the Jersey woods, seizing all men and equipment.\nGiddings added that his own company was making arrangements to take over\nthe plans and manufacture the new plane on a commercial basis.\n\"At least some good will come from this whole affair\" said Tim. \"The\nplane was truly a marvel. It's too bad that it had to have its first\ntest in this fashion.\"\nCaptain Raymond made his way into the room. A stranger was with him but\nTim recognized the man as the chief executive of the state, Gov. Ned\nTurner.\nCaptain Raymond introduced Tim and Ralph to the governor.\n\"When Captain Raymond told me all of the fine things you two have done\nin capturing these sky pirates I wanted to tell you in person how much\nthis means to the state. It is a real privilege to commission you as\nhonorary life members of the state police.\"\nWhen Tim and Ralph were finally alone with their managing editor, they\nconfessed their extreme fatigue.\n\"What you need is a good rest,\" said Carson. \"You'll get the $5,000\nreward the railroad offered, the banks should pay you handsomely and the\npaper is going to give each of you a bonus of a month's pay. You'd\nbetter take a vacation and spend a little of that money.\"\n\"Sounds good to me,\" said Tim. \"What do you say to accepting the\ninvitation Hank Cummins extended to visit at the Circle Four ranch for a\nmonth?\"\n\"Make it unanimous,\" smiled Ralph.\n\"Then you can plan on leaving the first part of the week,\" said the\nmanaging editor. \"In the meantime we'll see about buying a plane to\nreplace the _Good News_ for I know neither of you will be happy until\nthen.\"", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  The Sky Trail\n"},
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1934, "culture": " English\n", "content": "Produced by Greg Weeks and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net\nDaniel Boone\nTAMING THE WILDS\nby Katharine E. Wilkie\nSCHOLASTIC BOOK SERVICES\nPublished by Scholastic Book Services, a division of\nScholastic Magazines, Inc., New York, N.Y.\nTranscriber's Note: Extensive research did not reveal any evidence that\nthe U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.\nDANIEL BOONE: TAMING THE WILDS is one of the books in the _Discovery\nSeries_ published by The Garrard Publishing Company, Champaign,\nIllinois. Other Discovery Books available in hardcover editions from\nThe Garrard Publishing Company are:\nClara Barton\nAlexander Graham Bell\nBuffalo Bill\nDaniel Boone\nLuther Burbank\nRichard E. Byrd\nKit Carson\nGeorge Washington Carver\nHenry Clay\nStephen Decatur\nAmelia Earhart\nThomas Alva Edison\nBenjamin Franklin\nUlysses S. Grant\nHenry Hudson\nAndrew Jackson\nThomas Jefferson\nJohn Paul Jones\nFrancis Scott Key\nLafayette\nRobert E. Lee\nLeif the Lucky\nAbraham Lincoln\nFrancis Marion\nSamuel F. B. Morse\nFlorence Nightingale\nAnnie Oakley\nRobert E. Peary\nWilliam Penn\nPaul Revere\nTheodore Roosevelt\nBooker T. Washington\nGeorge Washington\nEli Whitney\nWright Brothers\nCopyright \u00a9 1960 by Katherine E. Wilkie. Copyright \u00a9 1961 by Scholastic\nMagazines, Inc. This Scholastic Book Services edition is published by\narrangement with The Garrard Publishing Company.\n8th printing August 1966\nPrinted in the U.S.A.\nSingle copy price 45\u00a2. Quantity prices available on request.\nDaniel Boone\nTAMING THE WILDS\n_For David Lee_\nCONTENTS\nDaniel's Indian Friend                7\nAttacked by Indians                  34\nThe Wilderness Road                  39\nDaniel Boone's Reward                59\nDaniel's Indian Friend\nDaniel Boone was a boy who lived on the edge of the deep woods in\nPennsylvania. At that time this country still belonged to England.\nFriendly Indians often came out of the woods to visit the white men.\nDaniel liked the Indians. He liked them so well that he wished he could\nlive with them.\nOne day he was taking care of his father's cattle. The pasture was\nseveral miles from the settlement. Although Daniel was a ten-year-old\nboy, he sometimes became lonely by himself.\nToday he lay on a hillside and sang aloud. He wanted to hear a voice,\neven if it was only his own.\nThere was a low laugh behind him. Daniel sprang to his feet. A tall,\nslim Indian boy stood a few feet away. The white boy liked him at once.\n\"I sing, too,\" the young Indian said.\nHe threw back his head and sang. Daniel could not understand a word.\n\"I sing to the sun and the wind and the rain,\" the boy explained.\n\"I like your Indian song,\" Daniel said, \"but I'm glad you speak\nEnglish.\"\nThe boy patted the bow that hung over his right shoulder. \"You like\nthis?\"\nThe bow was strong and shining. Daniel ran a finger along the smooth\nwood.\n\"I like it very much,\" he said.\nThe other boy took an arrow and placed it on the bowstring. He pulled\nback the bow. The arrow flew away.\n\"You get,\" the Indian said.\nDaniel ran after the arrow. He picked it up and looked back. The Indian\nboy was right beside him.\nHe took the arrow from Daniel. Again he shot it. Again the white boy\nran after it. The young Indian ran beside him.\nHe shook his head when Daniel handed him the arrow.\nHe handed Daniel the bow.\n\"Shoot!\" he said.\nDaniel took the bow in his hands. He pulled it back and let the arrow\nfly.\nBy now Daniel had forgotten the cattle. He had forgotten everything but\nthe wonderful bow, his new friend, and the wide, wild woods.\nAfter a while the boys came to a high hill. At the bottom was an Indian\nvillage. The brown-skinned boy took Daniel by the hand and ran toward\nthe settlement.\nSeveral dogs barked at them. Some women were hoeing their gardens. They\nhardly looked up as the boys passed.\nAn old woman was stirring something in an iron pot over a fire. It\nsmelled good. Daniel remembered that he had eaten nothing since\nbreakfast.\nHis friend stopped and pointed to Daniel and himself. The old woman\nnodded. With a sharp stick, she lifted a piece of meat from the pot.\nThe Indian boy took a broad leaf from a near-by bush. The woman dropped\nthe hot meat on it.\nNow Daniel knew what to do. He, too, found a leaf. The woman gave him\nsome meat. Soon the hungry boys had finished their lunch.\nThat afternoon they swam in the clear, broad river. Then they lay on\nthe bank in the sunshine. Daniel had never been so happy. However, he\nknew he must soon go home. His mother would worry if he did not return\nbefore dark.\n\"I must go now. I must drive the cows home,\" he told his Indian friend.\nThe boy frowned. \"Women's work,\" he told Daniel.\nDaniel laughed. \"It may be for the Indians, but it's not at the Boones'\nhouse. I think I'd like being an Indian. An Indian boy has more fun\nthan a white boy.\"\n\"There is much for an Indian to learn,\" the other told him. \"We must\nlearn to hunt, track animals, fish, and find our way in the\nwilderness.\"\n\"Those things are not work. They are fun,\" Daniel told him. \"I wish I\nwere an Indian. I believe I'd make a better Indian than a white boy.\"\nWhen Daniel reached home at last, his mother scolded him.\n\"You should not have gone off with that Indian boy. You can't trust the\nIndians,\" she told her son.\n\"He was a good boy. I liked him,\" Daniel said.\nHis mother shook her head. \"Indians are not like us. We think\ndifferently from them.\"\nDaniel said nothing. But he thought his mother was mistaken.\n\"_I believe I can think like an Indian_,\" he said to himself. \"_Except\nfor color, I'm more like an Indian than a white boy._\"\nMoving On\nSeveral years went by. Then Father Boone called the family together.\n\"Pack your things,\" he told them. \"We are leaving here. Boones never\nstay long in one place. Besides, our farm land is worn out. We can buy\nrich land cheap to the southwest of here. We will settle there.\"\nSixteen-year-old Daniel was happy. \"I'm glad we are going,\" he said. \"I\nfeel crowded here. There are too many houses and too many people. And\nthe game is getting scarce.\"\nFather Boone made ready for the journey. He got out the big wagon and\nhitched two horses to it. Mother Boone packed clothes, quilts, dishes,\npots, pans, and kettles. She would fix food for the family along the\nway. Daniel tied a cow behind the wagon.\nThe family said good-by to the neighbors and to their old home, and\nstarted. Mother, the girls, and the little children rode in the wagon.\nFather and the boys took turns riding the horses. Sometimes all of the\nBoones walked so that the horses could rest. Father and the boys had\nguns to kill birds and small animals for food along the way.\nThe Boones traveled across Pennsylvania. On and on they went toward the\nnew country. Daniel caught many rabbits, which his mother stewed. Once\nhe shot a small black bear. Another time he killed a deer. This gave\nthe Boones food for several days.\nAt last the family came to the rolling, green Yadkin Valley in North\nCarolina. There were a few houses there already, but it was much wilder\nthan in Pennsylvania.\nFather Boone said, \"This is good farming land. We will stop here.\"\nDaniel looked all about him. There was level land close by. There were\nwoods not far away. And there were mountains in the west. Daniel knew\nthe hunting would be good.\n\"I like this place,\" he said. \"There's plenty of room here.\"\nFather Boone and the boys jumped off the horses. Mother Boone and the\ngirls climbed down from the wagon. They fed the horses and the cow.\nThey made a campfire. Father and the boys cut down trees and started to\nbuild a log house. Soon the Boones had a new home in the new land.\nThe years went by. Daniel grew taller. His shoulders became wider. He\nwas fair-haired and blue-eyed, lean and rugged. He hunted in the woods\nof the Yadkin Valley. He often brought home deer and bear. The Boones'\nneighbors said that Daniel was the best shot for miles around. Daniel\nBoone had grown up.\nA Knock at the Door\nWhen Daniel Boone was a young man, there was war between England and\nFrance. England sent troops to fight against the French in America. The\nFrench claimed the land west of the mountains. The English claimed the\nsame land. The Indians sided with the French.\nDaniel Boone drove a supply wagon for the English and the Americans. He\nmade friends with another young wagoner named John Finley. Finley had\nbeen to the land southwest of the mountains. Each night he and Boone\nsat by the campfire and talked.\n\"I've been deep in the wilderness they call Kentucky,\" Finley told\nBoone. \"It is a wonderful place. The forests go on and on and on. There\nare thousands of buffalo in Kentucky. There are deer, bear and small\nanimals, too. It is a great land for hunters.\"\n\"I want to go there,\" Daniel said.\n\"There are Indians in the wilderness,\" Finley told Daniel. \"They live\nto the north of Kentucky and to the south of Kentucky. They call the\nland their hunting ground. They do not like the white men to go there.\"\n\"There should be room enough for both Indians and white men,\" Daniel\nBoone replied. He thought for a while. \"Some day I am going to\nKentucky.\"\nWhen Daniel went back home to the Yadkin Valley, he married a tall,\ndark-haired girl named Rebecca Bryan. Sometimes he liked to tease her.\nOne summer day before they married he was sitting beside her under a\nbig tree. Suddenly he took his broad-bladed knife and cut a long slit\nin her fresh white apron.\n\"Why did you do that, Daniel?\" she asked mildly.\nHis blue eyes twinkled. \"I guess I wanted to see if you had a temper,\"\nhe said.\nBecause she wasn't angry, Daniel felt that she would make him a good\nwife. Life in the wilderness was often difficult and dangerous. He\nwanted a wife who did not become upset easily.\nThey were married, and soon the first of their many children arrived.\nDaniel loved his children. As soon as his son James was old enough, he\ntaught him to hunt.\nIn the spring and summer Daniel would farm. In the autumn he hunted,\nand in the winter he trapped. He made long trips in the forest and\nbrought home food for his family and valuable furs and deerskins. Many\nof these he sold. He enjoyed exploring as much as he enjoyed hunting.\nOnce he even went as far south as Florida with the idea of settling\nthere. But he was disappointed in the land. He longed to explore\nKentucky, but did not want to go alone.\nOne day the Boone family heard a knock at the door. It was Boone's old\nfriend, John Finley.\n\"Let's go to Kentucky, Daniel!\" he said.\n\"Let's!\" Daniel agreed. \"I think about it all the time. You know how\nmuch I love the wilderness. That's the one place I really feel at\nhome.\"\nOn to Kentucky\nEarly in 1769, Daniel Boone, John Finley, and four other strong men\nstarted for Kentucky. One of the men was Daniel's brother-in-law. They\ntook their guns. They carried animal traps, too. They planned to bring\nback skins and furs to sell.\nThe hunters rode their horses across the mountains. Soon they came to\nCumberland Gap, a narrow mountain valley which led into Kentucky. The\nIndians used the Gap also, but the white men did not see any of them at\nthis time. It was weeks before they saw a single Indian.\nBut they did see rich green meadows, which stretched ahead for miles.\nSilver rivers wound like ribbons through them. In some places there\nwere low rolling hills and in others great towering mountains. The\nwoods were thick and still. The sunlight made dancing patterns on the\npine needles. Kentucky was as beautiful as John Finley had said.\nEverywhere they went the men found lots of game. There were deer and\nbuffalo. There were fur-bearing animals, such as mink and otter and\nbeaver. There were many different kinds of birds.\nWhen the men went hunting, they separated into pairs. One winter day\nBoone and his brother-in-law were captured by Indians. The Indians did\nnot harm them, but they took all the white men's deerskins.\n\"Get out of Kentucky and stay out!\" the Indians told them.\nDaniel Boone did not scare easily. He and his brother-in-law did not\nwant to leave Kentucky.\nBut the other four were afraid. They returned to the settlements. Boone\nnever saw Finley again. But Boone was soon joined by his brother,\nSquire, and a friend named Alexander Neeley. Squire had promised to\nharvest the crops back home and then join them in the late autumn with\nfresh horses, traps, and gunpowder. Skilled woodsmen that they were,\nthe brothers somehow found each other in the wilderness.\nWhile they were hunting, the men separated again. They met every two\nweeks. One week Boone's brother-in-law did not return to camp. He never\ndid come back. Five years later a skeleton with a powder horn beside it\nwas found in a hollow tree. Perhaps he was wounded by an Indian. No one\nreally knows what happened to him.\nNeeley was scared. He decided to go home alone. But Daniel and Squire\nstayed on all winter and spring. They hunted and trapped until they had\na lot of skins. Then Squire went home to sell the skins and buy more\ngunpowder and traps.\nDaniel stayed on in the wilderness. He did not mind being alone. He was\nnever afraid. With his trusty rifle, Tick-Licker, over his shoulder, he\nexplored much of Kentucky. He was happy because the wilderness was wide\nand he felt free. After a few months, Squire came back. Again the\nbrothers hunted together.\nAt last Daniel said to Squire, \"I'll go home with you this time. We\nhave all the skins we can carry.\"\n\"When we sell them, we'll have plenty of money to take to our\nfamilies,\" Squire said happily.\nIt did not happen that way. Indians attacked the brothers when they\nwere nearly home and took the skins. The Boones were still poor men.\nBut Daniel was happy. He was glad that he had roamed the wilderness for\nnearly two years. He was sorry he had lost the skins, but he was happy\nthat he had seen Kentucky.\nAttacked by Indians\nTwo years later Daniel Boone decided that he had been away from\nKentucky long enough. \"Pack up, Rebecca,\" he said to his wife. \"Pack\nup, children. We Boones can't stay in one spot forever. We're going to\nmove to Kentucky. It's wild and beautiful there. There'll be plenty of\nland for you young ones when you want homes of your own.\"\nSo the Boones packed up. Six other families joined them. People always\nseemed ready to join Daniel in his search for adventure. The household\ngoods and the farm tools were piled on pack horses. A few of the people\nrode horseback. But most of them walked. They drove their pigs and\ncattle before them. The rough trails made travel slow, but the families\ndid not seem to mind.\nJust before they reached Cumberland Gap, Daniel Boone sent his\nsixteen-year-old son, James, on an errand.\n\"Turn back to Captain Russell's cabin and ask him for the farm tools he\nand I were talking about,\" he told the boy. \"You can catch up with us\ntomorrow.\"\nJames reached Captain Russell's safely. He camped that night with\nseveral men who planned to join Boone. In the darkness some Indians\ncrept up and killed them all.\nWhen the families with Boone heard the news, they no longer wanted to\ngo to Kentucky. They turned and went back over the mountains. The Boone\nfamily was sad because of James' death. But Daniel would not give up\nhis dream of living in Kentucky. It would just have to wait a little.\nHe took his wife and children to a spot where they would be safe. But\nthey did not go all the way back to the Yadkin Valley.\nDaniel learned that all through the Kentucky Wilderness the Indians\nwere fighting the white men.\nToo many white men were coming west. Indians wanted to keep their\nhunting grounds for themselves. Daniel Boone and another man went into\nKentucky to warn the surveyors who were measuring land there. Nearly\nall of them escaped safely. For a time, the Indians stopped fighting\nand Kentucky was peaceful again.\nThe Wilderness Road\nNow a rich man named Richard Henderson had a big idea. He would try to\nbuy Kentucky from the Indians for himself and start another colony. His\nown company would sell land to settlers. Henderson was Daniel's friend.\nBoone had talked to the Indians about the idea and thought they would\nsell the land. Many Indian tribes hunted in Kentucky, but the Cherokees\nwere the most important. They had conquered the other tribes and ruled\nthe land. Henderson sent Boone to ask the Cherokees to meet him at\nSycamore Shoals in what is now Tennessee.\nTwelve hundred Indian men, women, and children came to the meeting\nplace. Henderson had all his trading goods spread out. There were yards\nand yards of red cloth. There were hundreds of bright new guns. There\nwere beads and pins and little mirrors for the women. Henderson's\ncompany had paid a great deal of money for the trading goods.\nThe Indians were like children about the business of trading land for\ngoods. They loved the bright-colored trinkets. But they knew nothing\nabout the value of land.\nAlthough they had their own lawyer, they traded Kentucky to Henderson\nfor a tiny part of what it was worth. The Cherokees warned the white\nmen of savage Indians who came hunting from the west and the north.\nThey told Henderson he might have trouble settling the land.\nBoone did not go with Henderson to Sycamore Shoals. He waited near\nCumberland Gap with thirty men. When Henderson sent word that he had\nbought Kentucky, Boone spoke one word to his men.\n\"Start!\" he said.\nThe men began to make the famous Wilderness Road that was to lead to\nKentucky. Later it would be traveled by settlers with their horses,\nwagons, and cattle. Just now Boone's men chose the shortest and easiest\nway over the mountains and through the woods. They followed Indian\ntrails and buffalo paths. They swung their axes. They cut down trees.\nThey crossed streams. Daniel Boone worked as hard as anyone. And all\nthe time he kept a sharp lookout for unfriendly Indians.\nThe men did not stop until they reached the banks of the Kentucky\nRiver. Here they began to build a fort. Boone knew that the Shawnees\nand other Indian tribes would not admit that Henderson had bought\nKentucky.\nWhen Henderson came to the settlement, he said, \"We will call this\nplace Boonesborough. It is right to name it for the man who led us\nhere.\"\nBoone went back to get his family. Some of his children had grown up\nand married before the Boones set out for Kentucky the first time.\nThirteen-year-old Jemima was his last unmarried daughter. She and her\nmother were the first white women to stand on the bank of the Kentucky\nRiver.\nThe Rescue\nOne Sunday afternoon, Jemima and two other girls went for a canoe ride\non the Kentucky River at Boonesborough. They knew they should not go\nout of sight of the fort, but they went anyway. They paddled down the\nriver and around the bend. The current drew them in to the opposite\nbank.\n\"Let's land and pick some of those bright-colored flowers,\" one of the\ngirls suggested.\nJemima shook her head. \"I'm afraid of the Indians,\" she said. \"Those\nShawnees are mean.\"\nBy now the canoe had drifted near the shore. The girl at the bow shoved\nwith her paddle. The boat would not move. It was stuck fast in the mud.\nAll at once five Indians leaped from the underbrush. They grabbed the\nscreaming girls and carried them into the forest. They planned to take\nthem north to the Indian towns and keep them there as slaves.\nBack at the fort no one missed the girls until after dark. Then someone\nsaw that the canoe was gone. When Daniel Boone heard this, he picked up\nhis gun and rushed toward the river. He did not stop to put on his\nshoes.\nHe felt sure that Indians had taken Jemima and her friends away.\nThree young men who loved the girls very much went with Boone. The men\ntook another canoe and began to paddle down the river. They could not\ngo far in the dark. Before long, they had to stop and wait for morning.\nWhen the sun came up, Boone found the girls' trail. He thought the\nIndians were taking them toward the Ohio River. He knew he must catch\nthem before they crossed it and went to the Indian towns in the north.\nThe white men left their canoe. They traveled all day through the deep\nwoods. Then they made camp and waited for the long night to end. At\ndaylight they started out again.\nBoone took short cuts through the woods, but he always found the trail.\nHis sharp eyes saw what the girls had left for him to see. One had dug\nher heels into the soft mud. Another had left bits of her dress here\nand there.\nBoone led the young men straight through the heart of the forest to\nJemima and her friends. About noon the men caught sight of the girls.\nThe Indians had stopped with them for their noon meal. The white men\ncrept up. Bang! Bang! Bang! went their guns.\n\"It's Father!\" Jemima cried.\n\"Fall flat on your faces, girls!\" Daniel Boone shouted.\nThe white men ran toward the Indians. They shot their guns as they ran.\nThe Indians were taken by surprise. One Indian threw his tomahawk. It\nalmost hit the girls. Two Indians were shot. The others ran away.\nThe men took the three girls back to Boonesborough. Later the three\ngirls married the three young men.\nThe Fort Is Saved\nBoone became known far and wide as the greatest man in the Kentucky\nWilderness. One winter, about a year after he had saved the girls from\nthe Indians, he went with some other men to a place where there were\nsalt springs. These were called salt licks because the wild animals\nliked to lick the salt. The men planned to camp there several weeks.\nThey would boil the water in big kettles until there was only salt\nleft. Then they would take the salt back to the people at\nBoonesborough.\nOne day Boone went out hunting alone. Suddenly he was surprised by\nIndians. They were a war party led by Chief Blackfish. They were on\ntheir way to Boonesborough. These Shawnee Indians came from north of\nKentucky. They felt that Henderson had no right to claim their hunting\ngrounds. Certainly _they_ had not sold Kentucky to him. They might not\nhave been so warlike if the American Revolution had not started. The\nBritish were making friends with the Indians everywhere and helping\nthem fight the settlers.\nBoone knew how the Shawnees felt about having to share their hunting\nground with the white men. But he knew also that he must find a way to\nsave the fort.\n\"Don't go to Boonesborough now,\" he told the Indians. \"You don't have a\nbig enough war party. Boonesborough is far too strong for you to\ncapture.\"\nThis was not true at all. There were not many men at the fort. But\nDaniel hoped to stall off the Shawnees until Boonesborough had time to\nsend for help.\n\"Wait until spring,\" he went on. \"Then you won't have to fight. The\npeople will come willingly. I will bring them north to you. Right now\nit is too cold for the women and the children to travel. But in the\nspring they will come with you.\"\nChief Blackfish was delighted to find that Boone was so friendly. He\nhad admired Boone for a long time. He did not know that Boone was\ntrying hard to fool him.\n\"What about your men?\" Chief Blackfish asked.\nBoone thought quickly. He knew the Indians had seen the men at the salt\nlicks.\n\"I will lead you to my men,\" he told Chief Blackfish, \"if you will\npromise not to kill them.\"\nChief Blackfish promised. Boone took the Indians to his men.\n\"We are in great danger,\" he whispered to them. \"We must go north with\nthe Indians, or they will kill us. The fort is in danger too. But\nperhaps we can escape and warn our families.\"\nAt the end of the long journey the Indians and their prisoners reached\nthe Shawnee towns in the north. There, Chief Blackfish told Boone that\nhe wanted him for a son. He made Boone go through a long adoption\nceremony and gave him the name of Big Turtle.\nBoone liked Chief Blackfish, but he did not really want to be a\nShawnee. He pretended to be pleased about becoming the Chief's son, but\nhe only pretended.\nOne day the Indians went hunting. While they were gone, Boone ran away\nand started for Boonesborough.\nThe Indians followed him, but he was too clever for them. They lost his\ntrail. In four days he traveled one hundred and sixty miles.\nFinally he reached Boonesborough.\n\"The Indians are on the way! Get ready to fight!\" he told the people.\nSoon Chief Blackfish came with over four hundred Shawnees. He called\nBoone to come outside the fort. Daniel Boone went out bravely.\n\"Why did you run away?\" Chief Blackfish asked Boone.\n\"I wanted to see my wife and my children,\" Boone answered.\n\"You have seen them,\" the Chief replied. \"Now come back with me. You\nand all your people.\"\n\"Give me a little time to think it over,\" Boone said.\nHe hoped that help would come from other forts. He waited and waited,\nbut no help came.\n\"We shall defend the fort as long as a man is living,\" Boone told the\npeople.\nThe fight began. The Indians fired at the fort. The white men fired\nback. Everyone worked hard. The women and the children loaded guns and\ncarried food to the men. The white men were outnumbered, but the\nIndians did not know this.\nThe men did not stop fighting for eight days and eight nights. By then\neveryone was very tired. The Indians had shot flaming torches, and the\nroofs of the cabins were on fire. Not a drop of water was left in the\nfort.\n\"Look! Look!\" someone shouted.\nThe sky had been dark all day. Now it was starting to rain. It rained\nand it poured. The rain came down and put out the fires. It filled the\ntubs and pails with water to drink. Everyone felt hopeful again.\nWhen morning came, no Indians were in sight. Every single one of them\nwas gone. They had disappeared into the forest. The fort was saved.\nDaniel Boone's Reward\nThe Indian raids kept on all over Kentucky. When the American\nRevolution ended, the British stopped helping the Indians fight the\nsettlers. Some tribes kept on fighting on their own, but finally the\nsettlers defeated the Indians and forced them to sign a treaty. Things\nslowly became more peaceful.\nMore and more settlers came west. They came over the Wilderness Road\nthat Boone and his men had made. They came down the Ohio River in big\nflatboats. These settlers killed game in the forest. They cleared land,\ngrew crops, built houses, and started towns.\nDaniel Boone was fifty years old now. One day he discovered that he did\nnot own any of the land he had thought was his.\n\"This does not seem right,\" he said. \"I was one of the first to come to\nKentucky. My life was hard. I risked it for the people many times.\"\nIt was not right, but it was true. Boone had been too busy hunting and\ntrapping to put his claims on paper.\nBoone lost almost all his land. He tried to farm, but he was not a good\nfarmer. He tried to keep a store, but his heart was not in it. His good\nwife, Rebecca, often took his place in the store, while Daniel worked\nas a guide showing new settlers the way down the Ohio River. And he\nheld some jobs with the new government.\nOne day hunters told Daniel Boone about land farther west near the\ngreat Mississippi River. \"It's wild and free,\" they said. \"There are\nbear and deer. There are herds of buffalo. It's the kind of land\nKentucky used to be.\"\n\"That's the place for me,\" Boone said. \"It's too crowded here. The\nother day I looked out of the window and saw the smoke of another man's\ncabin. I'll go west. I want elbow room.\"\nAnd besides elbow room, he wanted land. He had always dreamed about\nowning a lot of land.\nHe was disappointed about losing his claims in Kentucky.\nSo Boone and his family went west. The land where they settled belonged\nto Spain. Later it was traded to the French and then bought by America.\nIt is the land we now call Missouri.\nThe Spaniards were proud to have Daniel Boone live among them. They\ngave him all the land he wanted. He hunted and trapped in the new\ncountry as he had in the old. He sold the furs and skins for a good\nprice.\nThen Boone made a trip back to Kentucky. He called together all the\npeople he had once known.\n\"I owed money to you when I left here,\" he said. \"I want to pay my\ndebts.\"\nWhen he returned to his family in Missouri, Boone was a poor man again.\nBut he had a smile on his face.\n\"I am a free man,\" he said. \"I owe nothing to any man. That makes it\nworth being poor again.\"\nThe United States Congress voted to give Boone one thousand acres of\nland. It was a reward for all he had done in exploring and settling the\nWest. He hunted and fished until he was very old. He never stopped\nexploring. He was still looking for adventure and elbow room!\nBut Daniel Boone, traveler, hunter, woodsman, and fighter, will be\nremembered longest as the man who opened the way to Kentucky.\n\"Get out of Kentucky and stay out!\" the Indians told Daniel Boone. But\nDaniel Boone did not scare easily.\nThere was the time his daughter was kidnaped by the Indians. Boone\ntracked the kidnapers through the forest and rescued her.\nThere was the time Boone was captured by the Shawnees. He escaped in\ntime to warn the people of Boonesborough: \"The Indians are coming! Get\nready to fight!\"\nBoone's life was full of adventure. And this book tells his story.\nSCHOLASTIC BOOK SERVICES, NEW YORK", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  Daniel Boone\n"},
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1934, "culture": " English\n", "content": "Produced by Roger Frank and Sue Clark\n                    The Treasure Hunt of the _S-18_\n                    THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING COMPANY\n                    The Goldsmith Publishing Company\n                    2. A Secret Service Case\n                   15. An Unknown Intruder\n                   20. Isle of the Singing Trees\n                   21. The Battle with the _Iron Mate_\n                    The Treasure Hunt of the _S-18_\nThe high pitched drone of a wasp engine sounded over the municipal\nfield at Atkinson and Tim Murphy, famous flying reporter of the\nAtkinson _News_, poked a grease-smudged face out from behind the\ncowling of a trim biplane and squinted skyward. Against the brilliant\nsky of the late summer afternoon was the outline of one of the new high\nspeed transports of the Red Arrow Transcontinental Air Express Company.\nThe _Day Express_, Chicago to the west coast, was swinging around,\npreparatory to landing on the smooth, crushed-rock runway. Tim watched\nwith appreciative eyes. The new transports, capable of winging their\nway from coast to coast at better than three miles a minute, always\nfascinated him. He envied the trim, clear-eyed young chaps who sat at\nthe controls while they in turn would have been willing to exchange\ntheir daily routine for the adventurous news assignments which often\ncame Tim's way.\nThe twin motors, mounted in nacelles projecting from the sturdy wing,\nidled as the ship drifted downward to touch lightly on the runway and\nroll smoothly toward the main hangar.\n\"Star gazing again?\" asked a quiet voice at Tim's elbow.\nThe flying reporter turned quickly. Carl Hunter, manager of the\nairport, was beside him.\n\"I always get a thrill watching those high speeds come in. There's\nsomething in it that gets into my blood and makes it tingle.\"\n\"They're the finest transport planes in the world,\" nodded Hunter.\n\"I'd like to fly one of them,\" mused Tim.\nHunter looked at Tim shrewdly. The flying reporter was slender but his\nmuscles were like tensed steel. His blue eyes were clear and\nunwavering. There was a pleasant twist to his lips but from experience\nthe field manager knew that they could snap into an uncompromising line\nof determination.\n\"I'll get you a job on the Transcontinental any day you want one,\" he\nsaid. \"Come over to my office and fill out the application blank.\"\n\"That would mean leaving the _News_,\" said Tim. Then, as Hunter grinned\nbroadly, he added, \"I guess the smell of printer's ink is stronger than\nthe call of the skyways. I'm a reporter first and a flyer second.\"\n\"I wouldn't rank either of your abilities ahead of the other. You're\nfirst class at both.\"\n\"Thanks, Carl. That reminds me. Have one of the boys finish up this\njob. Give all of the plugs a good cleaning. I'd almost forgotten I've\ngot another column to write for my department in tomorrow's paper.\"\n\"I'll make out a work ticket right away.\"\nTim slipped out of his jumper and followed the field manager toward the\nmain hangar. The usual crowd of curious people was lined up inside the\nropes to watch the passengers as they disembarked. Tim, always on the\nlookout, scanned them as they came down the steps from the plane.\nTwo attractive girls were first. They looked as though they might be\nmovie actresses. He'd check the passenger list with the stewardess to\nmake sure. An actress was always worth a paragraph or two.\nThe last man to leave the ship drew Tim's attention. There was\nsomething vaguely familiar in the carriage of the head and the set of\nthe jaw.\nThe stewardess came by and Tim hailed her. \"Who's the tall, well-built\nfellow in the gray suit?\" he asked.\nThe girl scanned the passenger list.\n\"Sorry, I can't tell you. He isn't listed.\"\n\"What do you mean by that? Is he traveling on a pass?\"\n\"Hardly. I collected his fare in Chicago and he's getting off here.\"\n\"Then you must know his name.\"\n\"He didn't give me his name and instructions from the general manager\nwere to do as he directed so I've listed him on my seat chart as 'Mr.\nSeven.' That's the chair he occupied on the trip out.\"\nTim thanked the stewardess and hurried into Carl Hunter's office.\n\"Who's the mysterious man who came in on the _Day Express_?\"\n\"He's just as mysterious to me as he is to you,\" replied the field\nchief. \"Why don't you ask him what it's all about? I've had a radio\nfrom the general manager to extend him every courtesy and not to ask\nquestions, but I guess that doesn't cover you.\"\n\"Asking questions is one of the things I do best,\" grinned Tim as he\nleft the office.\n\"Mr. Seven\" was superintending the unloading of his luggage from the\nplane. Three large traveling bags were pulled out of the baggage\ncompartment and Tim whistled as he thought of the excess fees which\nmust have been paid for the transport of the heavy bags by air.\nWhen \"Mr. Seven\" had made sure that his baggage was in proper order,\nTim stepped up.\n\"I'm Tim Murphy of the Atkinson _News_,\" he said. \"Your face seems\nvaguely familiar but I can't place your name. Since you are stopping\nhere, I'd like very much to have a story.\"\n\"Sorry, Murphy, but there's nothing I can tell you. I prefer not to\ntalk to reporters.\"\nTim was undaunted. \"Do you plan on staying long in Atkinson?\"\n\"That's another question I decline to answer.\" The muscles around the\nstranger's jaw were tightening and Tim sensed stormy weather ahead.\nNormally he would have let the whole matter drop but there was\nsomething so definitely perplexing in the other man's attitude that he\npersisted in his questioning.\n\"You must have some special mission here,\" said Tim.\n\"I told you before that I wouldn't talk. You can fire away with\nquestions all the rest of the afternoon and you'll get the same\nresult--zero. Now if you'll be good enough to suggest your best hotel,\nI'll be on my way up town.\"\nTim named the city's leading hotel. \"I'll be glad to take you there in\none of the _News_' cars,\" he added.\n\"Thanks, but I'd have to parry too many of your questions.\"\n\"It's a draw so far,\" smiled Tim, \"but I'll bet I know your name before\nanother 24 hours, 'Mr. Seven.'\"\n\"Why call me 'Mr. Seven?'\"\n\"That's what the stewardess did. You were in chair seven coming out\nfrom Chicago.\"\n\"It's as good a name as any other.\"\n\"Except your real one,\" interjected Tim.\n\"Mr. Seven\" bundled his bags into a taxi and whirled away toward the\ncity while Tim stood on the ramp and gazed after the car.\n\"That fellow's face is familiar,\" he muttered half aloud, \"and I'm\ngoing to dig into our files at the office until I find his picture.\nUnless my hunch is way wrong, there must be a big story connected with\nhim.\"\nTim's hunches were notoriously right and just how correct this one was,\neven Tim would never have dared dream.\nWhen Tim reached the _News_ office he found a note rolled into his\ntypewriter asking him to see the managing editor. He crossed the large\nnews room and knocked at the glass-panelled door which bore the printed\nwords, \"George Carson, Managing Editor.\"\n\"Come in,\" boomed a voice from behind the door and Tim stepped into the\noffice. \"You wanted to see me?\"\n\"Sit down, Tim,\" smiled the sandy-haired editor who guided the\ndestinies of the _News_. He motioned toward a chair.\n\"I've had some correspondence with Ace McDowell of the High Flyers, a\nflying circus that is rated one of the best in the country. He wants to\nbring his show in here this week-end under the auspices of the _News_.\nWhat do you think about it?\"\n\"I've never met Ace or any of his fliers,\" replied Tim, \"but they have\nthe reputation of putting on a good air show.\"\n\"It struck me as rather a good idea,\" went on the managing editor. \"We\ncould give the show a lot of space in the _News_ and it would help\npopularize the airport. Some people are kicking about the taxes they\nhave to pay to help support the field. Do you think you could arrange\nthings with Carl Hunter so the show can come in Saturday afternoon and\nput on their stunts Sunday? Of course they'll be carrying passengers\nbetween stunt flights.\"\n\"I'll call Hunter at once,\" promised Tim.\nHe left the managing editor's office and placed the call from one of\nthe telephones in the editorial room.\n\"I've no objections to the High Flyers,\" the airport manager said, \"but\nthey'll have to pay the field the usual percentage for taking up\npassengers.\"\n\"I'll put that in the contract,\" promised Tim. \"Keep this under your\nhat for I wouldn't want the _Advance_ to print the story of our own air\nshow first.\"\n\"I'll forget all about it until I read your story tomorrow,\" promised\nHunter.\nTim returned to the managing editor's office.\n\"Hunter has no objections but the High Flyers must pay the field\nfifteen per cent of all the money they take in on passenger rides.\nThat's the customary percentage for barnstormers.\"\nThe managing editor had the contract from the High Flyers on his desk\nand Tim, at his suggestion, filled out the blank.\n\"I'll telegraph McDowell that we will expect them to land here\nSaturday,\" said Carson. \"They're over at Charleston this week.\"\n\"You might ask him to send on any pictures of the flyers and planes\nthat are available,\" suggested Tim.\nWhen Tim left the managing editor's office he knew he was in for a busy\nweek. There would be stories every day about the flying circus and then\nthe problems of parking and policing the airport, for a huge crowd\nwould be on hand to see the stunt flying.\n\"Get the Jupiter all tuned up?\" asked someone behind him.\nTim turned to face Ralph Graves, another _News_ reporter who had been\nhis flying companion on many an adventure. Two years before when news\nhad been breaking fast on the skyways, Tim had trained Ralph in flying\nand the other reporter now held a transport license. They were bosom\ncompanions and their managing editor counted on them coming in with any\nstory to which they were assigned.\n\"I didn't get all of the plugs cleaned,\" said Tim, \"so I'm having the\nboys at the field finish the job.\"\n\"What's on Carson's mind?\" asked Ralph, jerking a thumb toward the\nmanaging editor's door.\n\"He's just contracted to sponsor the appearance here of Ace McDowell\nand the High Flyers. They'll be in Saturday and put on their stunts\nSunday afternoon.\"\n\"Which means plenty of work for us,\" commented Ralph.\n\"It will mean plenty of work but it will have everyone talking about\nthe _News_ being alive and wide awake and that's what we want. The\n_Advance_ is slipping every day and some morning this fall I wouldn't\nbe surprised if we wake up and find that our rival paper has folded up\nand, like the Arabs, silently stolen away.\"\n\"That won't hurt my feelings a bit,\" said Ralph. \"The fellows on the\n_Advance_ have made it mighty tough for us these last few months. They\nlie, cheat and steal to get their stories and I've run into some actual\nbribery.\"\n\"So have I, but it won't win for them in the long run. I'm glad we're\nworking for a paper and an editor that's clean from top to bottom.\"\nReturning to his desk, Tim rummaged through the drawers until he found\nan aviation magazine which contained an illustrated sketch of Ace\nMcDowell and his flying circus. McDowell was short and swarthy with\neyes that were a little too close together to suit Tim. But the _News_\nreporter knew that the head of the flying circus was a real flyer and\nwould put on a good show. There was no sense in building up a prejudice\njust from a picture.\nTim rolled a sheet of copy paper into his typewriter and after a\nmoment's thought on the wording of his opening sentence, started\nhammering out the story announcing the coming of the flying circus. By\nthe use of plenty of adjectives he contrived to write a full column\nand, after reading over the story and correcting one or two minor\nerrors, he laid it on the copy desk.\nDan Watkins, veteran head of the desk, looked up from beneath his green\neye-shade.\n\"Good story?\" he asked.\n\"One of the best you'll ever read when it comes to writing a lot from a\nlittle,\" grinned Tim. \"As a matter of fact, Dan, we're promoting an air\ncircus next Sunday and I have a hunch that Mr. Carson will want a full\npage headline on one of the inside pages tomorrow.\"\nThe chief copyreader scanned the story with practiced eye.\n\"I should say your hunch is correct. I'll mark it for an inside banner\nright now.\"\nThe chief copyreader was the only one at the large desk and Tim sat\ndown on the edge of the horseshoe-shaped work table.\n\"I wish you had been at the airport this afternoon,\" he said. \"You've\nan uncanny memory for faces and names and it would have come in handy.\"\n\"See someone you couldn't place?\"\n\"There's something vaguely familiar about him. I've seen his picture\nsome place and I've a hunch there's a mighty good story connected with\nhis coming to Atkinson.\"\n\"You can always ask them questions,\" grinned Dan.\n\"I asked plenty of questions and didn't get a thing.\"\n\"Wouldn't he talk?\"\n\"He talked but he didn't say anything. I tried the stewardess and also\nCarl Hunter but both of them had received instructions from the general\nmanager of the line in Chicago to extend this man every courtesy and do\nas he directed. The stewardess had him down as 'Mr. Seven' because he\noccupied chair seven coming out. When I tackled him about that he said\nthat 'Mr. Seven' was a good enough name. I couldn't make a dent in him.\nHe's smooth as silk and as hard as steel.\"\n\"What are you going to do about it?\"\n\"I don't know exactly. I'll try to keep tab on him at the Ransom House\nwhere he is staying but with this flying circus coming to town I won't\nhave much extra time. I'm going to dig into the files and see what I\ncan find there. I'm positive I've seen his picture in the last year.\"\n\"I'll trail along over to the hotel with you if you'd like. Maybe I\ncould identify him. I've got one of those card index memories.\"\n\"I thought maybe you'd help me out, Dan. We'll have a try at it after\nsupper. I'll meet you at the Ransom House.\"\nTim and Ralph had dinner together down town and Tim told of his meeting\nthe mysterious \"Mr. Seven.\"\n\"Sounds like a story to me,\" chuckled Ralph, \"and I'll be way wrong if\nyou don't dig it out. Guess I'll invite myself in on the party tonight\nand trail over to the Ransom House with you.\"\n\"Glad to have you. Maybe you'll be able to identify my mysterious\nstranger.\"\nThey discussed plans for the flying circus and after leaving the\nrestaurant proceeded to the city's leading hotel. Dan Watkins was\nwaiting for them in the lobby.\n\"I'll see what name he registered under,\" said Dan. Inquiry at the desk\nrevealed that the object of Dan's curiosity had registered as Mr. G.\nSeven of Chicago.\n\"He's in the dining room,\" said Tim when he rejoined his companions.\n\"We might as well sit down here. He'll have to pass almost directly in\nfront of us, which will give Dan a good chance to see him.\"\n\"If Dan can't identify him, I'll be glad to help you go through the\nfiles,\" offered Ralph.\n\"Thanks. With all of the details necessary in arranging for the flying\ncircus I'll be glad to have a little extra help. Look sharp now. Here\ncomes our man.\"\n\"Mr. Seven\" was dressed in the same well-tailored suit he had worn when\nhe stepped out of the _Day Express_ and into the life of the flying\nreporter. He walked slowly from the dining room toward the elevators in\nfull view of the sharp eyes of the newspapermen. They watched the\nelevator doors close and turned to pool the results.\nDan Watkins shook his head.\n\"I'm afraid I'm of no help. There's something definitely familiar about\nthe face but I can't place the name. Maybe it will come to me later.\"\nTim swung around to Ralph. \"What about you?\"\n\"I'm just another disappointment and in the same fix as Dan. 'Mr.\nSeven's' face is familiar but that's as far as it goes. His name is\namong the missing.\"\n\"If 'Mr. Seven' will only stay around until this air circus is over\nSunday I'll find out what's behind his mysterious coming to Atkinson,\"\nsaid Tim, who felt that \"Mr. Seven\" had challenged his ability as a\nreporter.\nOn leaving the hotel, they parted, the chief copy reader returning to\nhis bachelor headquarters and Tim and Ralph going to the _News_\nbuilding where they hauled out files of the paper and spread the\nheavily-bound books on their desks.\n\"We'd better check together,\" suggested Tim. \"Then there will be no\nchance of our missing a single tip.\"\nFor an hour they poured over one volume, scanning each page and\nwatching with especial care the picture page which was a daily feature.\n\"I'm too sleepy to go on,\" said Tim when the city hall clock chimed\neleven times. \"Being outdoors most of the afternoon working on the\nplane gave me a yen for bed even though I want to keep on digging into\nthe file. I might go right on over the very picture I'm looking for.\"\nRalph picked up a telephone and called the Ransom House, where he\nascertained from the clerk on duty that Mr G. Seven had indicated he\nwould be a guest there for at least a week.\nRelaying that information on to Tim, Ralph added, \"Now you can go to\nbed tonight and sleep soundly.\"\nThey had just finished putting away the files when the door of the\neditorial room swung open and a stranger walked in. He was middle aged,\nwith close-cropped, iron-gray hair, piercing blue eyes and large,\ncapable hands.\n\"I'm looking for Tim Murphy and Ralph Graves, flying reporters of the\n_News_\" he said.\n\"I'm Murphy,\" said Tim, \"and my companion is Ralph Graves.\"\n\"Then I'm fortunate to find you together. My card may give you some\nidea of what I want.\"\nTim took the engraved piece of pasteboard and read the following words:\n\"Henry Prentiss, United States Bureau of Narcotics.\"\n\"I'm glad to know you, Mr. Prentiss,\" said Tim, \"but I'm afraid your\ncard hasn't given me any clue on what you're here for.\"\n\"I understand the High Flyers and Ace McDowell are going to put on\ntheir air circus here Sunday under the auspices of the _News_.\"\n\"That's correct, but no announcement has been made yet.\"\n\"Then you're likely to have two stories for your paper next Monday, the\nactual story of the flying circus and the story of the arrest of Ace\nMcDowell as the head of a notorious ring of dope smugglers.\"\nThe federal narcotic agent sat down on the edge of Tim's desk and\nsmiled at the amazed expressions on the faces of the flying reporters.\n\"Do you mean that you are going to arrest McDowell on a charge of\nsmuggling dope?\" asked Tim.\n\"I'm going to do my best to take him in custody. He's a slippery\ncustomer but I think we've got all the evidence we need this time.\"\n\"What a sensation this will make,\" whistled Ralph.\nTim was thoughtful. \"It's too bad the _News_ is sponsoring the\nappearance of the High Flyers if their leader is to be arrested on a\nfederal charge,\" he said.\n\"I'm afraid it's too late to make any changes now,\" said Mr. Prentiss.\n\"As a matter of fact, it will make a stronger story for, even though\nyou are now aware of McDowell's identity, you will go on and help a\nfederal law enforcement agency to carry out its duty.\"\n\"You're right on that point,\" agreed Tim. \"I'm sure that the _News_\nwill do all in its power to help you.\"\n\"I'm wondering why you looked us up,\" said Ralph. \"You could just as\nwell have waited until Sunday.\"\n\"True enough,\" nodded the narcotics agent, \"but I know that both you\nand Murphy, as a result of your efforts toward the apprehension of the\nSky Hawk and his gang, were made officers of the state police. I may\nneed a little official help Sunday and I want men I can trust in an\nemergency.\"\nIt was a fine compliment to the undaunted courage of the young\nnewspaper men and it pleased them both. Prentiss had made warm friends\nand allies on whom he could count in any emergency.\n\"McDowell has been smuggling for a long time,\" went on the federal\nagent. \"We've been after him for two years but he's a shrewd flyer and\na shrewder smuggler. It wasn't until I got one of my own men into his\noutfit that I commenced to get results.\"\n\"You've actually got one of your agents flying with McDowell?\" asked\nRalph.\n\"He's rated the next best flyer in the outfit, Tommy Larkin, by name.\"\n\"I've heard of him,\" said Tim, \"but I never dreamed he was a federal\nagent.\"\n\"Neither does McDowell or I'm very much afraid Tommy would be among the\nmissing.\"\n\"Meaning what?\" asked Ralph.\n\"That it would be comparatively easy for McDowell to arrange a crack-up\nof Tommy's plane somewhere on a long hop if he ever became suspicious.\"\n\"That would be unthinkable,\" said Tim.\n\"Not for McDowell. You might as well realize right now that he is ready\nto go to any length to save himself from arrest. According to\ninformation from Larkin, McDowell will receive a new shipment of drugs\njust before they take off from Charleston on their flight here.\nMcDowell is to keep it in his ship until they reach Nemaha, their next\nstop after they finish their exhibition in Atkinson. That means\nMcDowell will have the stuff on his ship for at least 24 hours. He\nflies a four passenger cabin plane most of the time but for one of the\nstunts he goes aloft in a fast two-seater. That's when I'll have a\nchance to seize the dope in his cabin ship and take him when he lands.\"\n\"Sounds fine if nothing slips,\" nodded Tim.\n\"There'll be no slips this time,\" promised the federal agent.\nThey discussed plans for the apprehension of McDowell at length and\nbefore he left the office, Prentiss promised to see the managing editor\nthe next day.\n\"I'm counting on you two to be with me Sunday,\" he said before leaving.\n\"There might be a leak if I called in the local police or even some of\nthe state troopers at the barracks here.\"\nWhen the narcotics officer had gone, Ralph wiped his brow and slumped\ndown in the chair at his own desk.\n\"Talk about news,\" he said. \"Things never come singly in a newspaper\noffice. First you bob in with the mysterious Mr. Seven, then we put on\nan air show and now we find the head of the air circus is wanted by\nUncle Sam for peddling dope. What next?\"\n\"Learn the identity of 'Mr. Seven,'\" grinned Tim.\n\"You can worry over that one,\" snorted Ralph. \"It's almost midnight\nnow. I'm going home and I expect I'll have all kinds of nightmares.\"\n\"If you suddenly discover the identity of 'Mr. Seven' I'll be glad to\nanswer the phone even if it is three in the morning,\" said Tim.\n\"Just for that, I won't phone you even if I do suddenly open some\nhidden recess in my brain and recall who he is.\" Ralph threw the words\nover his shoulder as he left the editorial room.\nTim picked up the aviation magazine which contained the picture of the\nHigh Flyers and looked again at the printed likeness of Ace McDowell.\nThe eyes were cruel, hard, merciless. Even on the inanimate page there\nwas something disturbing about them. Next to McDowell was the picture\nof Tommy Larkin. He was about the age of Tim or Ralph, stocky and\nwell-built.\nTim placed the magazine back in one of the drawers, snapped off the\nlight, and left the office. As Ralph had observed, things never came\nsingly, and Tim felt a weight of apprehension settling on his shoulders.\nThe next morning a board of strategy met in the office of the managing\neditor. Grouped around the table facing the heads of the _News_ were\nthe narcotics officer, Tim and Ralph.\n\"Of course we'll help in every way possible,\" the managing editor\nassured Prentiss. \"You can rely upon Tim and Ralph to give you the\nutmost assistance and you'll not find their courage wanting in the\npinches.\"\n\"That's why I came to them,\" smiled Prentiss. \"I need two men on whom I\ncan count.\"\nIn the rush of plans and details which had to be worked out for the\ncoming of the High Flyers, Tim was forced to relegate thoughts of \"Mr.\nSeven\" in the far depths of his mind. He managed to drop in at the\nRansom House once a day to check on the presence of the mysterious\nstranger and each time learned that the object of his interest was\nstill in Atkinson.\nThe High Flyers arrived late Saturday afternoon, wheeling down out of a\ncloudless sky. There were eight ships, three mechanics and two stunt\nmen. Six of the planes were trim, modern crafts but two of them were\nold trainers that should have been on the junk heap long ago. Tim was\nsurprised to see that type of craft.\nBy agreement, Prentiss had stayed away from the field for McDowell knew\nhim by sight.\nAs soon as the ships had rolled up oh the ramp, Tim stepped out to\ngreet McDowell. The head of the High Flyers was even shorter and\nswarthier than Tim had expected. His hand was cold and limp and Tim\nfelt a chill run along his spine as the close-set eyes seemed to bore\ninto him.\n\"Nice field,\" commented McDowell. \"Hope we have a good crowd.\"\n\"We've been giving the show plenty of publicity,\" said Tim.\n\"That's good. I'm pulling a new stunt tomorrow afternoon. It's a\nhead-on collision at 2,000 feet between two planes. That's why I'm\nwheeling those ancient trainers along. They'll go up in smoke tomorrow.\"\n\"Pretty risky sort of a stunt, isn't it?\" asked Ralph.\n\"Not as much so as it sounds. The pilots will chase each other for a\nwhile and then come on head first. Just before they crash both men will\ndive over the side in their chutes.\"\n\"Who's going to handle the ships?\" asked Tim.\n\"I'll fly one of them. Tommy Larkin will handle the controls in the\nother. By the way, you must meet Larkin. He's a fine flyer.\"\nAt the mention of Larkin's name, Tim felt a sickening premonition. It\nwas the fear that McDowell suspected Larkin of being a federal agent.\nIt would be so easy for him to crash into Larkin before the scheduled\ntime.\nMcDowell called to a flyer who was squirming out of coveralls.\n\"Tommy,\" he said, \"come over and meet the flying reporters from the\n_News_. There isn't enough going on here on the ground, so these\nfellows hop around in the clouds hunting stories.\"\n\"Glad to know you,\" grinned Tommy, as he shook hands with Tim and\nRalph. \"I've read a lot about you, first getting the Sky Hawk and then\ncleaning up the rustlers in the mountains west of here.\"\n\"I was in on the pursuit of the Sky Hawk,\" said Ralph, \"but Tim ran\ndown the rustlers single-handed. He's getting to be quite a sleuth.\"\nTim saw McDowell's eyes narrow and he felt them boring into him. He\nchanged the trend of the conversation at once.\n\"We brought several cars from the _News_ down,\" he said. \"Let's get out\nyour baggage and we'll be glad to take you uptown.\"\nBy pre-arrangement, Ralph stepped over to help McDowell while Tim went\nwith Tommy Larkin. They reached into the baggage compartment of\nLarkin's monoplane and Tim whispered, \"Prentiss is in town. He got your\nmessage and everything's set for tomorrow afternoon.\"\n\"Tell him the stuff is in McDowell's ship in a special compartment\nunder the floor. Be careful. I've a feeling that McDowell doesn't trust\nme.\"\n\"Then don't risk your life by going up tomorrow in one of those old\ntrainers and staging that crazy stunt.\"\n\"I'll keep a sharp lookout. McDowell will never be able to crash me\nbefore I jump. Better not say anything more or try to talk to me. It\nmight arouse suspicion.\"\nTim nodded and picked up the large suitcase. Together they walked\nacross the ramp and joined Ralph and McDowell.\nThey left the flyers at the Ransom House and Tim caught a glimpse of\n\"Mr. Seven\" in the lobby. As soon as the flying circus was out of town\nhe'd get on the trail of \"Mr. Seven\" again and see if he couldn't learn\nhis real identity. There was a story there if he could dig it out.\nSunday, the day of the big air show, dawned clear and windless, ideal\nfor the stunt flying and just warm enough to insure the attendance of a\nlarge crowd. The first stunts were scheduled for ten o'clock and half\nan hour before Ace McDowell went aloft to do an outside loop there were\nmore than a thousand cars parked in the roped off spaces around the\nfield with more arriving every minute. Tim's plans for handling the big\ncrowd were working out smoothly and he felt some of the tension\nslipping from his shoulders.\nAt an early morning conference in the _News_ office with Tommy Larkin\nand his chief, it had been decided to arrest McDowell when he floated\ndown in his chute after the plane crash. In the meantime, Prentiss\nwould seize the dope in the flyer's plane and they would spring the net\nfrom which there would be no escape for McDowell. Tim and Ralph were\ncontent to be on the sidelines for they knew the danger in crossing a\nman like McDowell.\nThe other flyers in the circus were quiet, competent chaps, most of\nthem under thirty and, as far as the narcotics agent could learn, had\nno connection with McDowell's smuggling activities. The show started\nwith McDowell's stunt flight, which left the crowd gasping and\nspeechless but not so paralyzed but what as a large number rushed for\nthe ticket sellers and bought rides in the other planes. The next stunt\nprogram was at one o'clock with Tommy Larkin going aloft with one of\nthe wing walkers, who capered all over the ship in a series of\nsensational stunts.\nBy early afternoon the crowd had increased to such an extent that the\nspecial police estimated more than 15,000 were watching the air show;\nand the passenger planes were running to capacity on every flight.\nPrentiss, who had arrived at the field, was remaining out of sight in\nCarl Hunter's office and once, when McDowell entered, was forced to\nmake a hasty retreat into the washroom.\nThe loudspeakers were blaring with the announcement of the next stunt\nflight, the crash of the two planes in mid-air. Tim heard the words\nvaguely.\n\"The greatest air thriller ever performed,\" the announcer was informing\nthe crowd. \"Two costly airplanes, speeding at more than 100 miles an\nhour, will positively crash head-on at an altitude of 2,000 feet. It's\ndaring, death-defying, breath-taking in its thrills. You'll be glued to\nyour seats when you see these ships hurl towards each other piloted by\nAce McDowell and Tommy Larkin, two of the foremost flyers in the\nnation. They'll go aloft in fifteen minutes. In the meantime, there's\ntime for one more ride in the passenger planes. Let's go, folks.\"\nThe old trainers had been kept in the hangars where a field crew had\ngiven them a hasty coat of paint that morning. They glistened bravely\nin their new dress and the motors, which were turning over slowly,\nsounded sweet.\nTim inspected the ship that Tommy was to fly. If it held together long\nenough to get to 2,000 feet Tommy would be lucky but with a chute on,\nhe'd be able to get out if anything happened before they straightened\nout for the crash.\nMcDowell's ship was in better condition. It was well rigged and Tim,\nsquinting under the hood, was surprised to see a big Barko 16-cylinder\nmotor turning the prop over. The old plane's lines were good. It was\nstill plenty fast enough to give the average modern ship a good race.\nToo bad to sacrifice a sturdy old veteran like that just to appease the\nthrill-seekers.\nTim looked around for Ralph, who had gone over to the pilot's room in\nthe administration building. His companion was nowhere in sight but\nMcDowell and Tommy, their chute packs banging awkwardly against their\nlegs, were making their way toward the hangar. McDowell's own monoplane\nhad been rolled inside.\nMcDowell was giving Tommy final instructions as they entered the hangar.\n\"We'll take our time getting up to 2,000,\" he said. \"Then we'll circle\naround and make several false rushes at each other. After three or four\ntimes I'll waggle my wings and the next time we'll let them go. We'll\nbe west of the field where the ships won't do any damage when they\ncrash. Stick with them as long as you can and then go overboard. Got\nthat all straight?\"\nTommy, a little grim, nodded.\n\"I'll handle my end of it,\" he said, climbing into the cockpit of the\nancient trainer.\nMcDowell, eyes narrowed to slits as hard as steel, looked at the crowd.\n\"They're going to get a real thrill,\" he said savagely, smacking his\nclenched hands together.\nTim looked at him curiously. McDowell outwardly wasn't nervous yet he\nappeared to be laboring under a great strain. Could he suspect Tommy's\nreal identity? The question burned itself into Tim's mind. If McDowell\nwas suspicious he might fake the crash and after Tommy went over the\nside, roar away in the trainer. That might explain why the old ship had\nsuch a powerful motor.\nTim stepped over to Tommy's ship and climbed up so he could yell into\nTommy's ear.\n\"I don't like the way McDowell looks,\" he said. \"Be careful.\"\nTommy nodded.\n\"I'm not taking any chances this afternoon. The first thing that looks\nfunny will find me going over the side in the chute.\"\nThe loud speakers were blaring. The field was being cleared and the\ntension in the crowd increased.\n\"In the Number one plane,\" boomed the announcer, \"is Ace McDowell. In\nthe Number two ship is Tommy Larkin. Here they come.\"\nThe flyers gunned their motors and the old ships, gleaming under their\ncoat of hastily applied paint, rolled out on the ramp.\nA mighty roar went up from the crowd. The field was finally clear of\nthe passenger carrying ships. The signalman in the control tower waved\nhis flag at Tommy. The young flyer opened his throttle, the venerable\ncraft waggled its wings, felt the call of the skies, and rolled\nsmoothly down the runway. Tommy took his time in getting off the field.\nWith as little strain as possible on the ancient wings he lifted his\nplane into the air.\nThe flag waved again and Ace, pushing his throttle ahead hard, flipped\nthe tail of his ship up and went scooting after the leisurely soaring\nTommy.\nThe planes climbed in easy circles with Ace going up much faster than\nTommy. They were up a thousand feet when Tim felt a tug at his arm and\nturned to face the narcotics inspector. \"Give me a hand and we'll see\nwhat we can find in McDowell's plane,\" said Prentiss. They hastened\ninto the hangar and climbed into the cabin. Tommy had given them the\nexact location of the hidden compartment and without wasting time\nPrentiss took an iron bar and smashed his way to it. With eager fingers\nhe ripped away the splintered wood of the top and delved inside. When\nhis hands came into view again they held small white containers.\n\"We've got McDowell with the goods this time,\" said Prentiss. \"When he\ncomes down I'll arrest him. I'll turn this over to the field manager to\nplace in his safe while I'm out getting McDowell.\"\nPrentiss turned back to Tim as he started for the administration\nbuilding.\n\"Better come along when I go after McDowell,\" he said. \"I may need some\nhelp. Bring your friend with you.\"\n\"I will if I can find him,\" promised Tim. \"He disappeared about half an\nhour ago and I haven't seen him since.\"\nA commotion near the pilot's quarters drew his attention just then.\nSomeone broke away and started running toward him. It was Ralph,\nstaggering slightly, and holding a blood-stained handkerchief to his\nhead.\nSomething was radically wrong and Tim, forgetting for the moment the\ndrama soon to be enacted in the sky, ran toward Ralph. He caught his\nfriend in his arms as he stumbled. Blood was flowing freely from a long\ngash on the right side of Ralph's head.\nRalph was on the verge of unconsciousness but he made a heroic effort\nto speak.\n\"It's Tommy,\" he whispered. \"McDowell's slashed his chute. If he ever\nsteps over the side he's gone.\"\nTim's face whitened at Ralph's alarming words. Tommy's chute slashed!\nHe glanced aloft. The planes were almost up to 2,000 feet. In a few\nmore minutes they would be rushing headlong toward each other and Tommy\nwould step over the side to hurl like a falling star to the ground.\nTim's eyes closed to shut out the image which flashed across his mind.\nPrentiss reached his side.\n\"What's happened?\"\n\"I don't know exactly,\" said Tim, \"but McDowell's slashed Tommy's chute\nwith a knife. Take care of Ralph. I'm going up to stop Tommy.\"\n\"Take him into my office,\" directed Carl Hunter, who had arrived on the\nrun and overheard Tim's words.\nPrentiss gathered Ralph in his arms and stalked toward the\nadministration building while Tim and Hunter ran down the ramp.\nTim scanned the field. It would be impossible to get the fast Jupiter\nwhich the _News_ owned or the American Ace which he and Ralph operated\nout of their hangars. He turned toward the other planes on the field.\nIt would take a fast ship to get up there in time to stop the crash of\nthe two planes. His eyes rested on McDowell's own monoplane. It was\ntrim and fast and the 300 horsepower motor was capable of pulling it\nalmost vertically skyward.\n\"I'll take McDowell's plane,\" he told Hunter. The field manager gave\nhim a hand and between them they whipped the ship around and headed it\ntoward the open field.\nTim climbed inside, stumbled over the smashed boards which had hidden\nthe secret compartment, and sat down in the pilot's seat. The controls\nwere slightly different from the ships he had been accustomed to flying\nbut he knew he could handle the plane without trouble. He glanced at\nthe gas gauge. The tank was a quarter full.\nOne of the High Flyers ran toward him, protesting on the use of the\nmonoplane, but Hunter waved him back with a curt explanation. Tim\nturned on the starter and the motor, still warm, caught on the first\nturn.\nHe was about to give the ship the gun when Prentiss ran toward him, a\nrifle in hand. The narcotics inspector clambered into the cabin and\nslammed the door.\n\"Let's go,\" he shouted. Tim nodded and opened the throttle. The field\nhad been cleared for the stunt and he sped out of the hanger and\nrocketed into the air. With the motor taking a full flow of gas, he\nshot the speedy monoplane into the air. They danced skyward in a crazy,\nclimbing turn that saw the earth dropping away from them.\n\"How's Ralph?\" Tim shouted.\n\"He'll be all right. Got a nasty bump on his head but there's a doctor\npatching him up now. He's weak from loss of blood more than anything\nelse.\"\nTim, with the stick jammed back between his knees, was watching the\ndrama of the circling planes. He was careful to keep behind McDowell as\nmuch as possible.\nThe old trainers had levelled off and were jockeying for the first dash\ntoward each other. Tim's hands gripped the stick hard as he saw them\nstart. Then he relaxed a little. Ace hadn't waggled his wings. There\nwould be no crash this time.\nThe old ships soared past each other with little room to spare and Tim\nalmost pulled his own ship higher by the sheer tension he was on.\nTommy was circling slowly for another dash toward Ace when Tim flashed\npast him waving frantically. In pantomime he went through the motions\nof jumping and then shook his head vigorously while Prentiss attempted\nto indicate to Tommy that his chute was damaged.\nAs he flashed by a second time Tim caught the look of alarm in Tommy's\neyes and saw the other examining the chute pack. There was the sudden\nroar of another motor and McDowell, forgotten for the moment, shot down\ntoward them.\n\"He's after us!\" cried Prentiss.\nWithout looking Tim sent the monoplane into a tight roll and the wings\nof the old trainer almost brushed their landing gear as they flopped\nover. A bullet crashed through the bottom of the cabin.\n\"He's on to us,\" said Tim grimly, \"but we'll keep him busy until Tommy\ncan land that crate of his.\"\nTim whipped the monoplane out of the roll. Below him McDowell was hard\nafter Larkin's plane. It was evident that he was out to destroy the\nother flyer if at all possible. He was going at Tommy head-on again.\nThis time there seemed little doubt but what the ships would crash in\nspite of all that Tommy could do to escape the trap. McDowell's plane\nwas too fast. He met every maneuver of Tommy's and played him one\nbetter.\nFor the moment he had forgotten Tim in his terrible concentration of\ndestroying the flyer he felt sure had turned in the evidence which\nwould lead to his arrest. If he had not forgotten Tim, he had sadly\nunderrated the flying ability and nerve of the reporter.\nWith wind screaming past the struts and motor on full, Tim dove\nheadlong toward McDowell. Some sixth sense must have warned his prey\nfor McDowell threw a startled glance over his shoulder. Instantly he\nchanged tactics and left Tommy to make a hurried landing with the old\ntrainer while he took up the new feud with his unforeseen foe.\nPrentiss opened the windows on the right side of the cabin and steadied\nthe rifle. There was a grim purpose written on the tensed lips. If he\ncould line his sights on McDowell, the rifle would spit flame and\ndeath. Crouched on the floor of the cabin, finger crooked on the\ntrigger, cheek resting on the gunstock, he waited for the chance he\nfelt was sure to come.\nBelow them the startled thousands watched the deadly duel, craned their\nnecks as the planes twisted and darted through the air, and at times\nseemed almost to crash before one of them flipped this way or that just\nin time to avert a catastrophe.\nTim and Prentiss had the advantage of a slightly faster plane but\nMcDowell had a chute. If they crashed he would have a chance of\nescaping while the flying reporter and the narcotics inspector would be\npinned in the falling wreckage of their ship.\nMcDowell was playing the game for his life. In spite of their danger\nTim thrilled to the masterful flying which it required to escape the\nmad rushes of the other.\nFor half an hour the grim battle went on. Then it ceased as suddenly as\nit had started. McDowell, giving his plane a full gun, darted away\nsouthwest. He was making a break for safety. With a heavy bank of\nclouds rolling up in the west, night would drop its mantle early. There\nwas just a chance that he might remain aloft until he could find\nshelter in the darkness. Tim saw through McDowell's strategy at once.\nUndoubtedly the other had a full tank of gas and since the old trainers\nusually had large tanks, sufficient to keep the ancient craft aloft\nuntil after nightfall. The flying reporter glanced again at the gauge\non the instrument board of the monoplane. He didn't need to. He knew\nwhat the needle indicated without looking but perhaps there had been\nsome mistake.\nThe gauge showed only an eighth of a tank of gas. Another half hour in\nthe air; perhaps a little more. Then they would be forced down and\nMcDowell would wing on alone.\nTom leaned back and shouted to the inspector.\n\"We've got only enough gas for another half hour. Want to land now,\nfill up the tank, and then try to overtake McDowell, or keep after him\nuntil our fuel gives out?\"\n\"Something might happen to his ship before our gas gives out. We'll\nkeep going as long as we can,\" Prentiss shouted back.\nTim nodded and set out in full pursuit. In three minutes he was on\nMcDowell's tail and he throttled down. No use to push the motor any\nharder than necessary.\nThe minutes droned on. Tim checked their direction. It was obvious that\nMcDowell was heading for the border. It was a long hop; impossible in\none jump, and he wondered where the pilot ahead of him intended to\nrefuel. He probably had some out-of-the-way airport where he could come\ndown, replenish his supply of gas and oil, and get away without being\nreported.\nFifteen minutes went by the clock. The needle on the gas gauge dropped\nlower. Probably McDowell, up ahead, was chuckling for he certainly knew\nthe amount of fuel in the monoplane he had left behind.\nPrentiss tapped Tim on the shoulder.\n\"How much longer?\"\n\"Not more than 15 minutes.\"\n\"Close in on him and I'll see if this rifle can't convince him that\nit's time to come down.\"\nTim's right hand jammed the throttle on full and the trim monoplane\nleaped ahead, overhauling the old trainer rapidly.\nMcDowell, hearing the deeper drone of the motor behind him, looked back\nat them. Tim banked to give Prentiss a clear shot and the federal agent\npressed the trigger. Tim could hear the sharp spats of the gun as the\nbullets sped on their way. Holes appeared in the fuselage of McDowell's\nship. Prentiss was shooting better. McDowell, pointing an automatic at\nthem, emptied the magazine. His aim was wild and not a bullet struck\nthe monoplane.\nMcDowell put the old biplane into a dive and Tim promptly followed.\nTwisting and turning, they resumed the battle they had waged over the\nAtkinson airport. Tim was flying rings around McDowell now and Prentiss\npumped shot after shot toward the biplane but the air was rough and it\nwas hard to gauge the distance accurately.\n\"Concentrate on his motor,\" Tim shouted. \"We can't stay up more than\nfive minutes more and you may be able to put his ship out of\ncommission.\"\nPrentiss filled the magazine of the rifle again and, firing steadily,\ndirected his bullets toward the motor of the biplane. Tim could see the\nblack splashes as the bullets struck the cowling. There was just a\nchance that he might be able to disable McDowell's motor.\nThe motor of their own ship coughed. Tim switched on the emergency tank\nand it barked steadily again. Their minutes in the air were numbered\nfor he had no way of knowing whether the emergency tank was full or how\nmuch it held.\n\"I'm going to try to bring him down,\" Tim yelled at Prentiss.\n\"What are you going to do?\"\n\"See if I can't run my wheels through his prop. Hang on.\"\n\"Won't that wreck your landing gear?\"\n\"We'll have to take a chance on that. If it does we'll get down\nsomeway. Are you game?\"\n\"Go ahead,\" said the inspector grimly. \"I'll try it once. There may not\nbe a second time.\"\n\"I'll get you down all in one piece,\" grinned Tim. Then he turned to\nthe job at hand.\nMcDowell was just a little above them and about a thousand feet ahead.\nGunning the motor hard, Tim climbed above their quarry and with the\nmotor on full, dove headlong for the biplane. McDowell must have sensed\nwhat was in Tim's mind for he stood up in his cockpit and took\ndeliberate aim with the automatic. Bullets plunked into the wing of the\nmonoplane, but Tim kept on. Prentiss's rifle was silent for the moment\nfor at that angle he was unable to fire.\nDown they dropped like an eagle after its prey. McDowell dove back into\nthe cockpit just as the monoplane crashed down on him, the wheels of\nthe ship above almost raking his head. Tim steeled himself for the\nexpected crash as the propeller of the biplane bit into the landing\ngear but it did not come. By some trick of magic which Tim would never\nknow McDowell dropped the biplane down almost ten feet at the last\nmoment. Or perhaps fate had taken a hand and the ship had struck an air\npocket. At any rate the monoplane sped on overhead and McDowell was\nsafe again.\n\"What happened?\" asked Prentiss.\nTim shook his head. \"I don't know. Maybe the biplane hit rough air and\ndropped. I thought surely we had him that time.\"\nThe motor coughed, rapped out a few more revolutions, and then died.\n\"That's about all for us,\" said Tim bitterly.\n\"And there goes McDowell,\" said the inspector.\nThe flying reporter scanned the ground for a safe landing place. They\nwere up a little better than 4,000 feet. To their right was a small\ntown and a fair-sized pasture at one edge, flanked by a white highway.\nTim nosed the monoplane down. As they glided toward the field he caught\nthe sound of another airplane motor. He glanced up. Perhaps McDowell\nwas coming back. But McDowell's ship was winging steadily along on the\n1,200-mile hop to the border.\n\"Someone back of us,\" said Prentiss. There was no need to shout now and\nthe inspector's voice sounded unnatural.\nTim glanced back. The ship was familiar. His heart leaped. It was the\nfast Jupiter owned by the _News_. Someone had managed to get it out of\nthe hangar and was coming to help them.\nThe flying reporter opened the window on his left and waved wildly,\npointing downward. The pilot of the other plane waggled his wings in\nunderstanding and dropped toward the pasture with Tim following him\ndown.\n\"Looks like Tommy Larkin in the other plane,\" said the inspector.\n\"That's the _News_' ship and I don't care who's flying it,\" said Tim,\n\"just as long as it's got a full tank of gas. McDowell is going to be\nin for a surprise when we shoot up in the Jupiter. That's an airplane.\"\nThe pasture proved surprisingly smooth and they rolled across the\nfield. The pilot who had brought in the Jupiter had it swung around and\nhad it ready for them when they tumbled from the cabin of the monoplane.\n\"Tommy!\" cried the inspector. \"Great work, boy!\"\n\"I couldn't stay out of this shindig,\" grinned the flyer McDowell had\nplanned to destroy.\n\"What a break,\" chuckled Tim. \"Plenty of gas?\"\n\"The tank's full to overflowing. That's some plane; fast and easy to\nhandle.\"\n\"We'll have to leave you here, Tommy,\" said the inspector. \"Maybe you\ncan get gas in this town and fly back to Atkinson.\"\n\"I'll make out all right,\" grinned Tommy. \"You fellows get after\nMcDowell. Gosh, I'd like to see his face when you come barging down on\nhim again.\"\n\"He's heading for the border,\" said Tim.\n\"Yeah. That old tub carried about a ton of fuel and he's got a field\nway over in western Kansas where he can land and refuel without\ntrouble. He knows it so well he can even land at night but unless I\nmiss my guess he won't be in the air by nightfall.\"\nTim climbed into the Jupiter and the inspector scrambled in after him.\nTim checked the gauges, tank nearly full of gas, motor temp right, oil\npressure up. He released the brakes, opened the throttle, and waved to\nTommy as the plane shot down the field and rocketed away in pursuit of\nMcDowell, whose plane now was only the tiniest of dots in the\nsouthwestern sky.\nThe Jupiter was fast and Tim cruised along at an easy, mile-consuming\n150 miles an hour.\n\"We'll overtake McDowell in no time,\" he told the inspector, who was\nbusy refilling the magazine of the rifle.\n\"I've only about twenty rounds of ammunition left,\" shouted Prentiss.\n\"My shooting will have to improve.\"\nThe dot in the sky ahead grew in size and took on the shape of an\nairplane. Tim was flying high and there was little chance that McDowell\nwould see them until they were on top of him.\nThe flying reporter's thoughts went back to Atkinson. He wondered about\nRalph and the wound on his head, and there was no mercy in his heart as\nhe guided the Jupiter on the now relentless chase after the fleeing\nMcDowell.\nThe outline of the old biplane grew larger and larger as the\nfast-flying Jupiter cut down the distance. Tim had planned a new\ncampaign of action. In the Jupiter, knowing every movement and\ncapability of the ship, he felt confident that he could ride McDowell\ninto the ground, out-maneuver and out-speed him until the other would\nwelcome the chance to fight it out below.\nThe Jupiter was flying a thousand feet above the old trainer when Tim\ndropped the nose down and opened the throttle for a power dive. As they\nswooped down, he saw McDowell look up, saw the surprise and alarm on\nthe other's face. Then they were by with less than ten feet to spare\nbetween the ships. Tim climbed the Jupiter dizzily until he was back on\nMcDowell's tail, riding it hard and close. The flyer ahead emptied\nanother magazine at them and then threw his automatic away in disgust.\nHe was out of ammunition. Now it was a case of plane against plane,\npilot against pilot, and nerve pitted against nerve for Prentiss was\nunable to shoot now.\nCloser and closer Tim drove the Jupiter. He was just above and behind\nthe biplane, riding it down, relentlessly and with grim intent.\nMcDowell twisted and turned, but always the cream and green biplane\nrode his tail. He dodged to the right and then to the left, looped,\nbarrel-rolled, but it was all in vain. Tim guessed his every maneuver\nand went him one better.\n\"Country's getting rougher,\" cried Prentiss.\n\"Bad place for a forced landing,\" agreed Tim.\nThey were flying at a little under 3,000 feet and Tim was riding\nMcDowell's plane down, foot by foot. It was a slow and nerve-wracking\nprocess but it seemed destined for success. Once in a while he would\nveer his ship enough to let Prentiss get in a shot, but none of them\nfound their mark.\nThe air was getting rougher. Even the steady, easy-flying Jupiter was\nrocking and pitching and Tim could see that the old biplane ahead of\nthem was bucking hard.\nPrentiss turned around.\n\"Look at the biplane's wings,\" he cried.\nTim watched closely. The wings were flapping, threatening to break\nloose from the ship at any moment. The chase was nearly over. McDowell\nwould be forced down. Tim glanced at the country below. It was rough\nand broken, almost impossible for a safe landing.\nA startled cry from Prentiss drew his attention back to the biplane.\nThe old ship was breaking up! McDowell had been pushing it too hard,\nthe spins and rolls and loops had been more than the ancient spruce\ncould stand. The right wing was giving way, the top section drooping\ndown in the lower one.\nMcDowell was making a game fight, attempting to nurse the old craft\nover the rough country to the more level reaches ahead. Tim eased up on\nthe throttle of the Jupiter, like the eagle giving its prey a moment's\nrespite before the last swoop.\nThe left wing of the old trainer was wobbling uncertainly now. The end\nwas near and still they were over the rough country.\nFascinated, Tim and Prentiss watched the drama ahead of them. The\nbiplane was weaving from side to side, the right upper wing now almost\ntouching the lower one. With a rending of linen and wood, the wing tore\nloose and floated away in the backwash of the propeller. Then the lower\nright wing collapsed under the strain and the ship started to fall away\nrapidly.\nMcDowell, game to the last, methodically prepared to go over the side.\n\"He'd better hurry,\" shouted Prentiss.\nTim glanced at the altimeter. They were still up 2,500 feet. There was\nplenty of time for McDowell to bail out and float down safely. The dope\nsmuggler poised himself on the edge of the cockpit as the ship started\nto spin.\nHe waved at them in sheer bravado and then dived headlong from the\nplane. McDowell somersaulted once, then jerked the rip-cord. The chute\npack unfolded and Tim and Prentiss saw the silken umbrella billow out.\nIt caught the wind and unfolded. Then, before startled eyes, they saw\nthe chute collapse and McDowell plummeted from their sight.\n\"Don't look!\" Tim shouted at Prentiss. He closed his own eyes, but even\nthen the image danced in his mind. In the single second in which the\nchute had opened he had seen the long slit in the silk. In some\nunexplained manner McDowell had knifed his own chute instead of Tommy\nLarkin's when he had plotted the death of Larkin at the Atkinson\nairport. It was a just vengeance but a merciless one.\nTim opened his eyes. Prentiss, white-faced and shaking, looked at him.\n\"Is there anything we can do?\"\n\"Not a thing. We'll find out where the county seat is and notify the\nsheriff. That's about all that can be done.\"\nTim checked their position. The county seat was about fifteen miles\nback on their return to Atkinson. The afternoon shadows were\nlengthening when they dropped down on the tiny airport on the outskirts\nof Walford. Inspector Prentiss climbed stiffly from the plane.\n\"I'll find a phone,\" he said. \"You might as well wait here.\"\nTim nodded and cut the motor. There were no attendants at the field and\nhe was glad that there was plenty of fuel left in the Jupiter's tanks\nto take them back to Atkinson.\nHalf an hour later the inspector returned.\n\"I located the sheriff and explained what had happened,\" he said.\n\"Everything will be taken care of. A party will leave at once to hunt\nfor McDowell so we might as well go on back to Atkinson.\"\nTim pulled the Jupiter into the air just as the sun dipped behind the\nhorizon. The earth below was shrouded in the half-light of early\nevening as they roared steadily along at 2,500 feet and some of the\nstrain which had gripped him during the afternoon slipped from his\nweary shoulders.\nThe mantle shrouding the earth deepened. Stars came out overhead and he\nswitched on the wing lights. A crimson patch on the eastern horizon\nindicated where the moon was struggling upward. Clusters of lights\npassed beneath them and occasionally the streaking lights of a car\ncould be seen. It was restful up there away from the earthy smells.\nAn hour slipped by and the lights of Atkinson glowed ahead. The airport\nwas outlined in the red, green and white lights that marked its\nboundaries and indicated to an incoming pilot the runaways. Smoothly,\neasily, Tim dropped the Jupiter down and the swift biplane rolled up to\nthe ramp near the administration building. Tim blinked in the glare of\nthe bright electrics.\nA familiar figure loomed out of the glare. It was Ralph, a bandage\naround his head, but able to move under his own power.\n\"Where's McDowell?\" asked Ralph. \"Did he get away?\"\nTim looked at Prentiss. The inspector spoke slowly.\n\"No, he didn't get away,\" he said as Tommy Larkin joined the group.\n\"His ship started breaking up and he went over the side in his chute.\nThe chute didn't open.\"\n\"Didn't what?\" asked Tommy incredulously.\n\"Someone had ripped it open with a knife.\"\nA grim smile flickered around Tommy's lips.\n\"I guess I can explain that,\" he said. \"McDowell and I use exactly the\nsame type of chutes and our packs look so much alike we can hardly tell\nthem apart. He ripped one of the chutes, folded it back, and then\npicked it up himself. Fate certainly took a hand in the events around\nhere this afternoon.\"\n\"What happened to you?\" Tim asked Ralph, who was leaning against the\nbiplane.\n\"Plenty,\" grinned Ralph. \"I caught McDowell in the pilot's room with a\nknife in his hand and the chute ripped. He was just ready to repack the\numbrella. When he saw me he came at me with both hands going and I went\ndown in a heap. He must have socked me with a wrench when I was down\nfor I've got about a two inch gash on the right side of my head. The\nnext thing I knew I heard planes buzzing around and woke up enough to\ncome out and give the alarm.\"\n\"I guess we can write 'finis' to this smuggling case,\" said the\ninspector slowly. \"I hadn't expected it would end in quite this\nfashion.\"\n\"What will the other members of the flying circus do?\" asked Tim.\n\"Half of them have left the field already,\" said Tommy. \"They're pretty\nmuch of a happy-go-lucky outfit. Some of them suspected that McDowell\nwas smuggling but they wouldn't turn in information on him. They'll\ncatch on with some other circus.\"\n\"My head feels like someone was using a trip hammer on it,\" said Ralph.\n\"I'm going home and to bed.\"\n\"Here comes a reporter from the _Advance_,\" interjected Tim. \"He'll\nprobably want to know all about the McDowell case,\" the last words were\ndirected at the inspector.\nMogridge, police reporter for the _Advance_, nodded to Tim and Ralph.\n\"I'd like to get all the facts on this story,\" he said to Inspector\nPrentiss.\n\"Sorry,\" smiled the inspector, \"but since the _News_' men played such\nan important part I'm afraid that the story will have to be exclusive\nwith them.\"\n\"Then you haven't anything to say?\"\n\"Not a word.\"\nIt was obvious from the set of the inspector's chin that no amount of\nargument or cajolery would change his mind. Mogridge shrugged and\nwalked away.\n\"Thanks, Inspector,\" said Tim.\n\"It was the least I could do,\" replied the federal agent. \"Without your\nassistance McDowell would undoubtedly have succeeded in his dash for\nthe border.\"\nRalph took a cab for home while Tim superintended the return of the\nJupiter to its hangar. Then, with the inspector and Tommy Larkin, he\nclimbed into the _News_' car he had used that morning and started\nuptown.\n\"This is a long ways from the McDowell case,\" said Tim, \"but I've got a\npet mystery all my own.\" Briefly he told the inspector about \"Mr.\nSeven.\"\n\"I'll be glad to have a look at him in the morning,\" said Inspector\nPrentiss. \"I've a faculty for remembering names and faces. Perhaps I\ncan help you out.\"\n\"Then I'll meet you here after breakfast,\" said Tim as the federal men\nleft the car in front of the Ransom House.\n\"Right,\" agreed the inspector. \"Say about eight-thirty. Good night.\"\n\"Good night,\" replied Tim as he eased in the clutch and headed the car\nfor the garage behind the _News_ building.\nIt was getting late, but tomorrow he would be on the trail of \"Mr.\nSeven.\" In spite of the let-down after the strain of the afternoon, he\nwent up to the editorial office, switched on the light over his desk,\nand wrote the story of McDowell.\nIt was a smashing action story, tense and alive to every bit of the\ngreat drama which had been played in the air. Page after page of copy\nrolled from Tim's typewriter as he spun his thread of verbs and\nadjectives, creating a living, pulsating picture with his words. He sat\nback exhausted when he had finished the last line and banged out the\nlast period. He was too tired to read it over and he tossed the handful\nof sheets on the copy desk, turned out the light, and somehow got to\nhis room where he tumbled into bed.\nWhen Tim awoke the next morning the sun was streaming through the\nwindows. He glanced at his wrist watch. Eight o'clock. Time for him to\nbe at the office. He had overslept.\nSeizing the phone he called the copy desk. Dan Watkins answered.\n\"Did you get my story?\" he asked.\n\"I'll say we did. There'll be an extra on the street before nine\no'clock. Great yarn.\"\n\"I overslept,\" explained Tim, \"and I've got an appointment to meet\nInspector Prentiss at the Ransom House in half an hour. If the office\ncan stagger through another hour without me I'll have breakfast before\nI meet the inspector.\"\n\"After the yarn you turned in last night I guess you can take the day\noff if you want it,\" said Watkins.\nTim stopped at a restaurant for breakfast on his way to the hotel and\nreached the lobby of the Ransom House exactly at eight-thirty.\nInspector Prentiss was equally prompt.\n\"Let's have a look at your mysterious 'Mr. Seven' and see if we can't\nstrip a little of the mystery from him,\" he suggested.\nTim went up to the desk.\n\"Is 'Mr. Seven' in?\" he inquired.\n\"Sorry, he left last night,\" replied the clerk. Tim's hopes crashed.\n\"Didn't he leave a forwarding address?\"\n\"No, he checked out of his room but he left his baggage with the\nporter.\"\n\"Then he's coming back soon?\"\n\"I presume so.\"\nTim went to the check room to question the porter. The information\ngained there was a little more helpful.\n\"Yes sir, there's 'Mr. Seven's' bags over there,\" said the porter. \"He\nsaid he'd be gone several days and for me to keep a close watch on\nthem. I guess they must be pretty important 'cause he gave me two\ndollars in advance for watching them.\"\n\"Didn't you hear him say where he was going?\" pressed Tim.\n\"He didn't say a thing except ask where there was a rent-a-car garage?\"\n\"What did you tell him?\"\n\"I gave him the name of several. Kelleys and Brackens.\"\nThere was no further information to be gained from the porter and Tim\nrejoined the inspector, to whom he recounted the slight information he\nhad gleaned.\n\"'Mr. Seven' appears to be an interesting character. I'd like to stay\nhere and help you run him down, but I've another case in the southern\npart of the state that is needing immediate attention. Sorry I can't be\nof any real help.\"\nTim watched the inspector depart with a sinking heart. He had counted\nmore than he cared to admit upon the ability of the federal officer to\nstrip away the secrecy which had surrounded \"Mr. Seven\" since his\narrival in Atkinson.\nBut tracing down \"Mr. Seven\" wasn't a newspaper assignment and Tim\nturned his steps toward the office where Ralph eagerly awaited news of\nthe visit to the Ransom House.\n\"What's the good word?\" he asked.\nTim shook his head glumly.\n\"There isn't any. 'Mr. Seven' checked out last night but left his\nbaggage at the hotel.\"\n\"Then he's coming back?\"\n\"Undoubtedly, but that is another question, and what's more, he may be\ndoing something right now that is big news.\"\n\"Why don't you go to Carson and get a couple of days off. That would\ngive you a real chance to run down this story.\"\n\"The managing editor would probably laugh at my hunch. Nope, I'll keep\nmy eye on the story and try to grab on to 'Mr. Seven' when he comes\nback to the hotel.\"\nRalph had an assignment in an outlying district of the city and he left\nthe office at once while Tim sat down to write a column of aviation\nnews.\nThe chief copyreader left his desk and joined Tim.\n\"I overheard what you were telling Ralph,\" he said. \"Too bad that 'Mr.\nSeven' got away before Inspector Prentiss could see him.\"\n\"Just my luck,\" muttered Tim.\n\"What are you going to do next?\" asked Dan.\n\"Keep a close check at the hotel and also find out where 'Mr. Seven'\nrented a car. It's from one of two places and I may be able to learn\nwhere he has gone.\"\nThe battery of presses in the basement awoke with a roar and newsboys\nscurried on to the street, their shrill cries of \"Extra! Extra!\"\nechoing between the lanes of buildings.\nA copy boy came up from the press room with an armful of papers so\nfresh the ink was soft and smeary on the page. He handed one to the\nchief copyreader and another to Tim, then proceeded down the room\nleaving them at the various desks where they were eagerly scanned by\nreporters and copyreaders.\n\"You turned in a great story on the pursuit and death of McDowell,\"\nsaid the copyreader.\n\"Thanks, Dan,\" smiled Tim. \"Coming from you, those words mean\nsomething.\"\nThe managing editor stuck his head out of his office and, seeing Tim,\nbeckoned to him. In one hand he held a copy of the extra.\n\"Fine work,\" Carson told the flying reporter, \"but I guess we have\ngotten in the habit of expecting good stories from you.\"\n\"The answer to that is easy,\" grinned Tim. \"I like reporting and if you\nreally like a thing I believe you can do it well.\"\n\"Any flying assignments for you today?\"\n\"Not so far.\"\n\"I'm glad of that. After your gruelling flight of yesterday it will do\nyou good to be out of the air for at least a day.\"\nTim returned to his desk and sat down to the routine task of gleaning\nenough aviation news to make an interesting column. He always tried to\nwork a day in advance on the column. It was well after mid-forenoon\nwhen he had completed the column and turned it in at the copydesk.\nThe city editor, Ed Campbell, a comparative newcomer on the staff,\nlooked up from his assignment book.\n\"I've just received a wire that June O'Malley, new star of the\nHollywood Follies, is coming through on the noon plane eastbound. Can\nyou hop down to the field for an interview?\"\n\"Right away,\" promised Tim.\n\"Better take a cameraman.\"\nTim stopped at the photo department and a photographer was assigned to\naccompany him.\nInterviewing the latest sensation of the film capital was little more\nthan routine and Tim found that the girl had little that she could or\nwould say. The photographer got several snaps and they returned uptown\nwhere Tim managed, by hard work, to grind out half a column on the\nvisit of June O'Malley to the airport.\n\"This is poor stuff and I'm making no apologies,\" he said as he laid\nthe sheet and a half of copy on the copydesk. \"She didn't have anything\nto say and I don't believe she could have said it if she had.\"\n\"They're usually pretty poor copy,\" nodded Dan, \"but you should kick on\na few assignments like this after your thrilling flight of yesterday.\"\n\"I guess you're right at that,\" nodded Tim.\n\"I know what's the matter,\" said Dan. \"You can't get thoughts of 'Mr.\nSeven' out of your head.\"\n\"You'd better have a sign painted and start in the mind reading\nbusiness,\" grinned Tim.\n\"It didn't take a mind reader to figure that one out.\" Dan dialed the\nautomatic telephone. \"Ransom House? This is the _News_. Has 'Mr. Seven'\nreturned?\"\n\"Not back yet,\" said Dan as he hung up the receiver. \"Let's go out to\nlunch?\"\nTim agreed and they had their noonday meal at a nearby restaurant.\n\"How far are the garages where 'Mr. Seven' might have rented a car?\"\nasked Dan.\n\"Only three or four blocks. The porter at the Ransom House recommended\nboth Kelleys and Brackens.\"\nThey paid their checks and Tim turned toward the _News_, but Dan\nstopped him.\n\"Things are light today. We'll take a few extra minutes and see what we\ncan learn at the garages.\"\nKelleys, the first rent-a-car agency visited, could supply no\ninformation but at Brackens they found their visit more fruitful.\nThe man in charge of the office consulted his records and informed them\nthat on the Saturday night previous a \"Mr. G. Seven\" had rented one of\ntheir best cars, putting up a cash deposit of $100 since he intended to\ntake the car outside the city limits.\nTim described \"Mr. Seven\" in detail.\n\"That's the man,\" said the garage employe firmly. \"There's no mistake\nabout it; he's got one of our cars. Is he in some kind of trouble?\"\n\"Not as far as we know,\" replied Tim. \"Did you hear him say where he\nwas going?\"\n\"No, but I saw him looking at the state map on the wall over there. He\nwas a little different from the average run of our customers and I kept\nan eye on him. He was looking at the roads leading into the Cedar river\ncountry.\"\n\"But there aren't any really good roads in that part of the state,\"\nsaid Tim.\n\"That's one reason why I noticed him looking at that section of the\nmap. He made a detailed study of it, but never asked a question of me\nnor any of the boys who serviced the car for him.\"\nThere was no further information to be gained at the garage and Tim and\nthe chief copyreader returned to the _News_ office.\n\"Looks like you're on the trail of a real story,\" commented Dan.\n\"What's going to be the next angle of attack?\"\n\"The files. I'm going to start with this month and go back into them\nday by day. Somewhere I'm sure there will be a picture that will give\nme the identity of 'Mr. Seven.'\"\nThe afternoon passed in routine tasks but when the final edition rolled\nfrom the press Tim went over to the room which housed the paper's\nlibrary and ordered out the files for the last year. When they were\navailable he carried the large, sturdily bound books to his desk where\nhe placed them one on top of another. Ralph's desk was not in use and\nhe opened the last volume of the file and placed it there. Drawing up a\nchair he started the slow task of scrutinizing every picture which had\nappeared in the _News_ for the last year.\nThe job was doubly difficult since one of the boasts of the _News_ was\nthat it carried an interesting picture on every page. Members of the\nstaff left the office, one by one, until Tim alone remained, bent over\nthe file and scanning the pages as he riffled through them.\nDaylight faded and he snapped on the light over Ralph's desk. Under the\nglow of the electric he continued his task until his shoulders ached\nfrom the continued strain of bending over. When he finally straightened\nup it was 7:30 o'clock and the telephone was buzzing.\n\"Atkinson _News_,\" said Tim.\n\"Hello, Tim,\" said Carl Hunter. \"There's a big amphibian coming in\nwithin the next half hour. Thought you might want a story. We don't get\nmany ships like that here.\"\n\"Who's on board?\"\n\"Haven't got anything on that yet. Will you be down?\"\n\"Right away,\" promised Tim. He closed the file, snapped off the light\nand hurried around to the garage in the rear where he signed an order\nfor one of the _News_' cars.\nHunter was waiting for him at the airport. In one hand he held one of\nthe pink slips on which the radiograms were copied.\n\"Just got a report on the ownership of the amphib,\" said the field\nmanager. \"It belongs to some fellow by the name of Sladek in New York\nCity.\"\n\"Is it Jack Sladek?\" asked Tim.\n\"Can't say. The message asking for refueling here is just signed\nSladek. You know someone by that name?\"\n\"No, but I've read a lot about a Jack Sladek of New York. He's\nsomething of an international figure; been mixed up in a lot of\ndifferent things, South American revolutions, Arctic explorations,\nunderwater treasure hunts and rum running when that business was\nprofitable. I've seen feature stories in eastern papers that credit\nSladek with having made a fortune in deals that are just inside the\nlaw.\"\n\"You'll have a chance to see him first hand,\" grinned Hunter, \"for the\nship was over Spencer half an hour ago. It should be here in another\nfifteen minutes.\"\n\"That's just time enough for me to get a lunch. I got interested in a\nlittle work at the office and forgot to go out and get supper.\" Tim\nordered a hot lunch and while he ate scanned the last edition of the\n_Advance_, the rival newspaper. He chuckled once or twice as he read\nthe story of the pursuit of McDowell. The _Advance_ had only the\nsketchiest of details and all of the rest of the story was obviously\nthe product of the imagination of Mogridge, the reporter who had been\nassigned to the story. It could not compare with the brilliant\naccurately written story which Tim had woven for the _News_ and which\nhad been featured on the front page through all the editions that day.\nAs Tim finished his lunch the drone of twin motors sounded high\noverhead. The amphibian was coming in. He stepped out of the lunchroom.\nThe riding lights of the plane were visible as it circled to come down\ninto the wind. Tim walked over and stood beside Hunter as the big ship\ndropped down and rolled to a stop on the ramp.\nThe amphibian was a beauty, trimmed in green and silver, and with a\nlarge cabin.\n\"Twin-engines, 575 horsepower each,\" said Hunter. \"That's a high-speed\nship.\"\n\"Stream-lined down to get every ounce of speed out of it, too,\" said\nTim. \"It cost plenty of shekels to build that flying boat.\"\nInside the commodious cabin men were preparing to get out through the\nhatch at the rear. The first to appear was short, squat, with a nose\nthat looked like a substantial fist had pushed it back against his face.\n\"Nice looking customer to meet on a dark night,\" said Hunter.\nTim recognized the second man to appear as Sladek. He looked to be\nabout 40 with a strong, hard face and eyes set so far back that they\nhad a peculiar penetrating intentness and gave you the idea that Sladek\nwas trying to ferret out your innermost secrets. The owner of the\namphib was followed by a third man, who appeared to be a second-rate\nfighter, while the pilot was the last to emerge.\nHunter stepped forward and spoke to the former rum runner.\n\"We'll have your ship refueled and ready to go in fifteen minutes.\"\n\"Thanks. I've got to look at some maps. We'll be here half an hour at\nleast; perhaps longer.\"\nTim remained in the background. He'd pick up as much as he could from\nthe conversation of the visitors before stepping in and asking for a\nstory. It was evident that the two with Sladek and the pilot were\nbodyguards, for they kept close to their employer and scanned everyone\nwith suspicious eyes.\nSladek went into the administration building and scanned the large\nscale map of the state which hung on one wall. Tim, loitering behind,\nstarted involuntarily as he saw the section of the state which\ninterested Sladek. It was the Cedar river country--the same section\ninto which his mysterious \"Mr. Seven\" had gone.\nThe field manager, who had been supervising the refueling of the\namphibian, came into the office and Sladek turned toward him.\n\"What do you know about the Cedar river country?\" he asked.\n\"It's bad business for flyers,\" replied Hunter. \"The entire valley is\nwooded, with many high bluffs, and if your motor goes bad there isn't a\nsafe place to set down. All you can do is aim at some tree top and hope\nfor the best.\"\n\"That's one reason I flew out here in an amphib. There shouldn't be\nmuch trouble landing on the river.\"\n\"Not unless you smack down and ram a sand bar or have a snag come up\nand smash in the bottom of your ship.\"\n\"That's encouraging. Doesn't look like we could go much further\ntonight. You'd better roll my ship into one of the hangars. We'll want\nto get an early start in the morning.\"\n\"If there's some particular place you want to know about in the valley,\nTim Murphy may be able to help you,\" suggested Hunter.\n\"Who's Tim Murphy?\" demanded Sladek.\n\"He's the flying reporter for the Atkinson _News_. He's flown all over\nthat country and with the exception of a small field near the village\nof Auburn there isn't another place to land safely and then a big ship\nlike yours couldn't make it.\"\n\"You can leave reporters out of this,\" snapped Sladek. \"I guess I'll be\nable to get along all right.\"\nTim, standing behind him, grinned. He was certain that \"Mr. Seven\" and\nJack Sladek were bound for the valley of the Cedar on the same mission.\nNeither one wanted publicity.\nSladek, his two bodyguards and his pilot, left the airport in a\ntaxicab. After the amphib had been rolled into a hangar and berthed for\nthe night, Hunter turned to Tim.\n\"What do you make of him?\" he asked.\n\"He's after something big,\" said the flying reporter, \"or he wouldn't\nhave flown out here. Another thing, he doesn't want any publicity on\nhis arrival. All of which makes me sure that there is a big story over\nin the valley of the Cedar.\"\n\"That means you'll be heading that way tomorrow morning.\"\n\"Maybe before that.\"\n\"Trying to land there in the dark would be suicide.\"\n\"I don't think a plane will do a whole lot of good on a story like\nthis. I've a hunch that a car and a good pair of legs may be best.\"\nIt was eight-thirty when Tim returned to the office to plunge again\ninto the files in quest of the identity of \"Mr. Seven.\" A scrub woman\nat the other end of the office looked at him curiously, then went about\nher work. There was no explaining the action of these newspaper men who\ncame and went at all hours of the night.\nThe day by day record of events slipped through Tim's fingers as he\nwent through the file with new enthusiasm. Six months, then nine months\nand finally a year of action passed. A clock outside boomed eleven but\nstill there was no clue to \"Mr. Seven.\" Tim went to the library for a\nnew supply of files and spread them out on his own desk and Ralph's.\nHis eyes were getting heavy but he kept at the task.\nFootsteps sounded on the stairs and he looked up to see the managing\neditor appear in the doorway.\n\"What's up, Tim?\" asked Carson.\n\"Just trailing a story,\" replied the flying reporter, \"and right now it\nlooks like a mighty slim trail with the scent growing fainter every\nminute.\"\n\"Let's hear about it.\"\nTim recounted briefly the arrival of \"Mr. Seven\" and how he had aroused\nthe interest of the flying reporter. Then he told of the arrival of\nJack Sladek and linked the two together.\n\"They're after something in the Cedar river valley and if I could only\nget the key to the identity of 'Mr. Seven' I might know what to aim at.\"\nThe possibilities of the story caught the managing editor's vivid\nimagination.\n\"I'll give you a hand,\" he said, \"you scan the pages on the right; I'll\ntake the ones on the left. You've given me enough description so I\nought to be able to recognize your man.\"\nEditor and reporter sat down and took up the task together. Another\nhalf hour slipped by when Tim stopped suddenly. He looked at the page\nbefore him with almost unbelieving eyes. There, staring at him from the\nmiddle of a large feature, was the likeness of \"Mr. Seven.\"\n\"Have you found him?\" asked Carson.\n\"Yes,\" said Tim, but the word was automatic. He was reading the caption\nover the picture and the words, \"Grenville Ford, Adventurer and Globe\nTrotter,\" burned their way into his mind. This then, was \"Mr. G. Seven.\"\n\"Why that's Ford, the globe trotter. He was with Byrd at the South Pole\nand with Adamson when he made his round the world flight two years ago.\"\n\"I'm positive that the man I know as 'Mr. Seven' is Ford,\" said Tim.\n\"The likeness is unmistakable and you must remember that I have seen\n'Mr. Seven' at close range a number of times.\"\n\"Has anyone else seen him?\"\n\"Both Dan Watkins and Ralph,\" said Tim.\n\"Then get them on the phone and have them come to the office right\naway.\"\nRalph, roused from a sound sleep, promised to come at once as did the\nhead of the copydesk. Tim heard an exclamation from the managing editor\nas he replaced the receiver on its hook.\n\"I've found the key to the presence of both Ford and Sladek in the\nmiddle west,\" he said. \"Listen to this:\n  \"NEW YORK CITY--(Special to the Atkinson _News_)--Adventure is\n  again calling Grenville Ford, world famous adventurer and globe\n  trotter. This time it is the sunken millions in the stone box of\n  the tramp steamer, Southern Queen, which went down in the Caribbean\n  in the fall of 1923. The exact location of the sinking of the\n  Southern Queen has never been known but Ford is believed to have\n  learned the whereabouts of the wreckage and to be making plans for\n  the salvage of the sunken treasure.\"\n\"But just how does that link up with his visit to Atkinson under an\nassumed name and the arrival tonight of Jack Sladek with a couple of\nbodyguards?\" asked Tim.\n\"Wait until I'm through. Then you'll feel the same way I do,\" insisted\nthe managing editor. He continued reading from the story in the files:\n  \"When the revolution headed by Manuel Crespes in Guato failed,\n  Crespes and his fellow adventurers looted the rich mines there and\n  fled aboard the _Southern Queen_. Estimates at the amount of gold\n  taken by the fleeing rebels have varied from $500,000 to more than\n  $5,000,000 but it is safe to say that sufficient gold was taken to\n  make an attempt at its recovery highly worthwhile.\n  \"The _Southern Queen_ left Martee, the main port of Guato,\n  apparently in good condition but the vessel never reached port.\n  Exactly what happened has never been known. Her disappearance has\n  been one of the mysteries of the seven seas. Various theories have\n  been advanced. One of the most persistent was that the leaders of\n  the futile revolution in Guato killed all members of the crew when\n  they neared a safe coast, scuttled the ship, took the treasure and\n  escaped in small boats. Another is that a storm which raged in the\n  Caribbean shortly after the _Southern Queen_ left Martee caught the\n  little tramp steamer in its center and sent it whirling to the\n  bottom with the loss of everyone on board. Several expeditions have\n  been formed to hunt for the treasure but none of them have been\n  successful and so far no actual trace of the _Southern Queen_ has\n  been found.\n  \"_News_ that Ford is planning to search for the treasure brings the\n  story into the forefront again for he is known as a soldier of\n  fortune of the higher type. While Ford refuses to divulge his plans\n  in any detail, friends believe that he has learned the whereabouts\n  of one of the survivors of the _Southern Queen_\"\nThe story went on to recount other adventures in which Ford had played\na prominent part but added nothing more in the way of information about\nthe hunt for the treasure of the Southern Queen.\n\"I'm still trying to guess what brought him out here,\" said Tim.\n\"It's as plain as though written on the wall,\" replied the managing\neditor. \"This story was printed more than a year ago, yet Ford hasn't\nstarted his expedition. Money hasn't held him up for he has plenty to\nfinance any such trip. What did? Something must have happened to his\nsource of information. Either it vanished or he has had to do far more\nwork in ferreting out the facts than he expected. In either case I'm\nbetting that Ford came here under an assumed name and went into the\nCedar river valley for the one and only purpose of learning something\nwhich is vital to the success of his treasure hunt.\"\n\"If he is seeking information in connection with the treasure of the\n_Southern Queen_ that would explain his use of an assumed name and his\nevasion of reporters,\" agreed Tim. \"It would also account for the\npresence of Sladek, who tries to vote himself into anything that looks\nlike easy money.\"\n\"In other words both Ford and Sladek are after the sunken treasure in\nthe _Southern Queen_ and there's some information over in the valley of\nthe Cedar that both are after,\" said Carson.\n\"All of which may mean a good story for the _News_\" smiled Tim.\n\"When can you start for the valley?\"\n\"Right away.\"\n\"Can you go by plane?\"\n\"Not tonight. I'll drive down. Ralph can bring the plane in tomorrow\nand land near Auburn. I'm not sure a plane will be much use except for\na fast trip home with the story. I'll probably have to take a boat if I\nwant to get around much in that country.\"\n\"Got any cash?\"\n\"Less than $10.\"\nCarson dug into his own pocket. \"Here's $20. I'll have Ralph bring you\nexpense money when he flies over.\"\nIn their eager discussion of the possibilities of the story they had\nalmost forgotten the telephone calls to Ralph and Dan Watkins and Tim\nwas about to depart for the Cedar river valley when they burst into the\noffice.\n\"What's the matter?\" asked Watkins. \"Something big break?\"\n\"Not yet, but soon,\" grinned Tim. \"We think we've learned the identity\nof 'Mr. Seven.' Both you and Ralph have seen him. Take a good look at\nthat picture over there and tell us what you think.\"\nThe newcomers scanned the printed likeness of Grenville Ford with\ncritical eyes.\n\"That's 'Mr. Seven' without a doubt,\" said the chief copyreader and\nRalph added his agreement.\n\"Then you'd better start for the valley at once,\" said Carson.\n\"You might tell us a little about it,\" suggested the veteran head of\nthe copy desk.\n\"You'll hear full details when the story breaks,\" cried Tim as he\nheaded for the stairs.\nHe took the best of the cars which the _News_ owned for the trip, a\npowerful coupe capable of high speed and standing lots of abuse on the\nrough roads of the Cedar valley.\nHe swung in front of the _News_ building, just as the others came down\nfrom the editorial office.\n\"I'll take you home,\" he called.\n\"I've got my car,\" replied the managing editor.\n\"The short walk will do me good,\" added Watkins, but Ralph decided to\nride.\n\"Carson told us the whole story and says I'm to fly over in the morning\nand land near Auburn,\" he said. \"Will you be there?\"\n\"That's hard to say, but if I'm not you wait for me even if you have to\nstay there a couple of days.\"\n\"Sounds like a vacation trip.\"\n\"It may be anything but that.\" Then, thinking of the big amphibian and\nJack Sladek and his bodyguards, he added: \"The amphibian Sladek came in\nis in the hangar next to the one we use. If I leave you at the field,\ndo you suppose you could fix it so they'd be delayed several hours\ngetting their motor started in the morning?\"\n\"It's as good as done,\" said Ralph. \"With this flight on tomorrow I'll\nhave an excuse to visit the field.\"\nTim left Ralph at the airport and sped on alone toward the valley of\nthe mighty Cedar.\nFor the first fifty miles of the trip the roads were hard-surfaced and\nTim sped along at a fast pace, the long, powerful coupe eating up the\nmiles. But after that it was harder going. The roads were poorly marked\nand badly rutted. Tim was forced to drive well under thirty miles an\nhour and as he neared the valley the country grew more rugged, the road\nturning and twisting, climbing laboriously up one hill and then\nskidding down another.\nHe lost almost half an hour when he ran into a local shower and had to\nget out and put on the chains. Once or twice the big coupe skidded\nbadly but he managed to hold it on to the road. At dawn he was deep\ninto the valley of the Cedar, the narrow road was dry again, and he\ntook off the chains.\nThere was no bridge across the Cedar at Auburn and Tim pulled the coupe\nup on the left bank of the river and waited for the arrival of the\nramshackle ferry.\nIt was seven o'clock before the old barge, powered by an automobile\nengine, paddled its way across the broad stream and nosed up to the\nlanding stage.\n\"How much to go across?\" asked Tim.\n\"Dollar for a car that size,\" replied the riverman.\nTim handed over the fee and drove the coupe aboard. The engine of the\nferry sputtered and then settled down to its task as the paddles\nflashed in the morning sunlight.\n\"Business been pretty good?\" Tim asked.\n\"Only fair. Usually don't get anyone on the morning trip but yesterday\nI had a car almost as large as yours.\"\nHere was what Tim had been fishing for. He was on the right trail and a\nfew more questions assured him that Grenville Ford had driven directly\nto Auburn after leaving Atkinson.\nWhen the ferry docked on the Auburn side, Tim went to the general\nstore. He was known there for, two years before, he had helped save the\nvillage, marooned by a flood, by bringing food and needed medicine. At\nthe store he learned that Ford had stored his car in the village,\nrented a boat with an outboard motor, laid in a supply of food and a\ntent, and started down river the day before.\n\"Have any idea where he was going?\" asked Tim.\n\"He didn't seem to want to say much about himself,\" said the\nstorekeeper. \"Appeared to be one of those close-mouthed fellows.\"\nTim went across the street to the village's one hotel and there\nobtained an excellent breakfast. Greatly refreshed, he went down to the\nriver bank to make more inquiries. In front of one shanty was the sign,\n\"BOATS FOR RENT,\" and to this place Tim went at once.\nThe owner was a white-haired riverman and when Tim introduced himself,\nhe found the boatman willing to talk.\n\"I remember the fellow well,\" said the riverman, \"but he didn't say\nwhere he was going. Just asked to rent a boat for about a week and he\nleft a cash deposit, which is all I require, seemed to know what he\nwanted for he picked out a good boat and started down river at once.\"\nThere was little to be learned in that information and Tim tried\nanother tack.\n\"Any strangers moved into the valley in the last year or two?\" he asked.\nThe old man shook his head. \"All the movin' that's done is the other\nway. Keeps up much longer and there won't be anybody in the valley and\nno Indians to give it back to.\"\n\"I just though there might have been some new people came in--maybe a\nsailor or two.\"\n\"Nothin' to sail around here except the clammers and they don't sail.\nOnly man around here that's ever seen big water is Crazy John Boggs.\"\n\"Who's Crazy John?\"\n\"He came in here about nine or ten years ago and went down river to an\nisland where he does a little clammin' and pearl huntin'. He's always\ntalking about revolutions and sunken treasure and such as that. He's as\ncrazy as they make them.\"\nSuch talk might sound crazy to the people of the valley but to Tim it\nwas another link in his story.\n\"How far down river is it to Crazy John's?\" asked Tim.\n\"About thirty miles and bad water all the way. He's way off the main\nchannel and he don't like company. Keeps a couple of regular man-eating\ndogs. Some folks say he's got mines planted all around the island so he\ncan blow up anyone he doesn't want around. No one from here's ever been\non the place.\"\n\"Here's one that's going,\" said Tim. \"Fix me out with a boat and an\noutboard. I'll be back as soon as I can get some grub at the store.\"\nTim felt jubilant as he walked up from the river bank. Ford, or \"Mr.\nSeven,\" was only twenty-four hours ahead of him.\nThe sound of an airplane motor drummed over the village and Tim looked\nup to see the Jupiter swinging around to land in the only field that\ncould be used. It was a mile outside the village and he knew he would\nhave plenty of time to secure his food and a couple of blankets before\nRalph arrived.\n\"Fix me up with enough food for about four days on the river,\" Tim told\nthe storekeeper, \"and I'll want a couple of good, warm blankets. I\nexpect the nights in the valley are a little chilly.\"\n\"They're all of that,\" agreed the storekeeper. When the food and\nblankets were ready, Tim paid the bill and left the store. At the far\nend of the street Ralph was hurrying in to town and Tim waited for him.\n\"Starting out as a peddler?\" asked the newcomer.\n\"Just getting ready to start down river. Come on and help me stow this\nstuff away.\"\nThe riverman had a sixteen foot flat-bottomed boat ready for Tim. A\nlight outboard had been fastened to the stern and an extra can of\ngasoline had been placed in the boat.\n\"What's the idea of the river trip?\" Ralph wanted to know. Tim related\nwhat he had learned in the village and Ralph nodded his agreement to\nthe plans.\n\"You stay here and keep the Jupiter ready to fly any minute,\" said Tim.\n\"When I get back I'll want to start for Atkinson as soon as possible.\"\n\"Everything will be ready. Here's the extra expense money Carson sent\nfor you.\" Ralph handed out $50 and Tim paid the deposit necessary for\nthe boat.\n\"There may be some fellows in here a little later in another airplane,\"\nhe told the riverman. \"They're apt to inquire about Crazy John. Do you\nsuppose you could forget all about him?\"\n\"After what you did for us when we had the flood I could forget a whole\nlot,\" smiled the owner of the boats.\n\"Sladek and his men won't be here for a couple more hours,\" chuckled\nRalph. \"What I didn't do to their motors last night doesn't amount to\nmuch. I had a hard time to keep from laughing this morning. Poor old\nCarl at the airport was the goat. They accused him of failing to keep a\nproper watch over their plane. We'll have to square it with him some\nway.\"\nTim obtained detailed instructions from the boatman on the way to Crazy\nJohn's island.\n\"Don't try to sneak up,\" was the riverman's final word of caution, \"or\nhe'll get you sure. Just keep off shore in plain sight and do some\nlusty hollerin'.\"\nTim thanked him for the final words of advice, said goodbye to Ralph\nand started to shove off when his friend stopped him.\n\"Got a gun?\" he asked.\nTim shook his head. \"I won't need one. I don't think Crazy John is as\nbad as he's pictured and I'm sure I won't have any trouble with Ford.\"\n\"But there's Sladek and his bodyguards. If you run into them, you might\nget in a jam. Better take this.\"\nRalph handed Tim a heavy, snub-nosed automatic.\n\"It's loaded and here's two extra clips. Take care of yourself.\"\n\"See you in a day or two,\" said Tim as he shoved away from the landing\nstage. Turning on the ignition he gave the starter rope on the outboard\na jerk. The motor responded with a steady putt-putt-putt and Tim\nstarted the journey down stream to the island abode of Crazy John.\nRalph watched the boat until it was lost from view behind a curve in\nthe broad river. Then he turned and went back to the village, had\nbreakfast, obtained gasoline, and walked back to the Jupiter where he\nreplenished the fuel and sat down in the shade. He was going to have\nlots of nothing to do until Tim returned.\nOn the Cedar, Tim's small craft surged steadily down-river. There was\nno regular navigation on the stream and the channel swung from one side\nto another.\nBlack snags stuck their dangerous heads above the surface of the water\nand occasionally a broad sand bar ran almost across the stream. Finding\nthe channel was no easy task and Tim realized that it might be at least\ntwo days under the best of circumstances before he returned to the\nvillage.\nThe Cedar turned and twisted, first on one side of the heavily wooded\nvalley and then on another. Bayous opened off on long, quiet stretches\nof back water and once in a while he could see the mouth of some\ntributary sneaking in around a bluff.\nThere was no sign of human habitation and he felt immensely lonely. He\nmight have been the first white man down the stream and he would not\nhave been surprised to have rounded a curve and sighted an Indian\nvillage on the next strip of sand.\nThe day was warm and if his mission had not been so urgent, he would\nhave fully enjoyed the trip. But there was a tension that gripped him\nand drove him on at full speed. He wanted to be at Crazy John's well\nbefore sundown.\nAt noon Tim estimated that he was two-thirds of the way to his\ndestination. Slowing down the motor, he dug into his provisions and\nmanaged a snack of lunch. He drank deeply from a jug of cool water the\nriverman had placed in the boat and felt greatly refreshed. The strain\nof a night without sleep and the hard drive from Atkinson was beginning\nto tell on him.\nTim wondered when the amphibian would soar overhead. Ralph certainly\nhad done an excellent job in putting the big craft out of commission.\nAnother hour slipped by. He was nearing the bayou where he would turn\naway from the main river and seek out the island of Crazy John. The\nboatman had told him to look for an island with a monster cottonwood,\nsplit by a bolt of lightning. When he came to that island he was to\ntake the bayou to the right and continue taking every possible turn to\nthe right. Crazy John's island was a third of a mile from the main\nstream. Tim remembered the warning to shout lustily at intervals after\nhe left the main channel.\nHis sturdy little craft swung around a broad curve, dodged the end of a\nprojecting sand bar, slid between two snags, and straightened out down\nstream again. Tim's heart leaped.\nA half mile down river, standing on an island in the center of the\nstream, was a giant cottonwood, its top split asunder by lightning. The\nhuge tree towered above everything else in the valley. There was no\nmistaking it and Tim looked for a bayou to the right of the island.\nFrom behind him and sounding above the steady throbbing of the outboard\ncame the thrumming of airplane engines. Tim glanced back. The\namphibian, flying fast and low, was coming down stream.\nTim wondered if the pilot of the big ship would try to land on the\nriver. The Cedar was wide enough but the danger of snags was a very\nreal one. A sunken log could rip out the bottom of the plane and pull\nthe entire craft to the bottom of the river.\nFascinated by the beauty of the big amphibian, Tim watched it approach.\nThe roar of the motors filled the valley with their noise. The craft\nwas less than a hundred feet above the river and coming directly toward\nTim.\nLooking up, the reporter could see a man leaning from a window on the\nright side of the cabin. There was something black in his hand.\nSplashes of water appeared beside the boat. The seat beside Tim\nsplintered under the impact of a bullet. Then the amphibian was roaring\ndown stream.\nTim was cold with anger. The attack on him had been wanton. There was\nonly one explanation. They had taken him for Grenville Ford. The sooner\nhe could get away from the open reaches of the river the safer.\nHe jammed the throttle of the outboard on full and his boat leaped\nahead. Risking a sand bar, Tim cut the comers close and before the\namphibian could swing back upstream he was safely hidden under the\nshelter of heavy foliage from the bank.\nFrom his temporary place of refuge Tim watched the amphibian circle\nover the valley. They were hunting for his hiding place and he pulled\nhis boat in closer to shore where the dense foliage would effectually\nscreen him from the eyes of the observers above.\nFor fifteen minutes the big plane soared overhead. Then as quickly as\nit had come it vanished upstream and Tim guessed that it was going to\nAuburn to learn exact directions for reaching the island of Crazy John.\nOnce sure that he was safe from the amphibian for the time being, Tim\nstarted his engine and chugged away from his refuge. The water of the\nbayou into which he turned was quiet, but there was the hidden menace\nof snags and Tim was compelled to move forward slowly.\nAnother bayou opened off the first and then another. At each one Tim\ndirected his boat toward the right and each time he stood up and\nshouted lustily. There was no response.\nThe water was shallow now; not more than two feet deep. Rank water\ngrasses waved above the surface but through them there was a definite\nwatercourse and Tim followed this, stopping from time to time to repeat\nhis shouts.\nNosing through a thick clump of the water grass, he came into a stretch\nof open water at the far end of which was a ramshackle dock.\nTim shut off his outboard, lifted the motor into his boat, and set his\noars into their sockets. With steady strokes he pulled toward the\nisland. A hundred yards from the dock he let his oars drag, turned\ntoward the island, cupped his hands, and shouted mightily.\n\"Hello, there on the island,\" he cried. \"Hello! hello!\"\nBut the only response was the mocking echoes. Tim waited a full minute;\nthen proceeded slowly toward the dock. Once more he rested on the oars\nand called. This time the baying of dogs answered and two huge beasts\ncame galloping down to the water's edge. Teeth bared, they waited for\nhim to come ashore.\nTim had no intention of providing a meal for the dogs, and he kept a\nsafe distance from shore. For five minutes the dogs snapped and snarled\nat him. Then they were silent and two men appeared from the tangle of\nbrush.\nGrenville Ford was in the lead with an older man, greatly stooped,\nbehind him.\n\"What do you want?\" called Ford.\n\"I'm Tim Murphy of the Atkinson _News_. Let me come ashore.\"\n\"Nobody lands here, mate,\" boomed the man behind Ford, and Tim was\nsurprised at the vigor of the tone. Crazy John, from his voice, was\nanything but a weakling despite the stoop in his shoulders.\n\"What was all the shooting a few minutes ago?\" asked Ford cautiously.\n\"Fellow by the name of Jack Sladek who landed at Atkinson last night\nwas flying over the river in an amphibian,\" replied Tim. \"He took a few\nshots at me and I've an idea he thought he was shooting at you.\"\n\"He probably did,\" agreed Ford. \"Well, since you've come this far you\nmight as well come ashore. I see you discovered that 'Mr. Seven' was\njust an assumed name.\"\n\"I didn't find out until last night and then with the coming of Sladek,\nthings commenced to click. You know what I'm after.\"\nFord nodded. \"You want a story about my plans to hunt for the treasure\nin the _Southern Queen_?\"\n\"Right. The fact that both you and Sladek are here in this valley is\nenough to make a rattling good story. I'd rather have facts but if I\ncan't get them I'll have to do a little guess work and I've a hunch I\ncan come pretty close at that. Crazy John came to the valley nine or\nten years ago and the Southern Queen disappeared eleven years ago.\"\n\"And you think Crazy John knows where the Queen sunk and that both\nSladek and myself are after the information?\"\n\"Right again.\"\nFord laughed. \"I'll confess I admire your nerve. Of course you knew the\nreputation Crazy John has for shooting anyone who prowls around his\nisland.\"\n\"I knew that,\" grinned Tim, \"but I hadn't figured on being shot at from\nan airplane. That was a little uncomfortable.\"\n\"Pull your boat in,\" said Ford. Then, turning to the former sailor, he\nadded. \"It's all right, John. This young man is a friend of mine. We\nmay need his help before the night is over.\"\nTim made his boat fast at the dock and followed Ford and Crazy John up\na twisting path. The dogs, mongrel hounds, trailed behind them. On a\nslight elevation in the middle of the island was Crazy John's house, a\nrambling structure of logs and timber that had been salvaged from the\nriver. Vines softened the bareness of the house. Inside it was livable,\nthe floor of hard beaten clay swept clean, with a huge fireplace taking\none whole wall. On the opposite side opened two cubicles which were\nused for sleeping quarters.\nCrazy John puffed slowly at his pipe. \"They don't lose much time,\" he\nsaid as the sound of an airplane came faintly over the bayou.\n\"Sladek's a fast worker,\" conceded Ford. \"I hardly believed he would be\nable to follow me here. If he finds you, he'll do anything to get the\nsecret of the Southern Queen.\"\n\"He won't find me,\" said Crazy John. \"There's half a hundred places I\ncan hide in the valley.\"\nThe sound of the airplane was nearer and they stepped out of the cabin.\nThe amphibian was in sight but low and on the other side of the valley.\n\"He's going to land.\" said Tim. \"There's a long stretch of clear water\nover there.\"\n\"He'll never be able to taxi that big flying boat up this bayou,\" added\nFord. \"It will be an hour before they can get here. Did Sladek have his\nusual gunmen with him?\"\n\"Two beside the pilot,\" said Tim.\n\"I'm not afraid of a fight,\" went on Ford, \"but there is no use in\ngetting into trouble if it can be avoided. We'll leave the island at\nonce and John can find one of the refuges he speaks about.\"\n\"Good idea,\" said the old sailor. \"I'll tell you how to find another\nway out of the bayou.\"\nCrazy John went into the cabin to pick up a few belongings he wanted to\ntake and Tim had a chance to speak to Ford.\n\"Do I get the story?\" he asked.\n\"If we get out of this all right, I'll do the best I can,\" promised\nFord.\nTim had to be satisfied with that, for it was imperative that they get\naway from the island.\nCrazy John reappeared, this time with a duffle bag, and he set off down\nthe path ahead of them. He tossed his bag in Tim's boat and climbed in.\n\"Where's your boat?\" Tim asked Ford.\n\"It's half way around the island. We'll pick it up on our way out.\"\nWith experienced hands, the old sailor started the outboard and they\nshot out into the shallow bayou. With a skill born of long acquaintance\nwith the river, Crazy John guided the boat between snags and always\nfound safe water. They nosed into a cove and picked up Ford's boat,\nwhich they took in tow.\nFrom the river itself they could hear the thunder of the motors of the\namphibian as the pilot taxied it up and down stream hunting for the\nopening of the bayou which led to Crazy John's island.\n\"Good thing they're not in the air. They'd spot us in a minute,\" said\nFord.\n\"We could get under cover in a minute,\" said Tim.\n\"You mean we might be able to,\" Ford's finger touched the splintered\nseat at the rear of the boat. \"Next time they might not miss.\" Crazy\nJohn shut off the motor and the boat drifted toward a sand pit. It\ngrated gently on the bottom and came to rest.\n\"I'm getting out here,\" said the old sailor.\n\"You're sure you've got everything you need?\" The question was directed\nto Ford and Tim caught the intentness with which Crazy John spoke.\n\"Everything,\" said Ford. \"Sure you won't change your mind?\"\nCrazy John's face took on a stony look and his eyes wandered over the\nvalley.\n\"I won't change,\" he said. \"This is my home. I'm satisfied. That gold\nis cursed. You'll be lucky to get back alive.\"\n\"I'll get back all right,\" promised Ford, \"and you'll get your share.\"\n\"You'll need good men. Better take this lad. He's the kind you can\ntrust.\" Crazy John extended his hand to Ford, then swung his bag over\nhis shoulder and stalked off along the sand bar. Soon he was lost in\nthe undergrowth.\nWhen Ford turned around, Tim caught a gleam of moisture in his eyes and\nhis hands trembled a little.\nThe flying reporter bent down and started the outboard. The shadows\nwere lengthening and they must find a safe haven for the night.\nFor an hour they followed the directions Crazy John had given them,\nkeeping always in the backwater of the great river. Then they nosed out\ntoward the main channel. The sound of the motors of the amphibian had\nlong since been lost and twilight was enfolding the valley.\nThe globe trotter came back and sat in the seat just ahead, facing Tim.\n\"We'd better hunt a camp site,\" he said. \"It's impossible to make\nAuburn tonight.\"\n\"I've got plenty of food and blankets,\" said Tim.\n\"There's a supply in my boat, too,\" nodded Ford. \"Let's turn off the\nmain river now.\"\nTim sent the boat twisting around the sand bars and toward the mouth of\na stream on the right bank. Trees met above the smaller stream and 200\nyards up its valley they found a small clearing richly carpeted with\ngrass.\n\"This is fine,\" said Ford. \"We ought to find a spring somewhere in the\nbluffs back of us.\"\nWhile Tim made the boats fast and unloaded the duffle, Ford took a\nwater jug and went in search of water. By the time he was back, Tim had\na fire, built from dry, smokeless wood, burning well. Supper was not\nlong, with two experts in camping lending a hand.\nThe meal was simple--bacon, eggs, fried potatoes, bread and jam, but\nthere was plenty of everything.\nAfter they had eaten their fill, they spread their blankets beside the\nfire. It was a time when men's tongues are loosened and Tim waited\npatiently. He felt that in good time, Ford would tell him the story of\nhis efforts to learn the whereabouts of the Southern Queen and the\ntreasure in gold which it held.\n\"How much do you know about my plans to recover the gold in the\nSouthern Queen?\" he asked.\n\"To be frank, I don't know a great deal,\" admitted Tim. \"When you came\nto Atkinson as 'Mr. G. Seven' you aroused my curiosity. I knew that\nsomewhere I had seen your picture, that your name should be on the tip\nof my tongue. I'd have learned your identity sooner but the paper was\nsponsoring an air circus and I had to handle the publicity. Then when I\nfound your picture in the file in a story a little over a year ago I\nknew what you were after, but by that time you had left Atkinson.\"\n\"How did you trace me here?\"\n\"Found out where you had rented your car, and learned that you had made\ninquiries about this section of the state. Then when Sladek arrived in\nan amphibian and made similar inquiries I had a hunch something was\ngoing to break. After reaching Auburn it was easy to learn that the\nonly man on the river who had been a sailor was Crazy John.\"\n\"So you rented a boat and started downstream after the story and on the\nway Sladek's outfit took a few shots at you?\"\n\"That's about the size of it. Now all I need to fill out the story is\nwhat you're going to do.\"\n\"I'm going after the treasure in the Southern Queen and I'm going to\ntake you with me,\" said Ford.\n\"You're what?\" asked Tim incredulously.\n\"I'm going to take you with me on the hunt for the treasure in the hold\nof the Southern Queen.\"\nTim stared, still unbelieving.\n\"Will you go?\" Ford was pressing him for an answer.\n\"But you don't know much about me.\"\n\"I know that you're resourceful and courageous and that Crazy John said\nyou were a good man. I'd take Crazy John's word for it even if I didn't\nknow the other things about you.\"\n\"Then you can count me in right now if it can be arranged so I can get\na leave of absence from the _News_.\"\nUnder the flickering firelight in the camp in the valley of the Cedar,\nGrenville Ford unfolded for Tim the story of the revolt in Guato, the\nlooting of the gold mines and the flight from Martee in the old tramp\nsteamer.\n\"I was covering the revolution in Guato at the time for the old _New\nYork Globe_,\" said Ford, as he traced the events which had finally\nbrought him into contact with the flying reporter of the _News_.\n\"The revolution was headed by Manuel Crespes, who was a professional\ntrouble maker. He got together a band of desperadoes, all of the\nriff-raff in Central America, armed them with modern weapons, and\npromised them all of the loot they could get. In less than a month he\nhad 3,000 of the toughest soldiers you ever saw with him.\"\nFord puffed slowly on his pipe.\n\"Three thousand men is quite an army for Central America,\" he went on,\n\"and Crespes knew how to handle them. He kept them well fed and paid\nthem promptly. We never knew where the money came from but we had a\nhunch Russia was supplying him with funds.\n\"The revolt started at Martee, the main seaport, and the rebels swept\neverything before them and started inland for the capital, Blanco. They\nlooted every village they went through and it looked like they were\ngoing to win in a walkaway. But Crespes didn't know that the foxy old\npresident of Guato had purchased a fleet of American bombing planes and\nhad secured a bunch of former war pilots to fly them. When the rebels\ngot up in the narrow passes of the mountains just east of the capital\nthe bombers dropped down out of the sky.\n\"I was there that day. Those big eagles just came out of the blue,\nunloaded their 'eggs' and then soared away for another load. The rebels\nwere trapped. In ten minutes the backbone of the revolt was broken and\nthey were fleeing for the seaport and safety at Martee. I had a hard\ntime keeping up with them.\n\"On the way to Martee, Crespes and the other ringleaders cleaned out\nthe gold mines in the foothills. I don't know exactly how much, but it\nwas at least a million. They managed to get the bullion to Martee and\nload it on the only ship in the harbor, the old Southern Queen.\n\"They got away just before sunset and were well out to sea when the\nbombing planes swept down in search of them. The Southern Queen was\nnever reported in any port and no member of its crew was ever heard\nfrom. There were all kinds of stories. Some said the old steamer had\nbeen caught in a tropical gale and gone down with all hands, others\nsaid that Crespes had managed to blow it up after getting away with a\nlarge share of the gold while some stories said the Southern Queen was\nbeached on the coast of Yucatan, the crew fleeing after dividing the\ngold.\n\"It was a mystery that intrigued me. I wanted to know what had happened\nto the ship and its crew and I wanted the gold it held. For years I ran\ndown one rumor after another. That story last year sent out from New\nYork was written around one of the rumors, but my trip to see Crazy\nJohn was based on something more than rumor.\"\nFord paused while Tim threw fresh fuel on the flames.\n\"A month ago an old sailorman in New York told me he'd met a fellow\nyears ago who said he knew what had happened to the Southern Queen. I\ngot to checking up and the man he was talking about was John Boggs, the\nship's carpenter, the man we know as Crazy John. Again, through sheer\ncoincidence, I learned from a pearl dealer in New York that he\noccasionally bought fresh water pearls from a man named John Boggs out\nhere in the Cedar river valley. It didn't take me long to get on the\njob.\"\n\"Could Crazy John tell you about the Southern Queen?\"\nThe globe trotter smiled. \"Crazy John told me the whole story and I'm\nso sure he's told the truth that I'm going into the Caribbean at once.\"\n\"What happened to the Southern Queen?\"\n\"It struck a reef off an island on the coast of Yucatan. The accident\nhappened shortly after midnight. Crazy John says they started to sink\nat once and the crew and rebels were too drunk to get the boats off. A\nfew jumped overboard and tried to swim to the island. The sharks got\nthem. Crazy John managed to get a skiff launched and he reached the\nisland. It was uninhabited and a gale wrecked his small boat. He\nfinally made a raft but he drifted for days before he was able to get\nacross the channel to the mainland for the currents held him just away\nfrom the shore. He thinks he went insane then and it wasn't until he\ngot away from the sea and settled down here that his mind cleared up.\nBut the horror of those days on the raft is too much for him. He won't\ngo back.\"\n\"I don't blame him,\" said Tim. \"It must have been horrible, drifting\nfor days with the shore in sight.\"\n\"I've made an agreement with Crazy John that he is to have a fourth of\nthe treasure if it is found,\" went on Ford. \"In turn he has given me an\nexcellent description of the island and that section of the coast of\nYucatan. I'm sure I'll be able to find the island without difficulty.\"\n\"But will you be able to locate the remains of the Southern Queen and\nbring up the treasure if you do find her?\"\n\"That's something I've got to take a chance on. A good many people\nwould like to have the same information I obtained from Crazy John.\"\n\"Including Jack Sladek?\"\n\"Right. Sladek would give a good many thousand.\"\n\"Why is he so interested?\"\n\"Sladek was one of the soldiers of fortune with Crespes on the\nshort-lived revolution. He had a broken leg and they sailed away from\nMartee and left him stranded there. It saved Sladek's life, but he\ndoesn't know that.\"\n\"How could he have learned about Crazy John?\" asked Tim.\n\"Only through keeping close track of my movements and I've felt for\nmonths that someone has been shadowing me. Sladek is a cool hand and\nwithout scruples but I know the only way he learned about Crazy John\nwas through tracing me.\"\n\"Then it looks like he may vote himself a hand in hunting for the\ntreasure.\"\n\"He may, but I think I'll be ready and capable of taking care of him\nwhen the time comes. Sladek is looked upon none too favorably in\nCentral America while I believe I can still claim a lot of friends.\"\n\"Were you really serious about taking me on the expedition?\" asked Tim.\n\"Dead serious,\" replied the globe trotter. \"You're resourceful and\nthat's exactly the type I need. Do you think you can arrange with your\neditor to get away for about three months?\"\n\"If there'll be some good stories in connection with the trip, he won't\nbe likely to object.\"\n\"I guess I can promise him plenty of stories and some of them may be\nreal thrillers. We're going to make the trip in a submarine.\"\nTim stared across the flames at Ford, wondering if he had heard\ncorrectly.\nIn quick phrases and with vivid description Grenville Ford sketched for\nhim his plan to search for the treasure in the Southern Queen.\n\"Crazy John thinks the old ship went down in about two hundred feet of\nwater; just ripped its bottom out on the reef, rolled off and dropped\ninto a deep hole beside the reef. Diving conditions may be bad so I'm\ngoing to take a submarine. There will be a special diving compartment\nso the sub can be taken down to the bottom beside the Southern Queen\nand the divers can walk right out and hunt for the gold.\"\n\"Where can you get a submarine?\" asked Tim.\n\"That's not difficult,\" smiled Ford. \"The government had to\ndecommission two big ones this summer on account of the last London\nnaval treaty. I took an option on one of them and as soon as I can get\nto a telegraph office I'm going to buy it. As soon as it is refitted\nand I can get a trustworthy crew together I'll start for the coast of\nYucatan.\"\n\"Will one of those old government submarines be safe?\"\n\"The type being decommissioned is one of the finest ever built; sturdy,\nlots of room for a submarine, and capable of descending to about two\nhundred forty feet without too much danger. Oh, you'll get plenty of\nmaterial for stories that should please your editor.\"\nThey talked at length of plans for the trip, but finally fatigue closed\ntheir lips and they rolled into their blankets.\nThey were up at dawn, breakfasted quickly, and started upstream for\nAuburn.\n\"We're likely to have a little trouble with Sladek and his crowd before\nwe get out of the valley,\" said Ford. \"When he is unable to find Crazy\nJohn he'll start trailing me.\"\n\"When we reach Auburn we'll be safe. The Jupiter is faster than\nSladek's amphibian.\"\n\"If he overtakes us before we reach the village, we'll be in for it.\"\nThey chugged steadily up the broad Cedar, the other boat in tow behind\nthem.\nLess than five miles below the village the sound of the amphibian's\nengines echoed over the valley and they turned to see the big ship\nwinging swiftly toward them.\n\"Here comes trouble,\" cried Ford. \"We'd better hit for a bayou where we\ncan find some shelter.\"\nTim opened the throttle of the outboard wide and swung the nose of the\nboat sharply to the left. The amphibian was coming fast. It was going\nto be close. Little spurts of water rose near them. Sladek or someone\nelse on the plane was shooting at them.\n\"Duck!\" shouted Ford as the plane roared over them.\n\"That was close,\" said Tim, pointing to the bottom of the boat where\nwater was spurting through a half dozen holes.\n\"Get under the shelter of the trees. We'll exchange boats.\"\nTim shut off the outboard and they drifted under the dense foliage of\nthe river bank. They pulled the other boat alongside and jumped into\nit. Tim glanced in the gas tank. There was plenty of fuel to finish the\nrun to Auburn.\nThe amphibian was circling overhead, hunting for the prey which now was\nsheltered by the trees.\n\"What'll we do, wait here or try to slip along the bank?\" asked Tim.\n\"Waiting here won't do much good. We'll nose along shore and see if we\ncan't give them the slip.\"\nTim snapped the rope on the outboard and they churned ahead again,\nkeeping as close to the trees as possible and threading their way along\na bayou which paralleled the river. For a few minutes they were in\ncomparative safety. Then an open stretch of the river loomed ahead and\nthe amphibian swept down on them.\n\"Sladek's going to land on the river,\" said Ford. \"We'll have to duck\nback into the shelter of the bayou.\"\n\"We can switch boats,\" suggested Tim. \"I'll stay in the one with the\nholes and you may be able to slip away in this one.\"\nFord shook his head.\n\"Well, hardly. This is my party and I won't let you face Sladek and his\ngang alone.\"\nThe amphibian, now a mile up the river, was settling down to land. The\nbig ship skimmed the surface of the water, there were sheets of spray,\nand it glided swiftly toward them.\nAbove the thrumming of the amphibian's motors came a sharper sound and\nTim looked skyward. Then he grabbed Ford's arm.\n\"Here comes Ralph in the Jupiter. Now we'll see some action.\"\nDropping fast, the cream and green biplane roared down like an avenging\nbird. Ralph levelled off about twenty feet above the river and sped\ntoward the amphibian. Tim saw something sticking over the side of the\nbiplane. It looked like a gun but the distance was too great and the\nspeed too fast to make sure.\nThe men aboard the amphibian were caught unawares. The big craft slowed\ndown and seemed to hesitate as the pilot waited for orders from Sladek.\nRalph whipped the Jupiter over the amphibian and Tim saw the splatter\nof shot on the water. The biplane shot upward and around in a tight\nbank and came back at the clumsier plane, which again was showing signs\nof life.\nThe motors of the amphibian thundered mightily. The big ship shook its\nwings and lunged ahead, slithers of spray shooting out from its slide.\nOverhead hummed the Jupiter and Tim could see now that Ralph was\nshooting at the larger plane. As the amphibian took off, Ralph circled\nover them and Tim saw his flying companion wave.\n\"Ralph will keep Sladek busy for a few minutes,\" he told Ford. \"We'd\nbetter get to Auburn as soon as possible.\"\nWhile Ralph in the Jupiter chased the slower amphibian all over the\nvalley, Tim and Ford sped up the river as fast as the outboard motor\ncould chug.\n\"That was a timely arrival on the part of your friend,\" grinned Ford.\n\"It wasn't altogether accidental,\" replied Tim. \"I was afraid of\ntrouble and Ralph remained at Auburn with the ship all tuned up and\nready to go at the slightest hint that I was in a jam.\"\n\"He seems to be a mighty good flyer.\"\n\"He's ace high and a fine reporter on top of that.\"\n\"Then we'd better take him along on the treasure hunt.\"\n\"He'd be a fine addition to your crew but I'm afraid the managing\neditor will say thumbs down on that suggestion. One of us has to be\nwithin call. That's why we seldom have a vacation together.\"\n\"I expect you're right,\" said Ford, \"but nevertheless I'd like to have\na fellow with his nerve. I know that Sladek will follow me into the\nCaribbean and it's going to be a fight every step of the way to find\nthe Southern Queen and then to get the treasure up. It won't be safe\nuntil we get back to New York and place it in bank vaults.\"\n\"Then you expect Sladek to trail you all the way?\"\n\"There's no question about it. With at least a cool million in gold at\nstake, he'll stop at nothing to get his hands on it and he seems to\nhave plenty of money. Then there's a little personal bitterness between\nus that dates clear back to the trouble in Guato in 1923.\"\n\"All of which means a mighty unusual trip,\" added Tim.\nThey reached the landing stage at Auburn without further trouble and\nFord explained briefly that they had had an accident with the other\nboat. He gave the boatman directions where he could find his craft and\npaid liberally for the damages.\n\"We'll hike out to the pasture we use for a landing field when we stop\nhere,\" said Tim.\nSeveral cows were grazing almost in the center of the pasture and Tim\nand Ford ran to chase them into a far corner as Ralph dropped down to a\nfast landing. He killed his speed quickly, whipped around and rolled\nthe plane over toward them.\n\"Hop in,\" he shouted. \"I don't think that amphib has any love for me.\"\nTim and Ford piled into the front cockpit and Ralph opened the\nthrottle. There was no wind and he took off straight across the pasture\njust as the amphibian roared over Auburn.\nThe Jupiter was a good 40 miles an hour faster than the big ship and\nRalph waved his fingers derisively at the amphibian as he lined the\nbiplane away for Auburn.\nThe fleet, powerful Jupiter soon outdistanced the slower amphibian and\nwith Ralph at the controls, they sped toward Atkinson at 150 miles an\nhour. The roar of the motor was too loud for conversation and Tim\nsettled down in the cushioned seat and reviewed the exciting events of\nthe last 72 hours.\nThey ranged all the way from the thrilling chase after Ace McDowell to\nthe deadly game of hide and seek they had just completed with Jack\nSladek and his companions aboard the amphibian.\nThe big thing now was the fact that he had been invited to go with\nGrenville Ford on the quest for the sunken treasure in the Southern\nQueen. Tim, worn by the strain of the last few hours, closed his eyes\nas he contemplated the story possibilities of the treasure hunt.\nThat there would be plenty of adventure went without saying. From the\none encounter with Sladek he knew that the soldier of fortune would go\nto any length to obtain the treasure.\nThe thought of making the trip into the Caribbean in a submarine\nappealed strongly to Tim. What a contrast it would be after his\nstirring adventures in the air as the flying reporter for the _News_.\nTim glanced at his companion. Grenville Ford appeared to be enjoying\nevery minute of the flight back to Atkinson. There was a pleasant\nupturn to his lips and the chin, although square cut, was kindly. But\nthe cheery light in Ford's eyes was what appealed to Tim most for he\nfelt that one of the best ways to judge a man's character was by his\neyes. Ford's were piercing but they were steady and a perpetual laugh\nlurked in their depths. Tim sensed that he would make an excellent\nleader, a man in whom utmost trust could be placed and he knew he would\nhave no hesitancy in following Ford on the trip.\nThe Jupiter flashed over the outskirts of Atkinson and Ralph cut the\nthrottle. They dropped down to an easy landing and rolled up on the\nramp in front of the hangar.\nTim, now a trifle stiff from the strenuous events and the night in the\nvalley of the Cedar, climbed slowly from the cockpit. Ford followed.\nRalph scrambled out from the rear cockpit and joined them. He was\ngrinning broadly.\n\"Guess I managed to get in for a little of the fun in the valley,\" he\nchuckled. \"When I dropped down on that amphib the first time I thought\nthose boys were going to have heart failure.\"\n\"What kind of a gun did you have?\" asked Tim.\nRalph reached into the cockpit and brought out an ancient double\nbarreled shotgun.\n\"Here's the pet. Believe me I've got a sore shoulder. This old\nblunderbuss bucks like a Missouri mule.\"\n\"Do you make a practice of carrying an arsenal around with you?\" asked\nFord.\n\"Hardly. When I heard the drone of the amphibian down the river I\nfigured something was up for I knew you fellows must be on your way\nback. I borrowed this relic from the storekeeper at Auburn and got into\nthe air as soon as I could.\"\n\"You were just in time,\" said Tim. \"The amphibian was down on the\nsurface of the river and all set to taxi along and give us a nice,\ncheerful little party.\"\n\"What I want to know now,\" put in Ralph, \"is about the story.\"\nTim glanced toward Ford. He felt it was up to the other to say the\nfirst word on that subject.\n\"I think we'd better go uptown and talk with your managing editor,\"\nsaid Ford. \"He'll have to decide just what is to be printed now. Is\nthat agreeable to everyone?\"\nThere were no objections and they left the Jupiter for a ground crew to\nroll into the hangar. Signalling a taxi, they were soon speeding into\nthe heart of the city.\nIt was ten-thirty. The first mail edition would be on the press then.\nAnother hour and the deadline for the noon mail, which also had a big\nstreet sale. They'd have to work fast if they got the story of\nGrenville Ford's plans for the treasure hunt into the noon edition. It\nwould depend on how long they talked with the managing editor. Tim had\nthe facts on his finger tips. Once at a typewriter he knew he could\nspin the story in rapid-fire order.\nGeorge Carson was in the editorial office when they entered.\n\"Did you get the story?\" he asked Tim anxiously.\n\"I've got the man,\" replied Tim, introducing Ford. \"It's going to be up\nto you on how much of a story develops out of our trip to Cedar valley.\"\n\"Come into my office. We'll discuss it at once.\"\nIn the managing editor's office Ford sat down in a chair across the\ndesk from Carson. Tim and Ralph, more restless and anxious to get at\nthe actual writing of the story, stood up.\n\"I'll be brief,\" said Ford. \"In the first place, let me say that you\nhave two unusually resourceful reporters in Murphy and Graves.\"\n\"There's none better,\" admitted Carson, smiling.\n\"I'm going on a hunt for the treasure in the old tramp steamer,\nSouthern Queen,\" went on Ford. \"The vessel disappeared eleven years ago\nin the Caribbean with an unknown amount of gold in its hold. I actually\ndon't know how much but it is sufficient to make an expensive\nexpedition in search of the treasure very much worthwhile and I'm\nleaving New York as soon as possible. I want Tim Murphy to go with me.\nIn return, I'll give you exclusive rights to the stories of the\ntreasure hunt. What do you think about it?\"\n\"Just this,\" snapped Carson. \"Tim has a leave of absence, starting\nright now, with full pay to be with you as long as necessary. I want\nthe first exclusive story on your adventures in the Cedar river valley.\"\n\"I was afraid of that,\" smiled Ford, \"but I guess that can't be helped.\nYou see, Jack Sladek, one of the rebels who looted the gold mines in\nGuato, is on the same quest I am. He almost got Tim and me this\nmorning. If it hadn't been for Ralph and a borrowed double-barreled\nshotgun we might now be among the missing.\"\n\"What a story, what a story!\" enthused Carson. \"We won't need to name\nSladek if that will prove too embarrassing for you. We can call it a\nmysterious attack from the air.\"\n\"I think that would be better,\" agreed Ford. \"Sladek has voted himself\nin this thing to the finish but now that I know he's after the gold,\nI'll be on guard and able to take care of myself.\"\n\"When will you want Tim to leave?\" asked the managing editor.\n\"I'll phone for reservations on the late afternoon plane east,\" said\nFord. \"Is that too soon for you, Tim?\"\n\"I can be ready within an hour after I finish my story,\" replied the\nflying reporter.\n\"Then get into the news room and get busy,\" said the managing editor,\nglancing at the clock on his desk. \"It's just ten-fifty now. I'll\ninstruct the press room that the noon edition may be down ten minutes\nlate and to get ready to rush it through. That will give you about\nfifty minutes to write your story. Think you can make it?\"\n\"I'll get the most important part done by then,\" promised Tim. \"After\nthe noon edition I can polish up the story and round out the details.\"\n\"Go to it. And Ralph, you write a first person story about your flight\nthis morning. Put plenty of punch and get the smell of powder into it.\nWe're going to have a smash front page this noon.\"\nAlmost forgetting his visitor, Carson hurried after his reporters,\nstopping at the city desk to inform Ed Campbell of the big stories that\nwere coming up, then dashing back to phone the press room to be ready\nfor a rush edition.\nTim stripped off his coat, flung it over the back of his chair, rolled\na sheet of copypaper into his typewriter, and plunged headlong into the\nstory. Swiftly, graphically he painted the picture of the treasure hunt\nin the Caribbean with an unknown fortune in gold at stake, informing\nthe readers of the _News_ that they would have the first information on\nthe progress of the expedition.\nAt his desk across the aisle Ralph was beating a frantic tattoo on his\ntypewriter, describing in detail how he had routed the \"unknown\" plane\nin the Cedar river valley.\nPage after page of copy spun from their machines and was hurried to the\ncopy desk where Dan Watkins personally supervised the editing of the\nstory.\n\"Much more to come?\" Dan asked Tim. It was eleven-thirty.\n\"One more page,\" replied Tim, without looking up from his machine.\nRalph finished his story with a bang of typewriter keys and\nstraightened up. It had been a terrific strain working against time.\nTim's fingers still raced as the words of the story flowed out. The\ndeadline was past, yet they were holding the presses just for his\nstory. Everything else was ready. The last of Ralph's copy was coming\noff the linotypes out in the composing room. Make-up men, stereotypers\nand pressmen were all waiting for the final period on his story. Scores\nof newsboys were impatiently banging their heels down in the big\ncirculation room listening for the roar of the presses which would\nsignal that the noon edition was ready.\nPerspiration stood out in beads on Tim's forehead. There was so much to\nwrite and yet so little time in which to do it. He tore off each\nparagraph now, speeding it to the waiting linotypes.\nDan Watkins bent over him again.\n\"Only a minute left,\" he said softly.\nTim nodded. He could write another column. That would have to come\nlater when he polished up the story for the city edition. In a last,\nbreathless paragraph he finished his story.\nThe copyreader almost tore it from his hands and ran toward the\ncomposing room. The story was done. It was eleven forty on the tick.\nTim relaxed in his chair.\nEd Campbell stepped over.\n\"Great piece of writing,\" said the city editor. \"When do you leave?\"\n\"This afternoon on the plane east,\" replied Tim.\n\"We'll miss you a lot,\" went on Campbell, \"but I know you'll be sending\nus some swell yarns.\"\n\"I'll do my best,\" promised Tim.\nAfter a hasty lunch Tim and Ralph returned to the _News_ office to\ncomplete the polishing up of the stories which had appeared in the noon\nedition. They expanded on the details of their adventures in the valley\nof the Cedar and by two o'clock Tim was through. George Carson came out\nof his office.\n\"Have any idea how long this Caribbean trip is going to take?\" asked\nthe managing editor.\n\"At least two months; perhaps longer,\" replied Tim.\n\"I expected as much. You'll be on full time pay while you're away and\nI've made arrangements for the New York Journal's radio station to keep\nin contact with your submarine and relay your stories on to us. The\nJournal, in return, has the exclusive right in New York to print any of\nyour stuff it desires.\"\n\"That's certainly fair enough and it insures speedy transmission for my\nyarns,\" nodded Tim.\n\"I've told the cashier to provide you with an extra $500 to use in case\nof an emergency and he's preparing a letter of credit should it be\nneeded. That ought to cover any financial difficulties. Take care of\nyourself and good luck.\"\nThe managing editor shook Tim's hand and then turned back to his own\noffice. Other members of the staff stopped to say goodbye and to envy\nhim the adventurous trip.\nRalph was the last. His eyes were misty as he grasped Tim's hands.\n\"I wish I could go along with the Jup. You may need a little rescuing\nbefore this trip is over.\"\n\"I wish you could go,\" replied Tim, \"but there'll probably be plenty of\nexcitement around here while I'm gone and you'll thrive on that. Make\narrangements for the return of the cars we left at Auburn.\"\nTim had only an hour to get to his room and pack his bag. He hastened\nthere in a cab, jammed shirts, toilet kit, underwear and other\nnecessities into a sturdy leather case, and then was on his way toward\nthe airport.\nAt the field Carl Hunter shot one question after another at him for the\nnoon edition had been delivered there. Tim answered them as best he\ncould and countered with one of his own.\n\"Did the amphibian come back here?\"\n\"We haven't seen it or heard anything. I've asked other ports along the\nline east to keep a lookout for it but they haven't reported a thing.\nThey'll probably stop at only the smaller fields until they reach the\neast again.\"\nGrenville Ford arrived in a speeding cab just as the afternoon\neastbound express roared over the field and circled to point its nose\ninto the wind and land.\n\"All ready?\" he shot at Tim as he dashed into the ticket office.\n\"Anxious to go,\" replied the flying reporter.\nBy the time the big twin-motored all-metal transport was in the hangar\nFord had reappeared with their tickets in one hand and baggage checks\nin the other.\nThe eastbound express had been bucking headwinds all afternoon and as a\nresult was ten minutes late. Every effort was made to cut down the time\nrequired for refueling and Tim and Ford were hurried aboard the\nten-passenger plane and shown their seats with little ceremony. Their\nbaggage was placed in the special compartment in the rear of the plane.\nWhile the co-pilot superintended the refueling and oiling of the\nsuper-charged motors, the chief pilot scanned the weather reports in\nthe radio room. The ground crew fairly ran from one task to another and\nless than ten minutes after landing, the big ship was ready to take off.\nThe chief pilot took a final glance at the weather chart, then entered\nthe cabin and made his way to the cockpit up ahead. The blocks were\npulled from the wheels, the landing stage pulled into the clear, and\nwith a deep drumming of the motors they rolled out of the hangar.\nTim, looking from a window, saw Carl Hunter waving at him. Then they\nwere swinging down the runway, headed on the first lap of what was to\nbe Tim's greatest adventure.\nThe next morning found Tim in New York, actively engaged in plans for\nthe trip into the Caribbean. While Ford completed negotiations for the\npurchase of the _S-18_, the government submarine which the navy was\nforced to scrap by treaty limitations, Tim called at the office of the\nNew York Journal.\nThe managing editor was enthusiastic over the chance for exclusive\nstories on the expedition in return for relaying the radio stories on\nto the _News_. At his request, Tim sat down and wrote a two-column\nstory on the plans for the treasure hunt. Ford had lifted restrictions\non publicity for he realized that nothing said in print would deter\nJack Sladek from his attempt to find the treasure first.\nTim met Ford at their hotel at noon and the leader of the expedition\nwas jubilant.\n\"I've completed the purchase and the _S-18_ is being towed from the\nBrooklyn navy yard right now down to a yard where it will be fitted out\nfor the trip.\"\n\"What about a crew?\" asked Tim.\n\"That's not going to be as difficult as it seems. There are a lot of\nold navy men drifting around New York who are always itching for an\nadventure. A trip like this will appeal to them and I'll be able to\nround up enough submarine experts to fill out the crew we need. I'm\ninserting an ad in the morning papers.\"\n\"Isn't there a chance Sladek may try and ring in a few of his men in\nyour crew?\"\n\"I'll have to guard against that,\" admitted Ford, \"but it's a chance\nI'll have to take.\" After lunch they departed for Brooklyn and the\nLaidlaw private shipyard where the _S-18_ was to be outfitted for the\ncruise.\nIt was Tim's first glimpse of a real submarine and he stood for several\nminutes gazing at the smooth, glistening grey hull in the water beside\nthe dock.\nThe _S-18_ had been started in 1920 and completed two years later. The\nsub was 240 feet long and ahead of the conning tower was the turret\nwhich housed the four-inch gun. The craft was a picture of sinister\npower and Tim felt just a little shivery as he stepped down the gangway\nwhich led from the dock onto the narrow deck.\n\"What do you think of it?\" asked Ford.\n\"I'd a whole lot rather make the trip in an airplane,\" admitted Tim,\n\"but I guess I'll get used to it.\"\nThey climbed through the main hatch and descended into the control\nroom. A mass of gauges and polished brass wheels greeted Tim's eyes.\nThe rounded hull was painted a flat white and the air was a trifle\nstuffy. It was all a Chinese puzzle to him.\nFord, talking rapidly, pointed to depth gauge, periscope controls,\nballast tank valves and a score of other devices that had little\nmeaning for Tim.\n\"This is the heart of the submarine,\" explained Ford. \"From this point\nevery movement and action is directed.\"\nSomewhere aft was a steady clanging and they made their way toward it,\nducking their heads under the low doors which separated the various\ncompartments.\nDirectly back of the control room were the huge Diesel engines which\npropelled the _S-18_ when it was running on the surface. Bank after\nbank of cylinders were ranged on each side of the steel runway. Each\nengine was capable of generating 900 horsepower and the two of them\ncould force the submarine along at fourteen knots an hour on the\nsurface.\nBehind the engine room were the electric motors which propelled the\ncraft when it was submerged. There were two of these, developing\nbetween them 1,500 horsepower. The underwater speed of the _S-18_ was\nrated at eleven knots an hour. In this room was located the master\nswitchboard for the complicated electrical devices on which the life of\nthe submarine depended so much of the time when it was underwater.\nThey continued their tour of inspection, drawing nearer the sound of\nthe steady hammering. In the next compartment they discovered the cause\nof the noise. A red-haired youth a little older than Tim was banging\naway industriously with a hammer at the bent end of a bunk which he had\nlowered from its place on the wall.\n\"What's the matter, Pat?\" asked Ford.\nThe red-haired young man looked up quickly.\n\"Hello, Mr. Ford. I've picked out my bunk and I'm doing what I can to\nget the dents out of this end.\"\n\"I'm glad it's nothing more serious. For a while I thought someone was\ntrying to take my submarine apart.\"\nThe young man with the hammer straightened up and looked Tim over with\ncool, impudent eyes.\n\"You two might as well get acquainted right now,\" said Ford, \"for\nyou're going to see a whole lot of each other in the coming weeks. Tim,\nI want you to know Pat Reynolds, who next to me will be in actual\ncharge of the operation of the submarine. I consider Pat one of the\nfinest submarine men in the world. He was with Sir Francis Habernicht\non his submarine trip under the Arctic ice and it was due solely to\nPat's cool-headedness that they came through alive.\"\nTim stuck out his hand and Pat grasped it firmly. There was an instant\nbond of liking between them.\nFord went on to explain Tim's presence.\n\"If it hadn't been for Murphy I might not be here right now,\" he said.\n\"Tim and his flying companion kept Jack Sladek from getting me in the\nCedar river valley. Tim's going to be a mighty valuable member of the\nexpedition for I've decided to take along a small seaplane and he's to\ndo the flying.\"\n\"I didn't know you were going to take a plane,\" said Pat.\n\"Neither did I until this morning. Word came to me that Sladek is back\nin New York and is busy now outfitting a tramp steamer. He's taking a\nplane and I don't want to feel that he has any advantage which I can\nnot overcome.\"\n\"But where can we carry an airplane on a submarine?\" asked Tim.\n\"We'll have to have special rigging placed on the deck ahead of the gun\nturret. We'll be running above water all of the way to the island and\nwhen we arrive we can unload the plane and after that keep it moored on\nthe beach.\"\n\"This expedition commences to look like a humdinger,\" grinned Pat. \"I\nwouldn't miss it for anything.\"\n\"There will be plenty of excitement if Sladek can do anything about\nit,\" conceded Ford, \"I've got a great many things to do in New York\nthis afternoon. Pat, you finish the tour of the submarine with Murphy.\"\nThe commander of the treasure hunting expedition departed and left Tim\nin the tail of the sub with Pat Reynolds.\n\"This is the last compartment,\" explained Pat, pointing to the bunks\nwhich ranged along the walls. \"We'll be carrying a small crew so this\nis where we'll be living for the next couple of months. There's another\ncompartment for crew's quarters up ahead but we'll probably use that to\nstore diving apparatus and to pack it full of stores and other\nequipment we'll be needing.\"\nTim was looking at the rear bulkhead and Pat followed with his eyes.\n\"That's the aft torpedo tube,\" he said, pointing to the heavy steel\nbreech through which the tube was loaded. \"The torpedo rack is just to\nthe right but I don't imagine we'll be carrying any torpedoes with us\nthis trip.\"\n\"I thought it was impossible to get them for private use.\"\n\"It's supposed to be, but Ford has ways of getting things he wants. He\nwas one of the navy's ace undersea commanders during the World War and\nthe department hasn't forgotten his fine work. There's such a thing as\nloaning a torpedo for experimental work. Of course it is just possible\nthat the torpedo might be lost during the experiments.\" Pat grinned\nbroadly.\n\"Is that the same reason this sub has been left so completely equipped,\neven to the four-inch gun?\"\nPat nodded.\n\"That's one of them. Another is an unhealthy dislike of Uncle Sam for\nour friend Sladek. Federal officers have been after him for months but\nso far they haven't been able to get anything on him that would warrant\na trial. None of them would be sorry if Sladek just didn't return from\nthe Caribbean.\"\nPat started forward and Tim followed him through the motor room, the\nengine room back into the control room, and then into the forward\ncompartments.\nJust ahead of the control room was a small cubby with a maze of\nelectrical devices.\n\"You might call this the eyes and ears of the sub,\" said Pat. \"Here are\nthe listening devices by which we can ascertain how far away a ship is,\nand the radio equipment. This is a special compartment built for just\nthis type of submarine.\"\n\"Don't the newer ones have it?\" asked Tim.\n\"Yes. Even more elaborate than ours and the equipment in them is\nlocated in the main control room.\"\nAhead of the radio room was a white-walled compartment which had been\nstripped of its former equipment.\n\"This used to be crew's quarters, but when Ford got an option on the\n_S-18_, the bunks and lockers were taken out. Our diving equipment and\nstores will be kept here.\"\nThey went on, ducking their heads to enter the forward torpedo room. In\nthe bulkhead Tim saw the breeches of four powerful tubes. The cranes\nwhich lifted the torpedoes from the racks and into the tubes were\nfolded back against the wall but the front end of the compartment was a\nmaze of gauges and valve wheels.\n\"I don't see how you can remember which valve is which and what all of\nthe gauges mean,\" said Tim.\n\"It does take a couple of months to get the hang of all of them,\"\nadmitted Pat, \"but in a fully manned navy submarine each man is trained\nfor his own task. The successful operation depends upon each one doing\nhis job at just the right time. If someone forgets, then the story\nmakes the front page and the navy goes hunting for another lost\nsubmarine.\"\nTim felt an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew\nthe _S-18_ was going to be undermanned, but then the only diving they\nintended to do would be at the actual scene of the salvage operations.\n\"This torpedo compartment will be made into a diving room,\" went on\nPat. \"A special bulkhead will be built to reinforce the regular one and\na door cut in the side of the hull through which the diver can walk\nwhen we settle down on the bottom beside the Southern Queen. If we find\nthe treasure it can be placed directly in this special room, the diver\ncan climb in after, and up we'll go.\"\nThe description sounded simple enough but Tim had misgivings that the\nactual operation might be a little more complicated.\nThey left the forward torpedo room and started back to the control\nroom. In the former crew's quarters, Pat tapped the steel deck.\n\"The storage batteries which operate the electric motors are under\nhere. It's just too bad for us if water gets to them while we're down\nin the bottom. Then there's chlorine gas and unless we get up in a\nhurry, the party's over.\"\n\"You're certainly painting a cheerful picture of this trip,\" said Tim.\n\"I'm making it just as bad as I can,\" grinned Pat, \"but you don't seem\nto scare much.\"\n\"It's a good thing you can't see how fast my pulse is running. Just one\nmore thing I want to know right now. Where do we eat aboard this tin\nfish?\"\n\"A newspaper reporter would think of that,\" chuckled Pat, \"As a matter\nof fact the galley will be installed in the rear torpedo room. The\nentire crew will eat and sleep there and rations won't be anything\nfancy.\"\nA watchman at the shipyard boarded the _S-18_ and informed Tim that Mr.\nFord wanted to talk to him by telephone.\nTim hastened out of the submarine and followed the watchman to his\nshanty near the main gate of the big yard.\n\"I'm at the office of the Sea King Airplane Company on Lower Broadway,\"\nsaid Ford. \"Come over as soon as possible and we'll make the final\ndecision on the type of plane we're going to take with us.\"\nTim promised to get across the river as rapidly as possible and ran\nback to the _S-18_. Shouting down the main hatch, he informed Pat that\nhe was leaving. Then he hastened outside, flagged a cruising taxi, and\nsped toward the office of the airplane company.\nThe head of the expedition was waiting for him in the main show room,\nwhere several seaplanes were on display. He introduced Tim to the\ncompany's sales manager and they plunged into a discussion of detail.\n\"What do you think of this type of plane?\" Ford asked Tim, pointing to\nthe nearest one on the floor.\n\"It looks sturdy enough to me,\" replied the flying reporter. \"What\nabout the speed?\"\n\"It will cruise comfortably at 130 and can be pushed up to around 145,\"\nreplied the sales manager. \"The wings are hinged and can be folded back\nalong the fuselage.\"\n\"Which will mean a saving of space, an important factor with us,\" put\nin Ford. \"Can you give us an actual demonstration?\"\n\"It's a little late to reach the plant out on Long Island in time for\ntrial flights this afternoon. Couldn't we arrange it tomorrow morning?\"\nFord agreed and they arranged to meet at the office again at nine the\nnext day.\n\"We'll take that type if it proves up to expectations after Murphy has\nmade several test trips,\" he said.\n\"I've a great many things remaining on my list to do for today,\" said\nFord as they left the office, \"and I'm a little hesitant about leaving\nPat alone on the _S-18_ all night. Of course the Laidlaw yard has\nplenty of watchmen but you never can tell what Sladek may attempt. I'd\nfeel a little better if you would take your duffle and go across the\nriver and spend the night with Pat.\"\n\"I might just as well get used to sleeping on the _S-18_ now as later,\"\nsaid Tim. \"I'll get my things and be over at the yard in less than an\nhour.\"\nThe flying reporter checked out of the hotel where they had registered\nthat morning and stopped at an army goods store where he purchased\nthree blankets and two kits of utensils. Then he taxied over to\nBrooklyn, stopped at a food store to lay in a supply of cold meat,\nbread, butter, potato chips, a sack of fruit and some small chocolate\ncakes. His arms were filled when he finally reached the gate of the\nshipyard and was admitted.\n\"You're just in time. I was getting ready to close the gate for the\nnight,\" the watchman informed him. \"Mr. Ford has given strict orders\nabout admitting anyone after six o'clock.\"\n\"Two of us are to stay aboard the _S-18_ tonight to see that nothing\nhappens,\" said Tim.\n\"There'll be no one getting through this gate,\" said the watchman\nfirmly, but he was an elderly man and Tim surmised that he might enjoy\nan occasional nap in the darker hours of the night.\nShouting for Pat to come on deck, Tim threw down the packages of food,\nthe blankets and then his own traveling bag, finally scrambling down\nthe ladder himself.\n\"You look like a land crab when it comes to getting down a ladder\ngracefully,\" chuckled the red-haired Pat. \"Of course, there's just a\nchance you may learn while you're on this trip.\"\n\"You may have the laugh on me when it comes to getting around in a\nsubmarine, but wait until I get you into the air. Believe me I'll show\nyou a trick or two in an airplane.\"\n\"Which is just what you won't do,\" countered Pat. \"I know when I'm well\nenough off and the _S-18_ suits me. No wings, thank you.\"\nWith dusk softening the hard outlines of the shipyard, Tim descended\ninto the interior of the _S-18_, where the bright glow of the electrics\ndispelled the gloom.\n\"Ford send you back to keep me company or is he afraid we may have\nvisitors?\" asked Pat as they placed Tim's duffle in the crew's quarters.\n\"Both. He isn't going to take any chances on accidents if it can be\navoided. The watchman at the main gate told me that strict orders had\nbeen issued to admit no one after six o'clock.\" Pat nodded toward the\nriver. \"They'll come from there if they come. Have you got a gun?\" Tim\npulled a sturdy .38 revolver from his traveling bag.\nPat whistled. \"That's a real popgun. How about a permit to carry it?\nYou don't want to run into trouble in New York.\"\nFrom his billfold Tim produced the small card which identified him as a\nmember of the state police of his own state.\n\"Say, what are you,\" asked Pat incredulously, \"A reporter or a\npoliceman?\"\n\"I'm a reporter first of all, but once or twice I've had to serve as a\npoliceman,\" grinned Tim.\n\"Well, officer, let's have that grub,\" said Pat, opening the packages\nTim had brought.\nThey lowered another bunk and spread the food out on it.\n\"Gosh, but this tastes good,\" Pat said. \"I forgot all about getting\nanything this noon.\"\nThey were both the possessors of hearty appetites and between them they\ncleaned up every bit of food Tim had brought aboard.\nPat leaned back against the steel wall.\n\"Anyone could come aboard now and steal the _S-18_. I'm so full of food\nI wouldn't be able to move.\"\n\"I feel about the same way,\" conceded Tim.\nBut despite their sluggishness no disaster befell the _S-18_ and after\na time they bestirred themselves to make a final tour of inspection of\nthe submarine.\nAcross the East river gleamed the millions of lights of Manhattan, and\nTim, fascinated, stared at the majestic scene. A tramp steamer, outward\nbound for some distant port, hooted dismally as it swung down stream.\nLights in the boatyard itself were few and far between and there was a\ndistinct feeling of isolation to the flying reporter on the deck of the\nWhile Tim was on deck, Pat closed all of the doors between the forward\ncompartments, then joined Tim in front of the conning tower.\n\"I'm not looking for any trouble,\" he said, \"but I've made everything\ntight. The only possible entrance will be through the main hatch and\nI'm going to fix up a bunk and sleep in the control room.\"\nThey went below and rigged makeshift beds on the steel floor below the\nconning tower. Pat found a trouble light with a long extension cord and\nhe placed this on the deck outside the main hatch. With the lights off\nin the control room, it would be impossible for anyone to get down the\nhatch without being silhouetted in the glow of the electric on the deck.\n\"I guess we can go to sleep without much worry now,\" said Pat, kicking\noff his shoes and rolling into his blankets.\n\"Good night,\" said Tim, pulling his own blankets around him. The steel\ndeck was anything but comfortable but after the flight from Atkinson\nand the busy day in New York, Tim soon dropped into a heavy sleep.\nIt was sometime after midnight when he awoke with a feeling of alarm\ngripping him. He looked toward the hatch above. The light was out.\nSomeone was in the control room!\nThere was no actual sound to which Tim could attribute his sudden\nawakening, but he was certain someone was in the control room beside\nPat for he could hear the steady breathing of his companion.\nTim forced sleep from his tired brain. He needed every faculty to meet\nthis emergency.\nHis right hand moved cautiously and his fingers closed around the hard,\ncold butt of his revolver. There was a slight scraping sound from the\ndense blackness at the base of the ladder which came down from the main\nhatch and Tim wished for a flashlight. He didn't even know where the\nswitch which controlled the interior lights of the _S-18_ was located.\nOnly the slightest of shuffling sounds warned Tim that the intruder was\ncoming toward him. Evidently he was in his stocking feet.\nTim managed to free his legs from the folds of his blankets and he\ncrouched on the steel floor of the _S-18_, ready for whatever might\nhappen.\nThe hatch which led to the main deck was visible for the sky outside\nwas much lighter than the black interior of the submarine. In this\ncircle Tim saw the head of a man peer into the control room. Unless he\ndid something at once, the _S-18_ soon might be swarming with unwanted\nvisitors.\nTim heard a slight grunt as the man coming toward him struck his head\non the lower end of one of the periscopes. That was all Tim needed.\nThrowing his strength into the effort, he lunged forward, his\noutstretched arms enfolding the legs of the intruder. They went down\nwith a crash that brought a muffled cry of alarm from the man Tim had\ntackled and a real shout of agony from Pat, on whom they had fallen.\n\"What's going on here?\" cried Pat.\n\"I don't know,\" gasped Tim, \"but someone turned off the light over the\nhatch and came down here. I just tackled him and there's another fellow\nat the hatch about ready to come down.\"\nThe man Tim had tackled recovered suddenly from the surprise attack and\nstruck out with a vigor that caught the flying reporter. A powerful\nfoot struck Tim on the chest and sent him flying across the control\nroom to land on the other side curled against a maze of pipes and valve\nwheels.\n\"Have you got him?\" cried Pat.\n\"Not now,\" Tim replied. \"He kicked me almost through the side of this\ntin fish. You try and get him.\"\n\"I'll get him all right,\" vowed Pat. \"You keep the boy at the hatch\nfrom joining him and making this too much of a party.\"\nFlame lighted the interior of the control room and their eardrums were\nalmost shattered by the deafening roar of a gun discharged at close\nrange. The man Tim had tackled was shooting at the sound of their\nvoices.\n\"Never mind trying to get this fellow,\" called Pat, now safely\nprotected by the bulkhead into the engine room. \"We'll pick him off\nwhen he tries to return to the deck.\"\nThe answer to Pat's words were written in smoke and flame as the\nunknown intruder fired again.\nTim, watching the outline of the hatch against the sky, saw a head\nappear. He raised his gun and fired in the general direction of the\nhatch, more to scare the second man than to actually harm him. On the\necho of the crash of his gun came a scream of pain and the head\npromptly disappeared.\n\"Good shooting!\" cried Pat. \"Now we'll get this fellow. He's in a cross\nfire. Next time he shoots let him have it. I'll see if I can get around\nto the switch and turn on the lights. This party is going to end all of\na sudden.\"\nTim strained his senses to detect the spot where the gunman was hidden.\nHe could hear cautious sounds but he didn't dare fire for fear of\nhitting Pat. Tim edged near the ladder which led up to the hatch. As he\nneared it he became conscious of some one crawling up the ladder and he\nlunged toward the shadowy form.\nJust as Tim moved, the man on the ladder lashed out viciously with one\nfoot. The blow caught Tim squarely on the chin and he dropped to the\ndeck, out cold. His gun clattered from his nerveless hands and the man\non the ladder leaped for the hatch just as the interior of the _S-18_\nblazed with light.\nPat, momentarily blinded by the glare, recovered in time to see the\nlegs of their assailant disappearing over the edge of the hatch and\nwith snap aim he sent a volley of shots crashing upward.\nFeet pounded along the deck of the _S-18_ and Pat heard the sudden\nsplashing of oars as a small boat pulled away from the hull of the sub\nin great haste. Pursuit, he knew, was useless and he bent over Tim.\nThe flying reporter was recovering his senses, but he was still groggy\nfrom the sharp blow on his chin. His first thought was one of self\ndefense and he struggled weakly to raise his fists and hammer at Pat.\n\"Snap out of it,\" said Pat, shaking Tim gently. \"The show's all over\nand we're still in command of the fort.\"\nTim smiled a little sheepishly.\n\"Someone certainly landed a haymaker on me.\"\n\"You mean a No. 11 shoe connected with your chin at about sixty miles\nan hour,\" chuckled Pat. \"A kick like that would have killed anyone but\nan Irishman.\"\nTim shook himself to make sure that he was still all together and got\nto his feet. He was still a little shaky.\n\"You stay down here while I go on deck and see what it was all about,\"\nsaid Pat. He climbed nimbly up the ladder and disappeared just as cries\nsounded along the dock.\n\"On board the submarine,\" boomed a heavy voice. \"What's the matter down\nthere?\"\nA beam of light cut through the night and outlined Pat as he stood on\nthe deck.\n\"Someone tried to board us and we had to call out our own riot squad,\"\nyelled Pat. \"Looks like everything is all right now and I don't think\nwe'll have any more visitors tonight.\"\nSatisfied, the watchman returned and Pat called down for Tim to hand up\nanother bulb to replace the one which had been taken from the light\nover the hatch.\n\"I'm sure we won't have any more callers,\" he said, \"but this light may\ndiscourage them even though it didn't the first time. How in the\ndickens did you happen to wake up?\"\n\"You might call it my 'news sense' being on the job,\" said Tim as he\nrubbed his bruised chin. \"The first thing I sensed was that the light\nwas out. Then I knew someone was moving around in the control room and\nafter that I was almost too scared to move.\"\n\"Seems to me you did a pretty nice job of tackling, but the next time\ndon't bring your man down on top of me. It's an awful shock to awake in\nthe middle of the night and find a first class fight taking place right\nin your midships.\"\nTim glanced at his wrist watch.\n\"It's one a.m.,\" he said. \"What's on the schedule now?\"\n\"We might as well try and get a little more sleep. I think the\nfireworks are over for tonight.\"\nPat rolled back into his blankets and a minute later Tim followed his\ncompanion's action but where Pat was soon in a deep sleep, Tim remained\nawake, thinking over the attack and the dangers of their long voyage\ninto the Caribbean. He was glad Commander Ford had decided to take a\nseaplane on the trip. It made him feel more comfortable for if anything\nhappened to the _S-18_ on the treasure hunt, they might be able to get\nword of their plight to the world by using the seaplane.\nTim finally slept and when he awoke, sunlight was streaming down\nthrough the hatch and Commander Ford was climbing aboard.\n\"Fine pair of watchmen I left,\" he smiled.\n\"You left one mighty alert one,\" put in Pat, and he recounted their\nexperiences of the night.\n\"Sladek is certainly losing no time in trying to hamper my plans,\" said\nFord. \"I imagine he'll attempt to trail us all of the way to the island\nbut we may fool him if we decide to travel underwater for a few miles.\"\n\"But you couldn't do that with the plane on deck,\" protested Tim.\n\"We might release the plane and have you fly on ahead, meeting us at\nthe rendezvous on the island,\" suggested Ford.\nIf Tim thought his days on the _News_ had been busy, they were nothing\ncompared with the bustle of activity which settled down on the _S-18_.\nFor his own part, he was busy testing the seaplanes at the Sea King\nfactory and he finally selected the craft which the sales manager had\nrecommended. It was a three passenger job, light but sturdy and\nexceptionally easy to handle.\nFor the next week Tim went to the airplane plant daily to take special\ninstructions in the handling of the plane and to learn the trick of\ngetting off choppy water for there was no telling in what kind of\nweather he might be called upon to make a flight.\nThe fuel tanks were enlarged to give the speedy craft a cruising radius\nof a thousand miles and the pontoons were especially reinforced for the\nrough work which Tim and his plane might encounter.\nBy the end of the week great changes had been effected in the hull of\nthe _S-18_. Steel workers had cut out the special diving chamber in the\nforward torpedo room, the galley had been installed in the rear\ncompartment which was the crew's quarters, a special radio set capable\nof communicating instantly with the New York Journal office was in\nplace, and many other minor alterations necessary for the cruise had\nbeen made. The crew was being increased daily, but it was not until the\nfirst mess was served on board that Tim had a chance to see them\ntogether. In all, sixteen men were to make the trip into the Caribbean\nand Tim looked at them with interest as they sat around the table for\nthe evening meal.\nAt the head of the table was Commander Ford and at the other end Pat\nReynolds. Tim sat at Pat's right. Ranged up and down each side were the\nother thirteen, George Gadd, the engineer, Fred Hanson, the chief\nelectrician, Joe Gartner, old navy torpedoman and gunner, Charlie Gill\nand Russ Graham, deep sea divers, and their assistants, Earl Bell and\nRoy Gould.\nIke Green was the radio operator while Forman Gay, Erich Gaunt, Sam\nSchneider, Al Hardy and Tom Grandrath were former submarine men who\nwould assist in the general operation of the submarine. With the\nexception of Pat, Tim and Ike Green, the radioman, and the divers, all\nof the others had served with Ford during the war. The divers and their\nassistants were old navy men who could be relied upon and Tim knew that\nCommander Ford was taking every precaution against any treachery among\nmembers of his own crew.\nIt was a clean, hard-bitten crew that could be depended upon in any\nemergency.\nThe Commander, Ford was discussing final plans.\n\"We're going down the sound for a trial run tomorrow morning. If\neverything goes well, we'll start south the day after tomorrow.\"\nEarly the next morning lines were cast off and the _S-18_, pulsating to\nthe clicking of her powerful Diesels, was backed slowly away from the\nshipyard. A tug stood by to give any assistance needed, but the _S-18_\ncleared the yard and nosed slowly down river. Overhead a seaplane\nwheeled.\nTim was in the conning tower with Commander Ford and he pointed upward.\n\"That must be Sladek's plane, keeping track of us,\" nodded Ford. \"I\nunderstand his ship is ready to go at a moment's notice. He's gathered\na crew of thirty of the toughest characters on the waterfront and\npromised them all a good slice of the bullion if he gets it. Knowing\nSladek as I do, I wouldn't put much faith in his word if I were a\nmember of that crew.\"\nWhen the _S-18_ was clear of the lower bay, the warning bell sounded\nand everyone on deck went below. Hatches were made fast and every\nmember of the crew went to his station. For Tim there was nothing to do\nbut stand in the control room and watch the activities of the others\nfor he was not experienced enough in submarine operation to be placed\nat one of the important posts.\nCommander Ford's commands were crisp and alert. The Diesels were silent\nand only the faint humming of the big electric motors could be heard.\nThen the _S-18_ moved on a slight angle and Tim knew they were going\nbelow. He had encountered a good many queer sensations in an airplane,\nbut none quite so alarming as the one which gripped him now. He was\nactually going under the surface with only the thin steel walls of the\nsubmarine to ward off the destructive force of the water.\nTim glanced around the control room. Commander Ford was standing with\nhis eyes glued to the periscope. Pat was at the main diving rudders.\nForman Gay and Erich Gaunt were at the valves which controlled the\nballast tanks. All were silent, intent on their work.\n\"Are the forward ballast tanks flooded?\" snapped the commander.\n\"Yes sir,\" replied Pat.\n\"How about the after tanks?\"\n\"They're flooded.\"\n\"Then level off and hold her at forty feet.\"\nThe submarine resumed her even keel, but Tim knew they were forty feet\nbelow the surface.\nCommander Ford left his post and visited each compartment, making sure\nthat everything was functioning smoothly. When he returned, he said\ncalmly: \"We'll go a little deeper.\"\nThe diving rudders were inclined again and the _S-18_ nosed its way\ndeeper into the water.\nTim watched the depth gauge, fascinated. The needle was marking the\ndistance steadily. Sixty, seventy, eighty feet they went. Now they were\nmoving downward again. Ninety, ninety-five and then a hundred.\nGeorge Gadd, the engineer, came into the control room.\n\"Everything's all right so far,\" he reported.\n\"Then we'll go the rest of the way,\" decided Commander Ford.\nTim knew what the order meant. They were going to the bottom, going\ndown to make absolutely sure that the _S-18_ was ready for the\nCaribbean treasure hunt.\nThe depth gauge was dropping steadily as the _S-18_ plunged downward\nthrough the black waters. From Commander Ford on down, everyone was\ntense. This was the big test. If anything went wrong--\nBut they couldn't think of that, that is, no one except Tim who had\nnothing else to do.\n\"Ease off on the diving rudders,\" snapped Commander Ford. \"We're almost\ndown.\"\n\"How's the bottom?\" asked George Gadd.\n\"Charts show it to be good and firm. We'll just touch and then start up\nagain.\"\nThe depth gauge showed 205 feet when there was a gentle scraping sound\nand the _S-18_ came to rest on the bottom of the sound. Beads of water\nwere standing all over the interior of the glistening white hull for\nthe pressure at that depth was tremendous.\nCommander Ford left his post and made a thorough tour of the submarine.\nWhen he returned he was obviously elated.\n\"Everything's holding fine,\" he said. \"Now we'll get ready to return to\nthe surface.\"\nOrders flew rapidly. The diving planes were readjusted and Forman Gay\nand Erich Gaunt stood ready to blow the ballast from the diving tanks\nand lighten the sub for the rise to the surface.\n\"Blow the tanks,\" ordered the Commander.\nCompressed air hissed through the high pressure lines and Tim knew that\ndespite the pressure of the water at that depth the air was blowing the\nballast from the tanks. In a moment or two the _S-18_ would quiver,\ncome to life, and start the upward ascent.\nCommander Ford was watching the gauges intently. There was no movement\nof the _S-18_ and he turned toward Gay and Gaunt.\n\"We're giving the tanks all we've got,\" said Gaunt. \"There's 1,500\npounds of air pressure pushing that water out.\"\n\"Hold it for a minute,\" ordered Ford as Charlie Gill, the chief diver,\nstumbled into the room.\nCharlie's face was white, strained.\n\"We're stuck, chief, we're stuck. This bottom is as soft as a mud pie\nand the current has rammed us against the side of an old derelict.\nWe're settling deeper into the stuff every minute.\"\n\"Stand by your posts,\" cried the Commander. Grabbing Gill by the\nshoulder, he hurried him forward. Tim, who had no duty to attend,\nfollowed them into the diving compartment where a special quartz window\nto observe diving operations had been placed. A powerful searchlight\nhad been turned on by Gill and it revealed the trap into which the\n_S-18_ had settled. They were tight against the slime-encrusted hull of\nan old barge, probably a garbage scow used in hauling the refuse from\nNew York City.\n\"That also explains the soft bottom,\" said Ford. \"They've been dumping\ngarbage out here.\"\n\"It may make garbage of us,\" said Gill bitterly.\n\"Can you get into your diving outfit and get outside and place a bomb?\"\nasked the Commander.\n\"Not at this depth. I've got to be in the diving compartment and come\ndown gradually. The pressure would break me in two if I walked out\nthere now.\"\n\"Then how about a bomb?\"\n\"We could get that outside, but it's hard to tell where it will go off.\nIf it's too close to the hull, it might crush us and you know the\nanswer to that.\"\nCommander Ford nodded. \"We'll try it again.\"\nHe returned to the control room where the motors were raced first ahead\nand then in reverse, but the _S-18_ failed to rise out of the muck and\ninstead seemed to be burrowing its way further into the soft stuff.\nCommander Ford ordered the motors cut out and called the crew into the\ncontrol room.\n\"We're in a jam,\" he said. \"You know as well as I do that we can't\nexpect help from the surface in time to do us any good. If we escape\nwe've got to do it ourselves and there's only one way. That's by using\none of the special depth bombs and hoping it will jar us loose. There's\na chance the explosion may crush our own hull, but that's a risk we'll\nhave to take.\"\n\"Let's get it over with,\" put in the chief electrician. \"I was on the\nbottom of the English channel for twelve hours in a sub during the war\nand this waiting is awful.\"\nThe rest of the crew voiced the sentiments of the chief electrician.\nPat was placed in charge of the control room while Commander Ford and\nCharlie Gill and Russ Graham, the divers, and Joe Gartner, the torpedo\nman and gunner, went ahead to make preparations to explode the bomb.\nThe explosive was dangerous stuff and none of them relished handling\nit, but in it they saw their one chance of escape. The bomb was in a\nspecial steel case with a small aperture in which the timing device was\nlocated. The fuse was set for five minutes and the bomb placed in the\ndiving chamber.\nTim's nerves felt shaky. The bomb was going now. In just five minutes\nthe deadly blast would go off. If they didn't get it out of the diving\nchamber and against the derelict, there wouldn't be a ghost of a chance\nfor them.\nBut Charlie Gill and Russ Graham were versatile men. They had been in\nplenty of tight places before. Working quickly and surely, they opened\nthe outer door of the diving chamber. At that depth a terrific spray of\nwater shot into the inner chamber and the bomb bobbed from side to\nside. Then the force of the water pushed it outside the hull of the\nsubmarine. In the glow from the searchlight they saw the bomb drift\naway from the side of the submarine. The same current which was holding\nthe _S-18_ fast against the derelict was driving the bomb against it.\nCommander Ford, watch in hand, was counting the seconds.\n\"Better close the outer door of the diving compartment,\" he told\nCharlie Gill. \"There's little more than a minute left.\"\nThe Commander of the _S-18_ hurried back to the control room.\n\"On the alert,\" he told the men. \"Everyone be ready for double quick\naction. There's thirty seconds left before the bomb explodes.\" Tim\nglanced around the room. Erich Gaunt and Forman Gay were bent over the\nlevers which controlled the ballast tanks. Pat was tense at the diving\nrudders while back in the motor room George Gadd stood by to help the\nchief electrician. The crew of the _S-18_ was ready.\nThe flying reporter was fascinated as the second hand of his own watch\nticked off the precious seconds. It might be ticking life and death for\nall aboard the _S-18_, 205 feet below the surface of the sound.\nTen, seven, five, three seconds left.\nA muffled explosion shook the hull of the _S-18_.\n\"Motors full ahead!\" shouted Commander Ford.\nThe powerful electrics leaped into action. The steel deck beneath them\nquivered.\nThey were moving! It was slow at first, but the _S-18_ was shaking the\nslime of the bottom off its hull.\nThen, with a sickening leap, they shot upward, motors on full, diving\nplanes at the sharpest angle.\nMen tumbled around in the control room like dry leaves before an autumn\ngale. The _S-18_, out of control, was shooting toward the surface.\nPat managed to scramble to his feet and seized the wheel which\ncontrolled the forward diving rudders. With a quick twist he lessened\nthe sharp angle of their ascent.\nBefore the other men could crawl back to their stations, the grey nose\nof the submarine shot above the surface of the sound. It must have\nrisen ten feet out of water, then as the rest of the sub came to the\nsurface, slapped back into the water with a resounding crash. Everyone\naboard was jarred by the shock.\n\"Tanks clear of water, diving planes normal?\" Questions shot from the\nlips of Commander Ford.\nBefore the main hatch was opened and the sunlight streamed in, he made\nsure that the _S-18_ had not been seriously damaged by its sudden rise.\nIn spite of the great pressure, not a seam in the hull had been opened\nand the crew scrambled out on deck for a breath of fresh air.\nThe seaplane was still circling overhead and with a shock Tim realized\nthey had been on the bottom less than half an hour. It had seemed a\nlifetime.\nTo the veteran submarine men the harrowing experience on the bottom of\nthe sound seemed all in the day's work, but to Tim it was an incident\nhe would remember all the rest of his life.\n\"No more garbage scows for mine,\" grinned Pat. \"That was a little too\nclose for comfort.\"\n\"I'd just as soon fly down to the Caribbean,\" said Tim as he watched\nthe seaplane gracefully circling overhead.\nCommander Ford joined them.\n\"After that test there's no question about the seaworthiness of the\n_S-18_. We're putting back to the Laidlaw yard at once. We'll start\nsouth sometime tomorrow.\"\nThat was news and Tim went below and dictated a story to Ike Green, who\nsent it to the Journal station. It was the first story sent directly\nfrom the _S-18_.\nThat night when they were back in the yard, a truck lumbered through\nthe main gate, a winch on the dock clattered noisily and a long,\ncigar-shaped object came slowly down. A forward hatch was opened and\nthe torpedo locked securely in its rack. After that a case of shells\nfor the four-inch gun and three machine guns and a half dozen automatic\nrifles and sixteen revolvers with plenty of ammunition were lowered\nfrom the dock.\n\"We're going to be something of a floating arsenal,\" chuckled Pat.\n\"Believe me, if we get in a jam old Joe Gartner is a handy man with the\nfour-inch gun.\"\n\"What about Sladek and his expedition?\" Tim asked.\n\"Commander Ford told me this afternoon they were ready to sail at a\nmoment's notice. We'll be slipping away tomorrow night which may cause\nthem a little trouble in following us.\"\nThe next day Tim went to the Sea King factory on Long Island and made\nsure his plane was ready. Then he wrote the final stories of plans for\nthe departure and sent them to both the New York Journal and the _News_\nat home, with release dates for the next day, when they would be well\nout to sea and off the Jersey coast.\nA subdued air of excitement gripped the crew of the _S-18_. This was\nthe big night. Before midnight they would be headed down the East\nriver, bound for the open sea and the start of the big adventure.\nAcross the East river the lights of Manhattan glowed brightly while in\nthe Laidlaw yard last minute preparations for the voyage of the _S-18_\nwere being rushed. Supplies were being checked and every possible test\nof equipment was made.\nIn the radio room Ike Green got in contact with the New York Journal\nstation and Tim filed his last story. The next would be sent when the\n_S-18_ was out to sea.\nA whistle shrilled on the deck overhead and Tim mounted the ladder and\nclimbed through the main hatch. Riding lights of the submarine were on.\nYard workers were casting off the lines which held the _S-18_ to the\ntowering dock.\nThe huge Diesels came to life and the submarine pulsated gently to\ntheir song of power. Commander Ford was at his station in the conning\ntower while near him at the auxiliary controls was Pat Reynolds. Half a\ndozen other members of the crew were on deck.\nDown in the inky waters at the rear of the _S-18_ the propellers\nchurned. Slowly the submarine nosed away from the boatyard, heading out\ntoward the East river. There was no sound from the workers on the dock;\nno sound from the men on deck. This business of hunting sunken\ntreasures was deadly serious.\nThere was little traffic on the river after the midnight hour and the\n_S-18_ felt its way out into mid-stream and then dropped down toward\nthe open sound.\nSomewhere behind them a ferryboat hooted dismally and a tramp steamer,\njust swinging out of its wharf, answered.\n\"Any chance that that vessel may be Sladek's?\" Tim asked Pat.\n\"There's more than a chance. It probably is,\" replied the first officer.\nThe submarine moved down the bay at a steady eight knots an hour and\nTim watched the lights of Manhattan fading into a haze. They stood well\ndown the bay for the Sea King factory was on the south shore of Long\nIsland.\nAbove him in the conning tower Tim could hear Commander Ford conversing\nwith Pat. Then the commander leaned over the edge of the tower and\ncalled to the men on deck.\n\"Everyone down below,\" he said. \"We're going to submerge and run\nunderwater to the Sea King plant. That may throw Sladek's ship off our\ntrail.\"\nThey tumbled below, the main hatch was sealed, and Pat checked every\ngauge before Commander Ford gave the order to submerge. The _S-18_ went\ndown twenty feet and then levelled off, the electric motors pushing it\nsmoothly underwater.\nWith his eyes glued to a periscope, Commander Ford scanned the surface\nof the sound for another craft. At almost an instant's notice the\n_S-18_ was ready to dive lower.\nAt the microphones, Ike Green was listening intently for the beat of\nthe propeller of the tramp steamer. He grinned as Commander Ford\nentered the tiny room.\n\"They're puzzled,\" said the radio man, \"and they're zig-zagging all\nover the lower bay.\"\nThe _S-18_ continued to run underwater at a bare four knots an hour. It\nwas three hours later when they came to the surface and the sky was\nlighter in the east. Sunrise was less than half an hour away. To their\nleft was the factory of the Sea King company and the _S-18_ nosed\nslowly toward the dock.\nAs the sky brightened they saw the smudge of a steamer well out to sea.\n\"Unless I miss my guess there goes Jack Sladek and his treasure-hunting\nexpedition,\" grinned Pat.\nThe seaplane purchased for their trip was on the dock ready and it took\nless than half an hour to load the craft on the deck of the _S-18_ and\nmake it fast.\n\"There'll be no more diving with that sky-hopping bug on deck,\" said\nPat.\n\"Which will suit me all right,\" replied Tim. \"Anytime you want to do a\nlittle exploring under water in this tin fish just let me know and I'll\ncruise around in the clouds for a couple of hours.\"\n\"You may have to do that when we get down into the Caribbean if we find\nSladek too close to our trail,\" put in Commander Ford who had come up\nbehind them. \"He's going to be a hard customer to lose and he'll\nprobably use that seaplane of his to do a lot of scouting.\"\nBreakfast was served by Al Hardy, who was the cook, and they enjoyed\nthe morning meal before casting loose from the Sea King dock. Then,\nwith all hands on deck and a bright sun shining down on them, the\n_S-18_ resumed its southward voyage. The next port of call was to be\nKey West, where the fuel tanks would be replenished for the voyage\nacross the Caribbean.\nOnce out to sea, half of the crew turned in, for there had been no\nsleep aboard the _S-18_ during the hours they had been submerged. The\nJersey coast gradually dropped from view and they moved southward at a\nsteady ten knots an hour.\nTim sought his bunk in the after quarters. Ahead the Diesels pounded\nsteadily, but the air was clean and sweet and in spite of the noise he\nwas soon asleep.\nThe clatter of pans as Al Hardy prepared the noon meal awoke him and he\nrejoined Pat in the conning tower. Commander Ford was down in the\ndiving room talking with the chief divers and Tim and Pat were alone.\n\"Do you think we're going to be in for trouble before we get through?\"\nTim asked as he watched the sharp bow of the _S-18_ cut through the\ngentle swells.\n\"Commander Ford told me this morning that Sladek had rounded up about\nthe prize gang of cutthroats on the New York waterfront. You'll get all\nof the excitement you want before this shindig ends.\"\n\"Just give me time enough to get aloft in the plane and I'll be ready\nfor anything that comes along,\" said Tim, nodding toward the trim\nseaplane lashed securely on the forward deck.\nMess was served in relays that noon and shortly after that Tim sighted\nthe seaplane winging up from the south.\n\"Company coming,\" he informed Pat, who was back in the conning tower.\nCommander Ford was summoned and they watched the approach of the fast\ncraft. The plane was flying high, but as it neared the _S-18_, the\npilot put it into a dive.\n\"That fellow knows how to handle a plane,\" said Tim, half to himself.\nThe seaplane came out of the dive at a thousand feet and circled the\n\"The answer to that is plain,\" said Commander Ford grimly. \"That's\nSladek's ship and it won't be long until his dirty old tramp steamer is\non our trail again.\"\nThe seaplane winged away again and in less than two hours they saw a\nsmudge of smoke on the horizon. Before sundown the tramp steamer, the\n_Iron Mate_, was riding a half mile off their port bow.\n\"There's no use trying to sneak away from them now,\" said the\ncommander. \"When we get out of Key West and head across the Caribbean\nwe'll find some way to give them the slip.\"\nDown the east coast the _S-18_ made its leisurely way with the _Iron\nMate_ a constant companion. The sky was clearer, the air warmer, as\nthey neared the southern tip of Florida and nosed into the harbor at\nKey West. The Iron Mate stood out to sea, waiting for the return of the\n_S-18_, for Sladek was taking no chances on getting into trouble with\nfederal officials.\nThe _S-18_ replenished its fuel oil tanks, fresh supplies were taken\naboard, and the crew stretched its legs before the voyage into the\nCaribbean.\nPat and Tim strolled along the wharfs. It was a picturesque city and\nthey enjoyed the walk at the sunset hour.\nA small boat was coming in from the sea. They watched it curiously for\nthe men at the oars were particularly vicious looking.\n\"I wouldn't want to meet them on a dark night,\" said Pat.\nWhen they returned to the _S-18_, Commander Ford divulged his plans for\neluding the _Iron Mate_ and its crew of cutthroats.\n\"Tim,\" he said, \"we'll hoist your seaplane overboard at once. Then\nwe'll slip out of the harbor and run submerged until we are well away\nfrom the coast. You fool around here all day tomorrow. The next morning\nhop early and rejoin us at this joint.\" The commander indicated a spot\nin the Caribbean approximately two hundred miles west of Key West.\n\"Sladek will probably set his pilot to watching you when he finds we've\ngiven him the slip, but I'll expect you to elude him and join us at the\nrendezvous without being followed. A great deal will depend upon your\nsuccess.\"\n\"It may take some time to shake him off my trail,\" promised Tim, \"but\nI'll see that he doesn't follow me too far.\"\n\"That's good,\" said Ford. \"Now we'll drop your seaplane overboard and\nprepare to slip out of the harbor. I've special clearances which will\nallow our departure at any hour we care to leave.\"\nTim directed the unloading of the Sea King and made sure that trim\nlittle craft was fast to the dock before he returned to the deck of the\nPat was checking over the crew list. Everyone answered present except\nAl Hardy, the cook.\n\"Anyone see Al?\" demanded Pat.\n\"He left just before sundown to get some supplies he needed,\" said\nErich Gaunt. \"He should have been back half an hour ago.\"\n\"We'll wait a few minutes more,\" said Pat, hurrying below to inform\nCommander Ford that the cook was missing.\nA half hour elapsed and Al was still among the missing. At Commander\nFord's Order, the crew scattered along the docks, seeking their missing\ncook. By ten o'clock, with still no trace of Al, the commander gave the\norder to clear the lines. The _S-18_ was going without its cook.\n\"Maybe you can find him in the hoosegow in the morning,\" Pat told Tim.\n\"If you do, load him in your plane and bring him along. We need a good\ncook.\"\n\"I'll do my best to find him,\" promised Tim as the _S-18_ slipped away\nfrom the dock.\nTim watched the submarine until its lights faded into the night. He\nmade arrangements with the watchman at the dock to keep an eye on the\nseaplane. Then he turned away from the waterfront. He was unfamiliar\nwith the city and he stumbled along a poorly lighted street. From an\nalley to his right came a groan. Tim hesitated. It sounded like a human\nbeing in agony, but it might be a waterfront trap of thugs to lure him\nfrom the street.\nThe sound came again. There was no mistaking it this time. Someone was\nin great pain. Tim ducked into the alley. Along one wall was a huddled\nform. He bent down and lifted the man's head. It was too dark to\ndistinguish the features and Tim lugged the man to the head of the\nalley where the rays from a street lamp half a block away gave him some\nlight.\nHe bent down again and looked into the battered face of Al Hardy, the\nmissing cook.\nThe cook of the _S-18_ had been badly beaten and Tim realized that he\nwas in need of immediate medical attention. He managed to get the\nunconscious Hardy over his shoulders and he staggered down the block\nuntil he was under the street light.\nGlancing up and down the street, Tim saw that he was alone. He lowered\nthe cook from his shoulders and laid him on the walk under the light.\nThen he raced down the street toward a cluster of lights several blocks\naway, where he was fortunate enough to find a night patrolman on duty\nthere and the officer summoned an ambulance.\nWhen the ambulance reached the lonely street, they bundled the cook\naboard and Tim climbed up in the front seat beside the driver while the\ninterne rode inside.\nIt was after midnight before the cook regained consciousness and\nanother two hours before he was strong enough to see Tim.\nWhen the flying reporter entered the hospital room the cook looked out\nat him from beneath a mass of bandages.\n\"He's got lots of endurance,\" said the doctor on duty, \"or he wouldn't\nhave been able to live through the terrific beating he got. Don't talk\nto him any longer than necessary.\"\nTim sat down by the bed.\n\"Tell me what happened, Al.\"\nThe cook's voice was little more than a whisper and Tim leaned over to\ncatch the words.\n\"I was on my way back to the wharf, when they ganged me and dragged me\ninto a deserted warehouse.\"\nEven one sentence had visibly sapped his strength and the cook rested\nbefore continuing.\n\"They wanted to know our destination. When I wouldn't tell them they\nbeat me.\"\nTim's eyes blazed with anger. There was no question in his mind who the\n\"they\" Al was referring to meant. It was the boatload of ruffians he\nand Pat had seen rowing in from the open sea. Undoubtedly they were\nfrom the _Iron Mate_, Sladek's ship.\n\"I went almost crazy with the pain.\" There was a choked sob in the\ncook's voice. \"They burned the bottom of my feet with cigarettes.\"\nThere was a long pause and Tim waited patiently, wondering whether Al\nHardy had finally given away the secret of their destination.\n\"They were going to kill me,\" the cook went on, each word an obvious\neffort. \"Finally, finally I told them it was an island off the coast of\nYucatan, but no one but the commander knew what one.\"\n\"Did they believe you?\" asked Tim.\n\"They must have. That's all I remember until I came to in the hospital.\nI'm sorry I talked.\"\n\"Don't worry about that, Al,\" said Tim, gripping the cook's hand\nfirmly. \"Any of the rest of us would have talked a lot sooner. I'm\ngoing to leave you now. I've got to contact the _S-18_ with the\nseaplane in the morning. I've made arrangements for them to take good\ncare of you here. By the time you're well we'll be on our way back and\nyou'll have a good share of the treasure.\"\nBefore leaving the the floor, Tim stopped at the desk.\n\"Just how badly is he injured?\" he asked the doctor.\n\"An average man would die from shock, but he looks like he has a fine\nconstitution. I believe he'll pull through.\"\n\"See that he has everything he needs,\" said Tim. \"In case of an\nemergency you can communicate with Commander Ford's representative in\nNew York for further instructions.\"\nThe information Al Hardy had given made Tim change his plans\ncompletely. Sladek and his crew knew the _S-18_ was bound for the coast\nof Yucatan and Tim felt sure they would abandon any attempt to follow\nthe _S-18_ across the Caribbean. Instead they would use their own\nseaplane to locate Commander Ford's expedition after it reached the\nisland which held the secret of the Southern Queen.\nTo Tim it seemed the most important thing was to get in touch with\nCommander Ford and appraise him of the sudden turn in events. Instead\nof waiting to keep the rendezvous on the following day, he would\nattempt to overtake the _S-18_ as soon as dawn broke.\nOn his way back to the waterfront Tim stopped at an all-night\nrestaurant and ate a hearty breakfast. The watchman at the dock lent a\nwilling hand and by dawn Tim had the Sea King ready to take the air.\n\"I don't like the looks of the sky,\" said the watchman. \"There's wind\nand a nasty sea in them clouds.\"\n\"I'll risk it anyway,\" said Tim. \"It's important.\"\n\"Then keep an eye on a handy cay where you can find shelter in the\nlee,\" advised the watchman as Tim started the motor of the Sea King.\nThe powerful engine ran true and sweet and after getting it thoroughly\nwarmed up, Tim scudded across the gray water and lifted the dripping\npontoons into the sky.\nHe knew the _S-18_ would be following the course to the rendezvous set\nfor the next day and he charted a compass path through the air.\nKey West dropped from sight in the greyness of the morning and he\nwinged a solitary way out over the Caribbean. Below the swells were\nsharper. It wouldn't be easy landing and getting the Sea King aboard\nFor nearly an hour Tim bored into the west. He should be near the\n_S-18_ and he scanned the surface of the ocean with anxious eyes. For\nhalf an hour he circled in wide swoops. The wind was freshening and the\nsea beneath him was choppy when he finally sighted the conning tower of\nthe submarine.\nTim dropped down until he was just above the surface of the water. The\nnose of the _S-18_ was plowing through the swells and there were only\ntwo huddled figures in the conning tower. Tim recognized them as he\nflashed by, Commander Ford and Pat. They waved wildly as Tim gauged the\nstrength of wind and wave. It was too risky to attempt a landing and he\nscrawled a note on a sheet of paper and crammed it into an old tobacco\ncan he had found along the waterfront and brought along for just such a\npurpose.\nWith his motor almost idling, he swept down on the _S-18_ again.\nWatching his speed carefully, he hurled the tin can toward the\nsubmarine. It landed well in front and bobbed restless on the water.\nCommander Ford and Pat had seen the can strike the surface and under\ntheir skillful hands the submarine was brought to a halt. A wave washed\nthe tin alongside where another member of the crew, who had emerged\nfrom the control room, retrieved it, and handed the can up to the\nconning tower.\nPat signalled that they understood the contents of Tim's message, and\nthe flying reporter zoomed the Sea King sharply in a farewell salute as\nhe opened the throttle and roared back toward Key West. On the way back\nhe sighted the _Iron Mate_ far to his right and a good thirty miles\nbehind the _S-18_. If anything, the submarine was a good two knots and\nhour faster than the _Iron Mate_ when it was running on the surface.\nTim reached Key West safely, saw that the Sea King was refueled and\nready to go on short notice, and then went to the hospital to see the\ncook. Al Hardy was sleeping soundly and Tim continued to a hotel where\nhe went to bed to get some much needed rest.\nIt was late afternoon before he awoke. He made another call at the\nhospital, but was advised not to see the cook. After supper he went to\na movie and then turned in early for with the dawn would come another\nlong flight.\nDuring the night the wind subsided and ideal flying weather greeted Tim\nwhen he reached the waterfront. The sun was casting a rosy hue over\nred-tiled roofs and Tim welcomed the chance to soar into the cool,\nsweet morning air.\nThe Sea King responded to the impulse of the starter with a roar and\nTim flashed across the surface of the bay and into the air. He made a\nhalf circle into the west and lined away for a fast flight to overhaul\nIt was better than two hours later and fifty miles beyond their\nrendezvous when Tim finally sighted the submarine, sliding through the\nwater at a strong twelve knots an hour.\nHe brought the Sea King down to an easy landing and then taxied\nalongside the _S-18_, which was now lying motionless. Willing hands\nhelped fasten the crane and its rigging to the seaplane and the craft\nwas soon lodged safely on the deck of the submarine. Then they were\nunder way again, the thin nose of the _S-18_ cleaving its way toward\nthe sunken treasure in the hold of the Southern Queen.\n                       Isle of the Singing Trees\nWhile Pat was on duty in the conning tower, Tim recounted in detail to\nCommander Ford just what had taken place in Key West. When he was\nthrough the Commander looked extremely grave.\n\"Now that Sladek knows we are bound for an island off the coast of\nYucatan, our only hope is for speed. It may take him several days to\nlocate us after we are there, but with his seaplane he is certain to do\nthat. We'll continue ahead as fast as possible and once over the wreck\nof the Southern Queen we'll lose no time in going down and getting what\nwe can.\"\nOnly Commander Ford knew the exact location of the island they sought\noff the coast of Yucatan. As the hours rolled into days, the tension\naboard the _S-18_ grew. There had been no further sign of the _Iron\nMate_ and they wondered whether Sladek was ahead or behind.\nTim wrote a story each day and Ike Green flashed it over his powerful\nset to the station of the New York Journal, where it was relayed to\nTim's own paper at Atkinson.\nThe third night after Tim joined the _S-18_ out of Key West he felt the\npulse of the diesels slowing down. He tossed on his clothes and made\nhis way to the control room and climbed the ladder to the conning\ntower. Commander Ford and Pat were intently scanning the horizon.\nPat turned toward Tim.\n\"We'll reach the island about dawn,\" he said.\nCommander Ford was looking at a chart with a hand torch. One finger\nstopped at a tiny island off the coast of Yucatan.\n\"That's our destination,\" he said. \"If Crazy John knew what he was\ntalking about, the Southern Queen went down on a reef just off the Isle\nof the Singing Trees.\"\n\"What island?\" asked Tim.\n\"The Isle of the Singing Trees. It's marked here on the chart and is\nuninhabited.\"\nThe _S-18_ crept through the thinning night at half speed and with the\ncoming of the dawn, they saw the outline of the island. It was small\nand seemed barely able to keep its head above the restless Caribbean.\nBreakers, indicating the danger of hidden reefs, fringed the isle.\nThrough the powerful glasses they could see a dense tangle of\nvegetation and beyond the Isle of the Singing Trees the dim outlines of\nthe mainland, which was still shrouded by the morning mists.\nThe pulses of the men aboard the _S-18_ quickened. They were within\nsight of their goal.\nTim scanned the surface of the ocean. There was no sign of the _Iron\nMate_, not even a faint smudge of smoke to cause them apprehension.\nCommander Ford ordered the Diesels stopped. A piping hot breakfast was\nserved to every member of the crew and then the slow, creeping trip\ntoward the island was resumed.\nAs they neared the desolate spot, Tim could understand why Crazy John\nhad not cared to return. There was nothing beautiful about the Isle of\nthe Singing Trees. The beach was rough and strewn with rock and as they\napproached the island they heard the singing of the wind through the\ntangled growth. Truly the island had been well named.\nThe island had never been adequately charted, and Commander Ford was\nfeeling his way past the dangerous reefs, one of which had brought a\nsudden end to the Southern Queen eleven years before.\nJagged splinters of rock reached up from the ocean bottom to impale the\nhull of the _S-18_, but each time the skilful hands of her commander\ndirected the submarine past the danger spot. There was a brisk wind,\nand waves broke sharply over the hull, but at last the _S-18_ was past\nthe outer rim of rock which encircled the island and safely into the\nsmoother water. Everyone breathed easier as the order to let go the\nanchor came from the conning tower and the mud hook was dropped sharply\naway.\nTwo sturdy boats, both collapsible, were brought up from the diving\ncompartment and assembled on the deck. Charlie Gill and Russ Graham,\nthe chief divers, checked over their equipment and Pat gave Tim a hand\nin loosening the fastenings which held the seaplane to the deck.\nJoe Gartner even found time to polish his beloved four inch gun and Tim\nfelt that Joe was secretly praying for a chance to get into action\nagainst the _Iron Mate_.\nWhen the first boat was lowered into the water, Commander Ford stepped\ninto the stern and Charlie Gill and Russ Graham manned the oars. The\ncommander was going to waste no time in attempting to locate the wreck\nof the treasure ship.\nThe crew of the _S-18_, clustered on deck, watched the progress of the\nsmall boat as it bobbed about inside the reefs. Both Gill and Commander\nFord were busy making soundings while the other diver handled the boat.\nBack and forth they crept along the reef, their lines dragging the\nbottom for some sign of the Southern Queen.\nThe hours slipped away and the other boat, in charge of Pat, joined the\nfirst in the quest for the location of the old vessel.\nTim remained on deck, squatting in the shadow of the seaplane. Ike\nGreen joined him.\n\"Why don't they take the _S-18_ down and creep along the bottom until\nthey find the Southern Queen?\" asked Tim.\n\"Commander Ford's afraid of the currents around the reef. He wants to\nknow something about the bottom before he takes the _S-18_ down.\"\nThe remainder of the afternoon was spent with the two small boats\ndragging their grappling hooks along the bottom. At sundown the weary\ncrews returned to the submarine. There was no use to ask whether they\nhad found any trace of the Southern Queen. The tired, disappointed\nfaces were enough.\n\"What about the bottom?\" Tim asked Pat.\n\"It's going to be a tough proposition even if we find the old ship.\nLots of rock down there and queer currents. There must be all kinds of\nholes in the outer reef.\"\nCommander Ford was silent, planning the activities for the next day,\nand everyone aboard the submarine, except the watch, was in their\nblankets early.\nThe next morning at dawn the men of the _S-18_ were on deck, preparing\nfor another day of grappling for the wreckage of the Southern Queen.\n\"I wonder if Crazy John could have been mistaken?\" Tim asked Pat.\n\"It's possible, but I don't believe Commander Ford would have fitted\nout an expensive expedition like this if he hadn't been pretty sure of\nhis facts. We've got a lot of territory inside the reefs to explore\nbefore we give up hope.\"\n\"Or before Sladek and the _Iron Mate_ arrive,\" put in Tim, searching\nthe sky for a possible trace of the seaplane from the tramp steamer.\nThere was a bright, burning sun and throughout the morning hours the\nboat crews toiled, dragging hooks on the uneven bottom. After a hasty\nlunch, they returned to the gruelling task. Tim, confident that the\nseaplane could be made ready for flight in a minimum time, squatted on\nthe deck and watched the operations.\nIt was late afternoon when a joyful shout from Pat rang across the\nwater.\n\"We've snagged something!\" he cried.\nCommander Ford in the other boat hastened toward the spot and more\ngrapnels were dropped.\nFifteen minutes later the men waiting on the deck of the submarine knew\nthat the Southern Queen had been found. Commander Ford dropped a line\nwith a buoy and the two boats headed back for the _S-18_. Fatigue was\nmiraculously wiped from the faces of the boatmen as they pulled\nalongside, and Commander Ford gave them the information they all sought.\n\"Diving operations will start in the morning,\" he said.\nThere was a joyous whoop from the crew of the _S-18_. This was what\nthey had been watching for, a chance to get the treasure of the\nSouthern Queen.\n                    The Battle with the _Iron Mate_\nPlans for the recovery of the treasure of the Southern Queen were\ntalked over fully at mess that night.\n\"The wreck is in about 185 feet of water,\" said Charlie Gill. \"That's\nnot a bad depth in itself but the currents down there are tough. They\nmight sweep a diver into a hole in the hull and he'd never get out.\"\n\"Then you think we'd better take the _S-18_ right down beside the old\nship so you can work out of our own hull?\" asked Commander Ford.\n\"From the standpoint of the diver, that's going to be the safest way,\"\nsaid Charlie, \"and it will be a whole lot faster. Once we get our hands\non the gold we'll be able to transfer it directly aboard the _S-18_\"\nCommander Ford nodded thoughtfully.\n\"You're right. The currents you speak of can cause trouble even for a\nsubmarine the size of the _S-18_, but I guess that's the only solution.\nWe'll make our first dive in the morning.\"\nTurning to Tim, he added: \"You'd better get your seaplane off the deck\ntonight. Make it fast to the beach. I don't want to lose any time when\ndaylight comes.\"\nMembers of the crew aided Tim in getting the Sea King off the deck and\ninto the water. It was night before the task was completed, and he\ntaxied the trim little craft up to the beach under the guiding rays of\na searchlight on the conning tower. While Tim was making the plane fast\nfor the night, Pat rowed in from the _S-18_ to take him back.\nThe Isle of the Singing Trees was living up to its name that night. The\ntangled mat of underbrush came down close to the water's edge and from\nit came a mournful melody. Now and then a vagrant breeze, skipping\nthrough the tree tops, added a higher note and Tim shivered at the\nloneliness and the desolation. The lights of the _S-18_, a bare 200\nyards from the shore, looked far away. He was glad when Pat's boat\ngrated on the rocky beach.\nPat also felt the weird atmosphere of the island.\n\"It isn't healthy here,\" he said. \"Let's get back to the _S-18_.\"\nTim jumped into the boat and they pulled lustily toward the safety and\ncomfort of the submarine.\nMen slept restlessly on the _S-18_ that night. Tomorrow they were going\nto the bottom of the bay. If fortune favored them, they would come back\nto the surface with a wealth of gold.\nTim was as restless as any of them, turning and tumbling around in his\nnarrow bunk. An hour before dawn he slipped out of his blankets,\ndressed, and went up on deck. Commander Ford was in the conning tower\nand Tim wondered whether he had slept any during the night.\n\"I'm a little anxious about the Sea King,\" said the flying reporter.\n\"I'd like to turn the searchlight on the beach.\"\n\"Not right now,\" said the commander softly. \"There are lights of some\nkind over to our left.\"\nTim turned sharply. Low in the water, and far out, he caught the faint\nglow of lights.\n\"The _Iron Mate_?\" he asked breathlessly.\n\"Perhaps. We'll have to wait until dawn to know the truth.\"\n\"It may be some passing steamer.\"\n\"These are dangerous waters. Regular traffic keeps away from this\nsection of the coast.\"\nTim watched the lights intently. They were barely moving, but it seemed\nas though they were coming nearer.\nThere was a faint glow in the east when Commander Ford spoke again.\n\"Go below and rout out the crew. Tell Joe Gartner I want arms issued to\nevery man. As soon as that is done I want him up here for final\ninstructions.\"\nTim shot down the ladder into the control room, landing with a bang\nthat resounded through the interior. He raced back to the crew's\nquarters. Men, only half awake, tumbled from their bunks.\n\"Everyone out!\" cried Tim. \"Joe, you're to issue arms at once. Then\nCommander Ford wants to see you on deck.\"\n\"Glory be,\" croaked Joe. \"It must be the _Iron Mate_. Maybe I'll get a\nchance to unlimber my gun after all.\"\nThey tumbled into their clothes and went forward where Joe issued\nammunition belts and revolvers. A stack of rifles was placed in a\nspecial rack in the control room with a box of ammunition beside them.\nThe _S-18_ was getting ready for trouble.\nOn deck Joe Gartner tore the tarpaulin off the four inch gun. From the\ndepths of the _S-18_ a half dozen shells were brought on deck and the\ngun was trained on the cluster of lights.\nThe sky lightened and a few minutes later the tense group on the deck\nof the _S-18_ made out the outlines of the ship which was beyond the\nreefs. It was the _Iron Mate_, rolling gently in the swell.\nThrough field glasses they could see men clustered along the rail of\nthe tramp steamer and Tim thought he could see Sladek on the bridge.\nThe first move was up to the _Iron Mate_ and it was not long in coming.\nFrom the far side of the steamer came the roar of an airplane engine\nand the seaplane took wing, its colors flashing in the bright rays of\nthe sun.\n\"Better get ashore at once and have your own plane ready to take off,\"\nCommander Ford advised Tim. \"Take Pat with you and be sure that you\nhave a light machine gun.\"\nPat got the gun and plenty of ammunition from Joe Gartner and they\ntumbled into one of the small boats and started for shore.\nOut to sea the other plane was climbing rapidly, circling over the\n_Iron Mate_. It was up 2,000 feet by the time Tim and Pat reached the\nSea King and had torn off the motor coverings and loosened the moorings.\nTim piled into the after cockpit and snapped on the starter. The motor\nawoke with a roar and he warmed it up thoroughly, keeping an eye on the\nplane above. There was little wind and he could take off in a straight\ndash across the water.\nPat, the light machine gun in his arms, climbed into the forward\ncockpit. There were parachutes for both pilot and passenger and Tim\ninstructed his companion in the operation of the chute.\n\"If we go aloft I'll get even with you for some of the unhappy hours\nI've spent in that tin fish,\" chuckled Tim.\nPat, a little white around the lips at the thought of his first trip\naloft, grinned gamely.\n\"I can take it,\" he said.\nThe plane from the _Iron Mate_ was darting toward the Isle of the\nSinging Trees. The ship was coming down now in a terrific power dive.\nTim estimated the speed at nearly 150 miles an hour. The air was filled\nwith the roar of the motor.\nThen the oncoming plane levelled off and flashed over the _S-18_.\nSomething black hurtled over the side.\nTim tried to shout, but his throat closed and he could only gasp.\nAutomatically he leaped into action, his hand jamming the throttle on\nfull. The Sea King scuttled across the water, angling away from the\n_S-18_ while down from the sky plummeted the black object. It struck\nthe water a good hundred yards away from the _S-18_ and a fountain of\nwater arose in the air. The noise of the bomb could be heard even above\nthe roar of the Sea King's powerful motor.\nTim lifted the finely trimmed craft into the air and set out in pursuit\nof the bomber. Below them on deck of the _S-18_ Gunner Joe was training\nhis sights on the _Iron Mate_. Tim, looking down, saw a puff of smoke\nand a fountain of water leap into the air beyond the _Iron Mate_. Joe\nhad overshot his target.\nBut there was no time to watch the Iron Mate now. Tim concentrated on\nthe task of bringing down the other plane. Ahead of him, Pat crouched\nin the cockpit, the machine gun ready.\nThe seaplane was making a desperate attempt to get under the shelter of\nthe _Iron Mate_ but Tim drove on relentlessly on the tail of the other\nship. There was no chance for the pilot to land and taxi back to the\nsteamer.\nThe Sea King was fast and easy to handle. In less than two minutes Tim\nhad overhauled the bombing plane and Pat, sighting with a steady hand,\npulled gently on the trigger of the light machine gun. It chattered and\njumped, but he got his aim again and poured a stream of bullets at the\ntarget ahead.\nTim, watching intently and matching every move of the fleeing pilot,\nsaw the bullets ripping into the wings. Then Pat got the range on the\nfuselage and the line of bullets crept nearer and nearer the cockpit.\nSensing that death was near, the pilot tried to loop and get onto the\ntail of Tim's plane, but the flying reporter guessed the maneuver\nalmost before it started and he placed Pat in a position to pour a\nstream of bullets into the motor of the other plane.\nSuddenly there was only the sound of their own motor. The other\nseaplane was falling away with its prop turning idly. Pat, thoroughly\nangered at the attempt to sink the _S-18_ with a bomb, trained his gun\non the other pilot but Tim pulled the nose of the Sea King up and\nspoiled his aim.\n\"He's all through,\" he shouted. \"They'll never be able to repair that\nmotor.\"\nSpread out below them was a strange panorama. Against the green\nbackground of the Isle of the Singing Trees the _S-18_ was throwing\nshell after shell at the _Iron Mate_, and the tramp steamer was\nresponding. One good, solid shot would sink the _S-18_, while the _Iron\nMate_ could stand a lot of shelling without going down.\nTim noticed that the _S-18_ was moving slowly back and forth behind the\nreef and that the submarine was ready to submerge at a moment's notice.\nOnly Gunner Joe and the men he had selected to help him load the gun\nwere on deck.\n\"Joe's using a lot of ammunition,\" cried Pat.\n\"He'd better get a direct aim soon or they'll get us after all.\"\nA white line of bubbles streaked the water.\n\"Joe's fired his torpedo!\" cried Pat.\nA lookout on the _Iron Mate_ saw the torpedo and the old tramp swung\nits stern into the clear just in time. The torpedo streaked on out to\nsea.\nTim's attention shifted back to the pilot of the crippled seaplane. It\nwas landing at least a mile away from the _Iron Mate_ and he admired\nthe cool nerve of the other pilot, who brought his craft down to a safe\nlanding. With motor dead, the flyer would have to wait for a boat from\nthe _Iron Mate_ to pick him up.\nTim sent the Sea King into a dive while Pat shouted questions at him,\nlanded and taxied alongside the disabled plane.\nPat covered the other flyer with his machine gun. Tim recognized the\npilot as the man who had flown the amphibian for Sladek on the trip to\nCedar river valley.\nFierce anger glowed in the eyes of the other pilot, but he remained\nsilent as Tim scrambled onto the right pontoon and made his way toward\nthe rear cockpit.\n\"Don't try any funny business,\" Tim warned. \"My partner's got an itchy\ntrigger finger.\"\n\"You'll never get away with this,\" snarled the other.\n\"Don't let that trouble you,\" retorted Tim. \"You'd better worry how\nyou're going to get away from here. You know if we decided to put a few\nholes in your pontoons it would be a long swim to the _Iron Mate_ and\nthe sharks might be hungry.\"\n\"You wouldn't dare do that.\"\n\"You tried to sink the _S-18_,\" snapped Tim. \"Now get out of that\ncockpit and crawl down on the other pontoon.\"\n\"What are you going to do?\"\n\"Shut up and get down on the pontoon like he told you,\" roared Pat,\nwaving his gun menacingly.\nThe pilot of the disabled plane obeyed the command and Tim scrambled\ninto the cockpit. In the bottom was what he had hoped for, half a dozen\nsmall, high-explosive bombs.\nIn less than five minutes he transferred the deadly cargo to his own\nplane.\n\"Thanks a lot for the pineapples,\" he yelled at the disgruntled flyer\nclinging to the pontoon. \"I guess we won't sink your plane after all.\"\n\"Give me those surprise parties,\" said Pat.\n\"You can't gauge air speed,\" replied Tim. \"I can fly and handle the\nbombing at the same time. We'll go low and you may be able to rake the\ndeck of the _Iron Mate_ with your gun.\"\nPat grinned and gave voice to a wild, Irish battle cry as the Sea King\nleaped into the air.\nThere was a gun both fore and aft on the _Iron Mate_, and both of them\nwere firing steadily at the _S-18_ when the Sea King flashed over the\nfirst time.\nPat, leaning over the edge of the cockpit, let a blistering blast of\nfire loose and Tim dropped one of the bombs. It struck a scant 25 yards\nbeyond the _Iron Mate_, sending a great spray of water into the air.\nBanking the Sea King sharply, they swept back toward the tramp steamer.\nMen were running excitedly about the deck for the attack from the air\nhad taken them by surprise. Again Pat raked the deck with fire while\nTim, working rapidly, dropped two bombs overboard.\nThe first one missed, falling short, but the second struck only a few\nfeet from the gun on the fore deck. There was a shattering blast of\nflame and smoke, the scream of rent steel, and the cries of frightened\nmen.\nRelentlessly the Sea King bore down again. This time Tim aimed at the\nafter deck. There were only three bombs left. He swooped low, dropping\nonly one of the missiles, but he had the range and scored a direct hit.\nIn less than a minute both guns had been put out of commission and the\nship badly damaged.\n\"We'll plant another 'egg' midships and then call it a day,\" yelled Tim.\nOnce more the Sea King, struts and wires screaming vengeance, swept\ndown. Again Tim scored a hit, the blast from the third bomb leveling\nthe stubby masts and the funnel. The deck of the ship was strewn with\nwreckage and the _Iron Mate_ was definitely out of commission as far as\nany more fighting was concerned.\nTim landed the Sea King inside the barrier of reefs and taxied\nalongside the _S-18_.\n\"Splendid work,\" shouted Commander Ford, and the others in the crew\nwere loud in their praise.\nTim and Pat made the Sea King fast again at its moorings and rowed back\nto the submarine. In the distance the _Iron Mate_ was painfully limping\naway from the scene.\nWith the menace of the _Iron Mate_ definitely removed from their\nthoughts, the crew of the _S-18_ turned their full attention to the\ntask of retrieving the treasure in the Southern Queen.\nMess that noon was a hasty meal with Commander Ford and the chief\ndivers, Charlie Gill and Russ Graham, taking just time enough to grab a\nsandwich and gulp a cup of hot coffee.\nThere was a haze over the mainland and the air was heavy, surcharged\nwith tension. The song of the Isle of the Singing Trees was high\npitched and Tim would be glad to see the last of the dismal island.\nPlans for the dive down to the hull of the Southern Queen were\ncompleted. Members of the crew hurried to their stations, hatches were\nmade fast and the warning bell echoed throughout the interior.\nTim was in the diving compartment. Charlie and Russ had already donned\ntheir diving suits and entered the special compartment. Telephone\ncables, protected by a steel sheeting, ran into the main compartment,\ngiving the divers instant communication with their helpers. Earl Bell\nwas at the phones as chief assistant with Roy Gould standing by.\nCommander Ford hurried up.\n\"Everything all set?\" he asked Bell.\n\"Charlie and Russ are ready and everything in the special diving\ncompartment seems to be all right.\"\n\"Tell them we're going down.\"\nCommander Ford hastened back to the control room. From the rear of the\n_S-18_ came the hum of the powerful electrics. Tim felt the submarine\nmove slightly. They were going down, going to the bottom of the\ntreacherous bay in search of a fortune in gold, a fortune which had\nbeen under water for eleven years.\nThe special diving compartment in which Charlie and Russ were seated\nfilled with water. Gently the _S-18_ eased toward the bottom, scarcely\nmore than a foot at a time.\nTen, twenty, thirty, forty feet they went down. Tim watched the gauges\nfascinated.\nThe two divers, in their heavily armored suits, sat quietly in their\ncompartment as the pressure increased with the depth.\nThe 100-foot mark was passed. Still the _S-18_ was going down. Roy\nGould snapped on a switch. Powerful searchlights set in the outer hull\nespecially for this operation cut the blackness of the water. Strange\nfish blinked their eyes and scuttled away from this monster which was\ninvading the deep.\nNow Tim was at one of the quartz windows. In spite of their high power,\nthe searchlights were effective for only a few feet. While he watched\nthe gaunt mast of a ship came upward from the depths. They were\ndescending almost on top of the Southern Queen.\nA stubby funnel, rising at a crazy angle, was next, and ahead of that\nTim thought he could glimpse the battered bridge.\nThe motion of the _S-18_ was almost imperceptible now. The divers,\nwatching the descent closely, were giving orders which Earl Bell\nrelayed on to the control room.\nThe main deck of the Southern Queen, now heavily encrusted with sea\ngrowth, came into view and the _S-18_ slid lower. There was a gentle\nbump as it touched the bottom.\nCommander Ford came forward and took the telephone from Earl. There was\na slight jar as the divers opened the outer door of their compartment\nand stepped outside the hull of the submarine. Pressure inside their\nown compartment and that outside had been equalized all of the way down\nand they were ready to seek an opening into the interior of the\ntreasure ship.\nMoving slowly and with each carrying a hand torch, they disappeared\nbeyond the outer rim of light.\nIt was a tense group in the diving room, clustered around Commander\nFord. Tersely he relayed the progress of the divers.\n\"They're going back along the hull, hunting for an opening. Charlie\nGill says the current is strong here but the footing is hard; probably\nvolcanic rock.\"\nThere was a moment of silence. Electric fans kept a constant flow of\nair.\nCommander Ford spoke again. \"They're still moving back. Wait! Russ\nGraham's found a hole, probably the one knocked in the hull when the\nSouthern Queen struck the reef. They're going inside!\"\nEvery word burned itself into Tim's memory. It took nerve even to go to\nthe bottom of the ocean, but then to get out of a submarine in a diving\nsuit and walk around the ocean floor and climb into the interior of an\nold hull took more than nerve.\n\"They're not far from the ship's strong room,\" went on Commander Ford,\neach word low but distinct.\nEagerly they waited for the next message from the interior of the\nSouthern Queen. Would the divers be able to get into the strong room?\nWould the treasure be there? A dozen questions hammered through the\nmind of every man aboard the _S-18_.\nRoy Gould checked the even flow of air through the air lines. It was\nthe life blood for the men outside. Once that stopped they wouldn't\nhave a chance.\nCommander Ford bent nearer the mouthpiece of the phone, pressed the\nheadset closer to his ears, straining for the first word of the\ntreasure. His hands were shaking slightly.\nThen he turned toward them, his voice hoarse with excitement.\n\"They're in the strong room; they've found the treasure!\"\nHis words echoed the length of the _S-18_ and a shout went up from the\ncrew.\n\"Charlie Gill says someone must have made an attempt to get the\ntreasure out before the Southern Queen sunk. The door of the strong\nroom is open and several of the steel chests are outside the door.\nThey're bringing them out now.\"\nMinutes passed as the divers, each carrying a steel chest, made their\nway out of the interior of the Southern Queen and back along the side\nof the _S-18_.\nTim's keen eyes were the first to see them. Russ Graham was ahead, his\narms wrapped around a rusty steel chest. Close behind came Charlie\nGill, with a similar chest in his arms. They deposited these in the\ndiving compartment and waved to the men watching them through the\nquartz windows.\nThen they were beyond the circle of light, seeking more treasure in the\nhold of the old tramp steamer.\n\"How long can they remain down at this depth?\" Tim asked the commander.\n\"Not long. The pressure is too great, but Charlie and Russ are the best\ndivers in the world. They'll stick as long as they dare.\"\nAnother and still another trip was made by the divers into the hold of\nthe Southern Queen. The pile of steel boxes mounted. Six were stacked\ntogether. There were only two more. Then the job would be done.\nIke Green came running forward from his radio room.\n\"Something mighty funny is happening near us,\" he told Commander Ford.\n\"My microphones are picking up all kinds of noises within the last two\nminutes.\"\nA slight tremor ran through the hull of the _S-18_.\nCommander Ford shouted into the telephone.\n\"Charlie! Russ! Return at once! Don't attempt to bring out the rest of\nthe gold. Hurry!\"\nThere was another slight movement. Men looked at each other in\namazement and fear. Out of the darkness came the divers. Charlie Gill\nhad a treasure chest. Russ Graham's arms were empty. Into the\nprotection of their diving compartment they stumbled. With a clang the\nouter doors snapped shut.\n\"We're getting back to the surface as soon as possible and away from\nthe hull of the Southern Queen at once,\" snapped Commander Ford.\nMen hastened back to their posts, but before they could get there, the\n_S-18_ moved again. From the outside there was the sound of metal\nscraping against metal. Then silence.\nThey took their places, diving planes were adjusted for the ascent and\norders flew from Commander Ford's lips. The electric motors purred\nsmoothly. Compressed air hissed into the ballast tanks, blowing the\nwater out to lighten the submarine. Tim, watching the depth gauge,\nwaited for the needle to move.\nEarl Bell came into the control room.\n\"You might as well shut off the motors and save the air,\" he said\ndully. \"That last shock put a part of the hull of the Southern Queen on\ntop of us. We're trapped.\"\nThe men in the control room stared at Bell with unbelieving eyes.\n\"I tell you part of the hull of the Southern Queen has been rolled over\non top of us,\" shouted Earl. \"We're trapped! We're trapped!\" His voice\nbroke.\nTim felt sick. Down 185 feet under the surface of the water, there was\nno way of sending up news of their predicament and no one there even if\nthey could send it up.\nCommander Ford remained calm.\n\"Stay at your posts,\" he ordered. \"I'll go forward and see what can be\nlearned.\"\nTim followed him. The Commander took over the telephone and spoke to\nthe divers, sitting inside their compartment.\n\"What can you make out?\" he asked Charlie Gill.\nThe reply was not encouraging.\n\"Part of the upperstructure of the Southern Queen was toppled over on\nus when that last earth shock came,\" reported Gill. \"I'm going outside\nand see what can be done.\"\nThe doors of the diving compartment clicked open and the chief diver\ndisappeared.\nLong minutes dragged by. There was no word from the man on whom they\nwere pinning so much of their hopes.\nFinally Charlie Gill staggered back into view. Tim knew from the sag of\nhis shoulders that the mission had been useless.\nAgain the doors of the diving compartment were shut and he heard Gill's\nvoice coming over the wire into the receivers on Commander Ford's head.\n\"We're caught tight,\" reported the diver. \"There doesn't seem to be a\nchance to escape.\"\nTim looked down at the rusty treasure chests, piled in such a haphazard\nfashion on the floor of the outer diving compartment. All thought of\nthe treasure had left their minds now. The one desire was to get back\nto the surface.\nThe _S-18_ quivered occasionally as new earth shocks rocked the bottom\nof the ocean.\nCommander Ford put down the headset and turned back toward the control\nroom.\n\"We'll try it again,\" he said.\nThe electrics hummed, the propellers threshing first one way and then\nanother, but there was no upward movement of the submarine.\nThe water was blown from the diving compartment and Gill and Graham\nstruggled out of their diving suits.\nCommander Ford called them to one side, and they conversed at length.\nTim caught only snatches of the conversation, but it was enough to tell\nhim that their situation was almost hopeless. Already the air inside\nthe _S-18_ seemed heavy and his head ached miserably.\n\"How long can we last?\" he asked Pat, who was standing by in the\ncontrol room.\nThe chief officer shrugged.\n\"Let's not think about that.\"\nThe motors were shut off and the only sound was the faint humming of\nthe ventilating fans as they forced a current of air from one\ncompartment to another.\nThe crew, gathered in little groups, conversed in whispers. Joe\nGartner, the gunner, battered open the top of one of the treasure\nchests and neat rows of gold bars were revealed. There was only a\nmurmur of enthusiasm. Any man aboard would have traded a safe trip back\nto the surface for his share of the gold.\nCommander Ford decided upon a desperate plane of action. A special bomb\nwith a time fuse was rigged and Charlie Gill donned his diving suit\nagain and went outside. They saw him working his way along the hull of\nthe Southern Queen. Somewhere out there he would plant the bomb in the\nhope that the explosion would loosen the wreckage and allow the _S-18_\nto shoot toward the surface.\nFifteen minutes later he was back. In five more minutes the bomb would\ngo off. Tim literally counted every second. The crew waited at their\nposts and the motors were ready to push the _S-18_ toward the surface\nif they broke free.\nThe _S-18_ shook slightly. The propellers threshed madly, but there was\nno upward movement.\nThis time Russ Graham went outside. When he came back he shook his head.\n\"Explosive won't budge the wreckage,\" he said. \"It would take a bucket\nof nitro at this depth and we haven't any nitro.\"\nDespair lined the face of every man who heard those words. Most of them\nwere submarine men, and they knew what was ahead--bad air, headaches,\ndimming lights, then darkness for the _S-18_ and for them.\n\"We might as well save the electricity,\" said Commander Ford. Lights\nwere turned off until only one bulb gleamed in each compartment.\nSome of the men got together a meal. Tim didn't feel like eating. Still\ntrue to the code of reporters, he sat down and with pencil and paper\nwrote the story of the last dive of the _S-18_. For an hour he wrote.\nTime meant nothing to the men now. The end would come when the light\nfaded and the air gave out.\nTim's head pounded to the throbbing of the blood through his body. A\nfew of the men rolled into their blankets, trying to sleep. The\ntreasure chests were forgotten.\nThe hours passed and Tim wrote slowly, recording his impressions.\nThe storage batteries had been drained of their reserve by the heavy\npulls of the motors in trying to free the submarine and now only two\nlights were on, one in the control room, the other in the crew's\nquarters.\nIt was hard to breath. The air was thick and foul. A thin stream of\nwater was spurting into the engine room where a seam had opened under\nthe pressure and the weight of the wreckage above it. Tim could hear\nthe water splashing on the floor.\nThe light was dimmer, only a faint glow now. Then it was gone. Writing\nwas a thing of the past, but in his hands he held the record of their\ntragedy. Perhaps someday the _S-18_ would be found and their story\nknown.\nTim fumbled for his blankets. The air was cold. He laid down on the\nbunk. Up ahead was the steady splashing of the water. Back of him a man\nwas quietly praying.\nTim closed his eyes. His head was splitting. Perhaps sleep would bring\npeace.\nThere was no sound in the _S-18_ except the low breathing of men who\nwere saving every precious breath and the sound of the water coming in\nthrough the opened seam.\n\"When the water reaches the batteries there'll be chlorine,\" someone\nmuttered.\n\"Let's hope it reaches them soon,\" another voice replied. \"This waiting\nis what hurts.\"\nTim was drowsy, his mind a blank. The end was near for all of them.\nAnother half hour, not much longer.\nAn occasional earth tremor could be felt, but they were less distinct.\nTim was on the verge of unconsciousness when the _S-18_ rocked sharply\nas though a giant hand had grasped the conning tower and was shaking\nthe big undersea craft in a playful manner. There was the faint sound\nof scraping metal, followed by another shock which threw men from their\nbunks.\nWater was cascading in upon them. Screams filled the air.\n\"We've broken in two,\" was one desperate cry.\nTim struggled to get to his feet. Water swished about his feet and\nsomeone knocked him down. Pat was shouting wildly.\n\"Shut up!\" he cried. \"Try and get to your stations. We're moving!\"\nMen paused, dazed by the words. Gradually the meaning penetrated their\nfagged brains and through the darkness they hunted for their places.\nPat was right. Without power of its own, the _S-18_ was moving. Slowly\nat first, then with an upward rush that tumbled them about like\njack-straws. The slim nose burst through the water and rose above the\nsurface.\nCommander Ford, who had remained in the control room, crawled up the\nladder and opened the main hatch. A breath of fresh, sweet air, swept\ndown into grateful faces. One by one the men crawled out on the deck.\nIt was the dawn of the second day. They had been saved from death below\nthe surface, saved by an earthquake which had shifted the wreckage of\nthe Southern Queen off the hull of the _S-18_.\nTim looked toward the Isle of the Singing Trees. The seaplane was\nriding safely just off the beach. It was less than 48 hours since they\nhad gone below but he had lived a lifetime in those desperate hours of\ndarkness and despair.\nFor half an hour they relaxed, basking in the sunshine of the early\nmorning. Then they set about making the _S-18_ ready for the long\ncruise back to New York.\nTim, remembering the story he had written while they were on the\nbottom, plunged below. Part of the paper was wet, but Ike Green decided\nhe could read it and he sat down at the radio to transmit it to the New\nYork Journal and the Atkinson _News_.\n\"I'm sending a story on the recovery of the treasure,\" Tim said to\nCommander Ford. \"How much shall I say the gold totals?\"\n\"It will exceed two million dollars,\" smiled the Commander, \"which\nmeans a tidy sum for every member of the crew.\"\n\"I wouldn't go through that experience again for a whole million,\"\nreplied Tim.\n\"Neither would I,\" agreed the Commander. \"It was little short of a\nmiracle that saved us from death.\"\nOut of the air crackled a message that afternoon. It was from George\nCarson, back in Atkinson.\n\"Your story is the best of the year,\" radioed the managing editor of\nthe _News_. \"Congratulations on a fine piece of writing, but don't take\nany more chances by going down in a submarine.\"\nTim slipped the message in a pocket. It had been a great adventure,\nmore thrilling by far than he had ever dared to dream, but he would be\nglad when the _S-18_ nosed its way back into New York harbor.\n        This is the fourth book in the Tim Murphy Series. Have\n        you read all of them?\n              Volume I    Daring Wings\n              Volume II   Sky Trail\n              Volume III  Circle-Four Patrol\n              Volume IV   The Treasure Hunt of the _S-18_\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Treasure Hunt of the S-18, by Graham M. Dean", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  The Treasure Hunt of the S-18\n"},
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1934, "culture": " English\n", "content": "Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan\nand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\n                    _A Story of the Daring Exploits\n                      Goldsmith Publishing Company\n                    The Goldsmith Publishing Company\n              MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA\nBob Houston, youthful clerk in the archives division of the War\nDepartment, drew his topcoat closer about him and shivered as he stepped\nout of the shelter of the apartment house entrance and faced the chill\nfall rain.\nGoing back to the office after a full day bent over a desk was no fun,\nbut a job was a job, and Bob was thankful for even the small place he\nfilled in the great machine of government.\nThe raw, beating rain swept into his face as he strode down the avenue. A\ncruising taxicab, hoping for a passenger, pulled along the curb, but Bob\nwaved the vehicle away. Just then he had no extra funds to invest in taxi\nfare.\nThe avenue was deserted and Bob doubted if there would be many at work in\nthe huge building where the archives division was sheltered.\nAt the end of a fifteen-minute walk Bob turned in at the entrance of a\nhulking gray structure. The night guard nodded as he recognized Bob and\nthe clerk stepped through the doorway.\nBob paused in the warmth of the lobby and shook the water from his coat\nand hat. Fortunately he had worn rubbers so his feet were dry and he felt\nthere was little chance of his catching cold.\nThe door behind him opened and a blast of raw air swirled into the lobby.\nBob turned quickly; then hurried to greet the newcomer.\n\u201cHello Uncle Merritt,\u201d he cried. \u201cI didn\u2019t expect to run into you down\nhere tonight.\u201d\nMerritt Hughes, one of the crack agents of the Department of Justice,\nsmiled as he shook the rain from his hat.\n\u201cI was driving home when I caught a glimpse of you coming in here.\nWorking tonight?\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ve got at least two hours of work ahead of me,\u201d replied Bob.\n\u201cAnyone else going to be with you?\u201d inquired his uncle.\n\u201cNo, I\u2019m alone.\u201d\n\u201cGood. I want to talk with you where there is no chance that we may be\noverheard.\u201d\nBob was tempted to ask what it was all about, but he knew that in good\ntime his uncle would tell him.\nThey stepped into an automatic elevator and Bob pressed the control\nbutton.\nThere was a distinct resemblance between uncle and nephew. Merritt Hughes\nlooked as though he might be Bob\u2019s older brother. He was well built,\nabout five feet eight inches tall, and usually tipped the scales at 160\npounds, but there was no fat on his well conditioned body. His hair was a\ndull brown, but the keenness of his eyes made up for whatever coloring\nwas lacking in his hair.\nBob was taller than his uncle and would outweigh him ten pounds. His hair\nwas light and his pleasant blue eyes were alert to everything that was\ngoing on. Both had rather large and definite noses, and Bob often chided\nhis uncle on that family trait.\nThe elevator stopped at the top floor and they stepped out. Another guard\nstopped them and Bob was forced to present his identification card. The\nsmall golden badge which his uncle displayed was sufficient to gain his\nadmittance.\nBob\u2019s desk was in one wing of the archives division and they made their\nway there without loss of time. Bob took his uncle\u2019s topcoat and hung it\nbeside his own. When he turned back to his desk, his uncle was seated on\nthe other side, leaning back comfortably in a swivel chair.\n\u201cStill have the idea you\u2019d like to join the bureau of investigation of\nthe Department of Justice?\u201d asked Merritt Hughes. The question was\ncasual, almost offhand, and Bob wasn\u2019t sure that he had heard correctly.\n\u201cYou\u2019re kidding me now,\u201d he grinned. \u201cYou know I\u2019d like to get in the\nservice, but I haven\u2019t a chance. Why, I\u2019m not through with my college\nwork, and they\u2019re only taking graduates now.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m not kidding, Bob; I\u2019m serious. I think there may be a chance for you\nto get in. Of course you\u2019d have to finish your college work after you\nwere in the department, but that wouldn\u2019t be too much of a handicap.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll say it wouldn\u2019t,\u201d exulted Bob. \u201cNow tell me what it\u2019s all about.\nThe last time I talked to you about getting in, you gave me about as much\nencouragement as though I was suggesting a swim across the Atlantic\nocean.\u201d\nMerritt Hughes was a long time in answering, and when he finally spoke\nhis voice was so low that anyone ten feet away would have been unable to\nhear his words.\n\u201cThere\u2019s trouble and big trouble brewing right in this department,\u201d he\nsaid. \u201cWe don\u2019t know just exactly what is going to happen, but we must be\nprepared for any emergency.\u201d\nBob started to speak, but his uncle waved the words aside and went on.\n\u201cWe could plant an agent here, but that might be too obvious. What we\nneed is someone on the inside whom we can trust fully.\u201d\nBob, teetering on the edge of his chair, breathlessly waited for the next\nwords.\n\u201cI\u2019m counting on you to be the key in the intrigue that\u2019s going on right\nnow in this building,\u201d said Merritt Hughes. \u201cWhat about it?\u201d\n\u201cYou know you can rely on me,\u201d said Bob. \u201cWhy, I\u2019d do almost anything,\ntake almost any risk to get into the bureau of investigation of the\nDepartment of Justice.\u201d\n\u201cI know you would, Bob, but that isn\u2019t going to be necessary. All I want\nis someone who will keep his eyes open, listen to everything that is said\naround here, and report to me each night in detail. You know I wouldn\u2019t\nwant you butting into something where you might get hurt.\u201d\n\u201cBut I\u2019m young and husky. I can take care of myself,\u201d protested Bob, his\neyes reflecting his eagerness.\n\u201cSure, I know you can, but after all I\u2019ve got to look out for you. Your\nmother would never forgive me if any actual harm came to you while you\nwere doing a little sleuthing for me.\u201d\nThere was a tender note in the voice of the agent, for it had devolved\nupon him to watch over Bob and his mother after the death of his sister\u2019s\nhusband some six years before. He had been faithful to the trust and he\nhad no intention now of placing Bob in any situation where there would be\nreal jeopardy to his life.\n\u201cGo on, go on,\u201d urged Bob. \u201cTell me what I\u2019m to watch for and what you\nsuspect.\u201d\nInstead of answering Merritt Hughes stepped to the door, opened it, made\na careful survey of the hall, and then drew his chair closer to Bob.\n\u201cWhat do you know about the new radio developments which have been made\nrecently by the War Department?\u201d he asked.\nBob\u2019s surprise was reflected in the look which flashed across his face.\nThere had been only the vaguest of rumors that startling radio\nadvancements had been made by War Department engineers. It had been only\nthin talk in the department. The clerks mentioning it on several\noccasions when they had been alone.\n\u201cI\u2019ve heard some talk that rather surprising advancements have been\nmade,\u201d said Bob, \u201cbut there has been nothing definite known. Of course,\nsome of the clerks have been talking about it.\u201d\n\u201cBut no one has any definite information. As far as you know, the plans\nhave not been filed in the vaults,\u201d Merritt Hughes was pressing hard for\nan answer, but Bob could only shake his head.\n\u201cThis division handles most of the radio data,\u201d he said, \u201cbut nothing new\nhas been placed in the vaults here for weeks. I\u2019m simply cleaning up\nroutine stuff.\u201d\n\u201cIf new plans and data were filed, you might handle them,\u201d persisted his\nuncle.\n\u201cThat\u2019s quite likely, but I wouldn\u2019t know the contents. Everything comes\nin under seal and with a key number and only the engineers know the key\nand the contents of the sealed package.\u201d\n\u201cStill, you might have a hunch when the papers are important?\u201d\n\u201cI might. There is always talk in the department. But I would have no way\nof actually knowing what was going through my hands.\u201d\n\u201cI was afraid of that,\u201d admitted his uncle. \u201cIt makes things all the\nharder. If you only knew when the plans were going through you would be\nin a position to use every precaution.\u201d\n\u201cBut I don\u2019t take any chances now,\u201d retorted Bob. \u201cExtreme care is used\nwith every single batch of plans that are sent over by the engineers.\u201d\n\u201cOh, I didn\u2019t mean that you were careless, Bob,\u201d smiled the Department of\nJustice agent. \u201cI only meant that if you knew when radio secrets were\ngoing through you could use additional care and set up extra\nprecautions.\u201d\n\u201cYou must be afraid something is going to be stolen.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s exactly what is troubling me,\u201d confessed his uncle, \u201cand I\u2019m\nafraid that unknowingly you may be involved. I don\u2019t want you to get\ncaught in a trap if I can help it. That\u2019s why I stopped here tonight. I\nwanted to have this talk with you, to warn you that there have been\nimportant discoveries by the engineers and that they may be through in a\nfew days. From now on watch every single document that is sent through\nyour hands. Don\u2019t let it out of your sight from the moment it is\ndelivered to you until you have filed it and placed it properly in the\nvaults. Understand?\u201d\nBob, his face grave, nodded. \u201cI\u2019ll see that nothing like that happens.\nBut who could be after these new plans?\u201d\nMerritt Hughes shrugged his shoulders.\n\u201cBob, if I could answer that question this problem would be comparatively\nsimple. The answer may be right here in this department; again it may be\nsome outside force that we can only guess at.\u201d\n\u201cAre you working alone on this case?\u201d Bob continued.\nA shadow of a frown passed over Merritt Hughes\u2019 face.\n\u201cI wish I were; I\u2019d feel more sure of my ground.\u201d\n\u201cThat means Condon Adams is also on the job,\u201d put in Bob, for he knew of\nthe sharp feeling between his uncle and Adams, another ace operative of\nthe bureau of investigation. They had been together on several cases and\nat every opportunity Adams had tried to obtain all of the credit for the\nsuccessful outcome of their efforts. He was both unpleasant and ruthless,\nbut he had a faculty of getting results, and Bob knew that for this\nreason alone he was able to retain his position.\nThe fact that Condon Adams was on the case placed a different light on it\nfor Bob, for Adams had a nephew, Tully Ross, who was in the archives\ndivision of the department with Bob. There was nothing in common between\nthe two young men. Tully was short of stature, with a thick chest and\nshort, powerful arms. His eyebrows were dark and heavy, set close above\nhis rather small eyes, and his whole face reflected an innate cruelty\nthat Bob knew must exist. If Condon Adams was also on the case, it meant\nthat Tully Ross would be doing his best to help his uncle for like Bob,\nTully was intent upon getting into the bureau of investigation.\nBob\u2019s lips snapped into a thin, firm line. All right, if that was the way\nit was to be, he\u2019d see that Tully had a good fight.\nMerritt Hughes smiled a little grimly.\n\u201cThinking about Tully Ross?\u201d he asked.\nBob nodded.\n\u201cThen you know what we\u2019re up against. It\u2019s two against two and if you and\nI win I\u2019m sure that I can get you into the bureau. If we don\u2019t, then\nTully may go up. What do you say?\u201d\n\u201cI say that we\u2019re going to win,\u201d replied Bob, and there was stern\ndetermination in his words.\n\u201cThat\u2019s the way to feel. Keep up that kind of spirit and you\u2019ll get in\nthe bureau before you know it. In the meantime, don\u2019t let any tricks get\naway from you in this routine. Watch every document that comes into your\nhands and let me know at the slightest unusual happening in this\ndivision.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll even put eyes in the back of my head,\u201d grinned Bob as his uncle\nstood up and donned his topcoat.\n\u201cHow long will you work tonight?\u201d asked Merritt Hughes as he opened the\ndoor which gave access to the hallway.\n\u201cProbably two hours; maybe even three.\u201d\n\u201cWatch yourself. Goodnight.\u201d\nThen he was gone and Bob was alone in the high-vaulted room where the\nrays from the light on his desk failed to penetrate into the deep shadows\nand a strange feeling of premonition crept over him. For a moment he felt\nthat someone was watching him and to dispel this feeling he turned on the\nglaring top lights.\nThe room was empty!\nBob turned off the top lights and returned to his desk, which was one of\nhalf a dozen in the long and rather narrow room at one corner of the\nbuilding.\nAs he sat down he could hear the beat of the rain against the window and\nlooking out could see, through the curtain of water, the dimmed lights of\nthe sprawling city. On a clear night the view was awe-inspiring, but on\nthis night his only thought was to complete his work and to return to the\nwarmth and comfort of his own room.\nBob delved into the pile of papers which had accumulated in the wire\nbasket on his desk. They must be filed and the proper notations made.\nThere was nothing of especial importance, or he would not have been\nworking alone for it was a rule of the division that when documents of\ngreat importance were to be filed, at least two clerks and usually the\nchief of the division must be on hand. Sometimes even armed guards came\nin while the filing was taking place for some of the secrets in the great\nvaults across the corridor were worth millions to unscrupulous men and to\nother powers.\nBut until tonight, until his uncle\u2019s words had aroused him, Bob had felt\nhis own work was rather commonplace. There was nothing in his life which\ncompared with the excitement and the almost daily daring of the men in\nthe bureau of investigation of the Department of Justice.\nThe hours were rather long, the work was routine and his companions,\nthough pleasant, were satisfied with their own careers. They were not\nlooking ahead and dreaming of the day when they might wear one of the\nlittle badges which identified a Department of Justice agent.\nThen Bob realized that he must stop his day dreaming. Or was it day\ndreaming after all? His uncle had said that there was now a possibility\nthat he might join the department. But this was no time to ponder about\nthat. He could think of his future when he returned to his room.\nBob went to a filing case which was along the inside wall of the room and\nextracted a folder. Taking it back to his desk he started making entries\nof the papers which were on his desk. He worked slowly but thoroughly,\nand his handwriting was clear and definite.\nOthers might be faster than Bob in the filing work in the division, but\nthere were none more accurate and when his work was done the chief of the\ndivision always knew that the task was well cared for.\nBob worked for more than an hour, stopping only once or twice to\nstraighten up in his chair, for it was tiring work going back to the desk\nafter a full day of the same type of work.\nWhen the file was complete, he returned it to the case along the wall and\nsorted the papers which remained on his desk. They belonged in four\ndifferent files and he drew these from the cases and placed them in a row\natop his desk.\nThe air in the room seemed stuffy and Bob walked to one of the windows\nand opened it several inches\u2014just enough to let in fresh air, yet not far\nenough for the sharp wind to blow rain into the room. Far below him a car\nhorn shrieked as an unwary pedestrian tried to beat a stop light.\nBob went back to his desk. Another hour and his work would be done. He\npicked up his pen and resumed the task.\nBob later recalled that he had heard a clock boom out the hour of nine\nand it must have been nearly half an hour later when the door which led\nto the corridor opened quietly and a man stepped inside.\nThe young clerk, at his desk, was so intent upon his work that he did not\nsense there was a newcomer in the room until the visitor was almost\nbehind him.\nThen Bob swung around with a jerk and recognized Tully Ross. There was a\nmomentary flare of anger in Bob\u2019s face.\n\u201cNext time you come in, make a little noise,\u201d he snapped. \u201cI thought a\nghost was creeping up on me.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m not much of a ghost,\u201d retorted Tully, taking off his topcoat and\nshaking it vigorously to get the water off. \u201cI didn\u2019t know you would be\nworking tonight.\u201d\n\u201cCouldn\u2019t get through this afternoon,\u201d replied Bob, \u201cand so much material\nhas been coming in lately I was afraid that if I let it go another day\nI\u2019d be swamped.\u201d\n\u201cNext time that happens let me know and I\u2019ll give you a hand,\u201d\nvolunteered Tully as he sat down at his own desk, which was two down from\nBob.\nBob nearly laughed aloud for the thought of Tully volunteering to help\nanyone else was almost fantastic. Each clerk had a special type of filing\nand each was not supposed to exchange work with the other. In this way\nthere was little chance for the others to know what documents were going\nthrough for permanent filing.\n\u201cThanks, Tully, that\u2019s nice of you,\u201d said Bob, \u201cbut I don\u2019t know what the\nchief would say.\u201d\n\u201cHe\u2019d never need to know,\u201d said Tully swinging around in his chair.\n\u201cBut if he did find out that we were helping each other, we\u2019d both be out\nof a job and I can\u2019t afford to take that kind of a risk.\u201d\n\u201cNeither can I right now,\u201d conceded Tully, \u201cbut I hope to get into\nsomething better soon. This doesn\u2019t pay enough for a fellow with my\nbrains and ability.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll admit that it doesn\u2019t pay a whole lot,\u201d replied Bob, \u201cbut a fellow\nhas to eat these days.\u201d\n\u201cSome day I\u2019m going to be over in the Department of Justice,\u201d said Tully\ndefinitely. \u201cIt may not be tomorrow or next week, but I\u2019m going to get\nthere.\u201d\n\u201cI think you will,\u201d agreed Bob. \u201cYou\u2019ve got the determination to keep at\nit until you do.\u201d What he failed to add was that Tully\u2019s uncle would do\neverything in his power to see that Tully got the promotion and it was no\nsecret that Condon Adams had powerful political connections that might be\nhelpful in getting Tully into the bureau of investigation.\nTully was in a talkative mood and at such times he displayed a pleasing\npersonality. This was one of those times, but to Bob it was more than a\nlittle irritating for he had work to do and every minute passed in\ntalking with Tully meant additional time at his desk.\n\u201cI\u2019ve had a funny feeling lately that things were tightening up in here,\u201d\nsaid Tully. \u201cEven tonight this room doesn\u2019t feel just right.\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s the wind and the rain,\u201d said Bob, looking up from his work. \u201cWhen\nthe sun is out tomorrow you\u2019ll feel much better.\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t know about that. Say, Bob, you haven\u2019t heard of anything special\nbreaking? Something may be coming over from the engineers that is\nunusually important.\u201d\nBob couldn\u2019t honestly say no, so he made an indefinite answer.\n\u201cThere\u2019s always talk,\u201d he said.\n\u201cSure, I know, but this time it\u2019s different. I\u2019ve heard that the radio\ndivision has made some startling discoveries that more than one foreign\npower would give a few millions to have in its possession.\u201d\n\u201cWhat, for instance?\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s just it,\u201d confessed Tully. \u201cThere\u2019s only vague talk; nothing you\ncan put your finger on.\u201d\n\u201cI thought they kept that stuff pretty well under cover,\u201d said Bob, who\nwas determined to feel out Tully and learn just how much the other clerk\nknew. It was evident now that Condon Adams had been talking to his\nnephew, probably telling him in substance much of what Merritt Hughes had\ndivulged to Bob earlier in the evening and now Tully was on a fishing\nexpedition to learn just what Bob knew. Well, two could play that game\nand Bob, his head bent over his work, smiled to himself.\n\u201cWell, they never advertise the papers they\u2019re sending over for the\npermanent files,\u201d Tully said, \u201cbut you know how things get around in the\ndepartment. Sometimes we have a pretty good idea what\u2019s going through\neven though it is all under seal and in a special code.\u201d\nBob nodded, for Tully was right. In spite of the secrecy which usually\nsurrounded the filing of important documents, the clerks often knew what\nwas going through their hands, for even the walls in Washington seemed to\nhave eyes and ears and whispers flitted from one department to another in\na mysterious underground manner which was impossible to stop. Sometimes\nthe conjecture of the clerks was right; again they might all be wrong.\nBut it was on such talk as this that secrets sometimes slipped away and\ninto the hands of men and women for whom they had never been intended.\nBob\u2019s division, which filed all of the radio documents, had enjoyed a\nparticularly good record. The chief, Arthur Jacobs, had been in charge\nsince before World War days, and he had used extreme care in the\nselection of the personnel. There was yet to come the first major leak\nand Bob hoped fervently that it would not happen while he was in the\ndivision.\nTully puttered around his own desk, shoving papers here and there and\nobviously making an effort to appear interested. Once he glanced sharply\nat Bob, who was intent on his own work.\nFinally Tully stood up and walked to one of the windows. He gazed out for\nseveral minutes and Bob, glancing up at him, got the impression that\nTully was trying to make up his mind what to do.\nThe next thing Bob noticed, Tully was on the other side of the room,\npulling open one of the filing cases. The floor was carpeted and his\nsteps from the window to the filing cases had been noiseless.\nThere was no rule against a clerk opening one of the cases, for the\ndocuments kept there were of no major importance. Something in Tully\u2019s\nattitude caught Bob\u2019s attention. Then he realized that Tully was looking\ninto one of the files which was under Bob\u2019s supervision and there was a\nstrict rule against that.\nBob hesitated for a moment. It seemed a little foolish to make an issue\nover that. Probably Tully had done it absentmindedly. Then he remembered\nhis uncle\u2019s warning to watch everything going on in the division.\n\u201cTully, you\u2019re in the wrong file,\u201d said Bob.\nTully turned around quickly, his face flushing darkly.\n\u201cNo harm, I guess. I just wondered what you\u2019ve been doing and how you\u2019ve\nbeen handling your file. I heard Jacobs complimenting you the other day\nand thought I could get some good pointers by looking your stuff over.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s okay, Tully. I\u2019ll show you sometime when Jacobs is here, but you\nknow the rule about the files. I\u2019ll have to ask you to close that one.\u201d\n\u201cAnd suppose I don\u2019t?\u201d snapped Tully.\n\u201cOh, you\u2019ll close it all right,\u201d said Bob. His voice was still calm and\neven, but there was a note of warning that Tully dared not ignore.\nBob closed the file on his desk and stood up, stretching his long,\npowerful arms. Tully didn\u2019t miss the significance of the motion for Bob\nhad a well founded reputation as a boxer.\nTully turned back to the filing case and slammed the steel drawer shut.\n\u201cThere you are, Pollyanna,\u201d he retorted. \u201cThat file doesn\u2019t look so good\nafter all.\u201d\n\u201cJust so it suits Jacobs; that\u2019s all that concerns me,\u201d said Bob, sitting\ndown again.\nTully picked up his topcoat to leave.\n\u201cWell, anyway I don\u2019t envy you staying on here alone tonight. This place\nis giving me the creeps.\u201d\nAfter Tully had departed, Bob was able to concentrate fully on his own\nwork. A clock boomed out again, but he was too preoccupied to count the\nnumber of strokes. For all he knew it might have been ten o\u2019clock, or\nperhaps even eleven.\nA sharp knock at the door disturbed Bob.\n\u201cWho is it?\u201d he demanded.\n\u201cGuard. Just checking up. How long are you going to be here?\u201d\nIt was the first time in many nights of overtime work that a guard had\never checked up, but Bob decided that it might be a new rule placed in\neffect without his knowledge.\n\u201cHalf an hour at least,\u201d he replied.\nApparently satisfied, the guard moved on and Bob could hear his footsteps\ngrowing fainter as he bent to his task again.\nBut he was not to work long uninterruptedly. The telephone buzzed and\nthere was obvious irritation in his voice when he answered. But it\nvanished when he recognized his uncle\u2019s voice.\n\u201cI was a little worried,\u201d explained Merritt Hughes, \u201cwhen I phoned your\nroom and found you weren\u2019t in. Everything all right?\u201d\n\u201cYes, except I\u2019ve had too many interruptions,\u201d said Bob. Then he hastened\nto explain. \u201cI don\u2019t mean you though. Tully Ross was in and sat around\nfor nearly an hour without doing anything except making me nervous.\u201d\n\u201cDid he hint at anything?\u201d asked Bob\u2019s uncle.\n\u201cYes. The same thing you mentioned. Evidently Condon Adams has told him\nabout it. You know Tully wants a position in the bureau of investigation,\ntoo.\u201d\n\u201cSure, every youngster in the country would like it,\u201d replied Merritt\nHughes. \u201cBetter stop for tonight and run along home and get some sleep. I\nwant you on the alert every hour of the day. You\u2019re in the office from\nnow on.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll be through in less than half an hour,\u201d promised Bob. \u201cThen I\u2019ll go\ndirectly home.\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s a bad night and getting worse. Take a taxi and don\u2019t run the risk\nof catching cold.\u201d\nThis Bob promised to do and with a sigh hung up the telephone receiver\nand bent once more to the task of finishing the filing.\nAs the hours of the night advanced, the wind grew colder and Bob arose\nand closed the window. The air in the room was now damp and it would have\nbeen easy to allow his mind to run riot for the building was strangely\nsilent. Noises from the street, far below, were smothered in the sound of\nthe rain, driven against the windows.\nA slight creak startled Bob and he whirled toward the door. Even in the\ndim light which his desk light cast he could see the handle of the door\nmoving. Fascinated, he watched. The handle was moving slowly, as though\nevery effort was being made to guard against any possible noise. Bob\nremained motionless in his chair as though he had suddenly turned to\nstone.\nThe time seemed endless. Actually it could only have been seconds that\nBob sat there watching the turning of the doorknob. Then the knob started\nback. Unseen fingers had learned what they wanted to know. The door was\nnot locked.\nThrough the hulking building there seemed no sound except Bob\u2019s own\nstrained breathing. In the corridor it was as quiet as in the room, yet\nsomeone must be outside the door, testing the lock.\nBob shook his head. He must be dreaming. His nerves must be over-wrought\nfrom too much work and on edge from the talk he had earlier in the\nevening with his uncle.\nReaching out, he tilted the shade of his desk lamp back and a flood of\nlight struck the doorknob. No! His eyes had not tricked him. The knob was\nstill turning. There was a faint click and then the knob remained\nstationary.\nBob leaped into action. In one fast lunge he was across the room, his\nhands gripping the doorknob. He tugged hard, but the door refused to\nopen. Then he paused for hurried footsteps were going down the hall. Bob\nshouted lustily. Perhaps his cry would reach the guard at the elevators.\nThen he shook the door. It couldn\u2019t be locked, of that he felt sure.\nBracing himself again he tugged at the door and almost fell over\nbackwards when it suddenly opened.\nBob stepped into the corridor. There was no one in sight but from a\ndistance he could hear someone hurrying toward him. A guard came around a\nturn in the corridor.\n\u201cDid you call just then?\u201d demanded the watchman.\n\u201cI\u2019ll say I did,\u201d replied Bob. \u201cSomeone was trying the door here and when\nI tried to open it, the door stuck. Then I let out a whoop. Didn\u2019t you\nsee anyone?\u201d\n\u201cNo one came my way,\u201d said the guard quickly, but his eyes did not meet\nBob\u2019s squarely. \u201cWe\u2019d better look along this end of the corridor. If\nsomeone was here, he might have slipped into one of the other offices.\u201d\nBob shook his head.\n\u201cNo, he wouldn\u2019t have done that. Besides, I distinctly remember hearing\nhim running down toward the elevators.\u201d\n\u201cWell, I wasn\u2019t asleep and no one came my way,\u201d insisted the guard.\n\u201cMaybe you were dreaming a little. You look kind of tired.\u201d\n\u201cI am tired, but this was no dream,\u201d insisted Bob. Then he remembered the\ndoor. What had made it stick? It hadn\u2019t been locked.\n\u201cGive me your flashlight,\u201d said Bob and the guard handed over a shiny,\nmetal tube.\nBob turned the beam of light on the floor, and searched closely.\n\u201cWhat are you looking for?\u201d asked the guard.\n\u201cFor the reason why the door stuck,\u201d said Bob tartly. Then he found it\u2014a\nthin sliver of steel that had been inserted as a wedge. It was an\ninnocent enough looking piece, but when placed properly in a door could\ncause considerable delay.\nBob picked it up and placed it in his pocket. Although he was not aware\nof it at the time, it was the first piece of evidence in a mystery which\nwas to pull him deep into its folds and require weeks of patient effort\nto untangle.\nThe guard had edged over to the door and now reached out to pull it shut.\nOnly a sharp order from Bob stopped him.\n\u201cKeep your hands off the doorknob,\u201d he ordered. \u201cSomeone was tampering\nhere and I don\u2019t want you messing your hands around the place.\u201d\nThe guard hesitated as though undecided whether to obey Bob, and the\nclerk stood up and doubled up a fist.\n\u201cBetter not touch that door.\u201d There was a steelly quietness in the words\nthat decided the guard, and he stepped well back into the corridor.\n\u201cYou\u2019d better get back to your post. I\u2019ll take care of this situation,\u201d\nsaid Bob. \u201cI\u2019ll keep your flashlight and return it to you when I leave\nthe building. I want to do a little scouting around and may need this\nlight.\u201d\nThe guard grumbled something under his breath, but retreated down the\ncorridor and finally vanished from sight. Bob disliked him thoroughly for\nhis attitude had been one of sullen defiance; so unusual from the men\ngenerally on duty at night. It might be well to speak to Jacobs about it\nin the morning.\nJust to make sure that no one came along and touched the doorknob, Bob\ntook out his handkerchief and tied it around the knob in a manner which\nwould protect possible fingerprints.\nThat done, he picked up the flashlight again and started to reconnoiter\nin the corridor, trying one door after another. There was just a\npossibility that the marauder had found a hiding place in an office which\nhad been left unlocked. Bob knew that it was almost a useless quest, for\nthe offices were checked each night.\nHe made the rounds along one side of the corridor and started back on the\nside opposite his own office. The night lights were on and at the far end\nof the corridor it was necessary for him to use the flashlight.\nDoor after door proved unyielding to his touch and he was about to give\nup the quest when he came upon a door that swung inward when his hands\ngripped the knob.\nBob drew back suddenly and flashed the beam of light into the long room,\nwhich was almost identical with the one in which he had been working.\nWhat he saw there startled him more than he dared to admit later, and he\nstepped inside and moved toward the nearest desk.\nThe ray from the flashlight revealed the utter confusion in the room.\nBaskets of papers on top of the desks had been upset and even the drawers\nin the filing cabinets had been pulled out and their contents hurled\nindiscriminately over the floor.\nA slight sound startled Bob and he swung around, the beam of light\nfocusing on the door.\nIt was closing\u2014swiftly and silently.\nBob leaped forward, stumbled over a wastepaper basket, and then reached\nthe door which clicked shut just before he could grasp the handle.\nBob tugged hard on the door, but like the one which led to his own\noffice, it stuck.\nCould it be another wedge of steel? Bob wondered and braced himself for\nanother lusty tug. The door gave way and Bob toppled backward in a heap,\nthe flashlight falling and blinking out.\nBob had fallen heavily and for a moment he remained motionless on the\nfloor listening for the sound of someone moving along the corridor. He\ncould have shouted for the guard, but an inward distrust of the man kept\nhim from doing that. Instead, he groped around for the flashlight, turned\nit on, and got to his feet, considerably shaken in mind and body by the\nexperiences of the last few minutes.\nThe young clerk reached for the light switch and a glare of light flooded\nthe room, revealing even further the destruction which had been wrought\nthere.\nBob looked around. Hundreds of papers had been strewn on the floor; some\nof them had been ruthlessly destroyed and he wondered how many valuable\ndocuments would be lost when they finally checked up.\nBut this was no time for inaction, he decided, and he hastened to one of\nthe desks and picked up a telephone. He dialed quickly, but it was nearly\na minute before a sleepy voice answered.\n\u201cHello, Uncle Merritt?\u201d asked Bob anxiously.\n\u201cNo, I\u2019m not home; I\u2019m still at the building. I wish you\u2019d get down here\nas soon as you can.\n\u201cNo, I haven\u2019t had an accident, but some mighty strange things have been\ngoing on around this floor tonight. One of the offices has been\ncompletely ransacked. I\u2019m in it now. Papers have been thrown all over and\nthe filing cases opened and a lot of stuff destroyed.\n\u201cWho did it? Gosh, I wish I knew. Someone\u2019s been shutting doors on me and\nleaving steel wedges in them. It\u2019s giving me the creeps.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll be right down,\u201d promised the Department of Justice agent.\nBob placed the receiver back on its hook and backed out of the room. The\nfewer things he touched the better it would be and as he drew the door\nshut, he was careful to keep his hands off the knob for there was a\npossibility of valuable fingerprints being there.\nAn eerie feeling raced up and down Bob\u2019s spine as he turned toward the\ndoor which opened into the office where he worked. The building was so\nquiet it was disturbing, yet he knew some unknown marauder had been busy\non the floor while he had been bent over his desk. Could the unknown be\nafter the radio secrets his uncle had hinted about? It was certainly\nworth considering.\nBob reached the door that led into the office where he worked and stopped\nsuddenly. He felt cold all over as he stared at the doorknob. He\nremembered distinctly having wrapped his own handkerchief around the knob\nto preserve possible fingerprints. But there was no handkerchief there\nnow and the door was slightly ajar. The light had been on when he stepped\ninto the hall, but now the room was in inky darkness.\nBob paused on the threshold of the long office, staring into the\nblackness of the room. After his recent experiences he couldn\u2019t be blamed\nfor hesitating a moment.\nShould he close the door, back into the hall and await his uncle\u2019s\narrival or should he snap on the lights and see what had taken place in\nthe room? It seemed to Bob that he pondered those questions for several\nminutes; actually it was less than five seconds.\nHe reached for the light switch at the left of the doorway and pushed the\nbutton. But there was no answering blaze of light; only the dead click of\nthe switch.\nBob knew then that the lights had been tampered with, that more than\nlikely someone was lurking in the shadowy darkness of the office. His\nbetter judgment told him to wait until he could summon assistance, but\nsome other urge drove him on. He couldn\u2019t explain it later; he simply\nwent ahead.\nThe young filing clerk stepped across the threshold, the flashlight in\nhis hand aimed down the center of the room. Then he turned on the flash\nand a beam of light cut through the darkness.\nBob gasped. The light showed papers strewn over the floor and the drawers\nfrom desks and filing cases pulled indiscriminately out and dumped on the\nfloor.\nThe shock of the confusion in the office brought him up short. Then he\nstarted to swing the light about the room to determine the full extent of\nthe damage by the marauder.\nA slight noise to the right caught Bob\u2019s attention and he turned in that\ndirection. Instinctively he knew that danger lurked there, and he tensed\nhis body. It came before he was ready; something hurtling out of the\ndark; something that struck his right hand a numbing blow; something that\nsent the flashlight crashing to the floor where the lens and the bulb\nshattered and the light went out.\nBut the blow sent Bob into action. He must get back to the door and get\nit closed; that would cut off the one avenue of escape for the intruder.\nThe clerk leaped backward, his hands reaching out for the doorway. He\ncollided with someone else; someone wearing a topcoat still damp from the\nrain outside.\nBob thought quickly. He must find some way to stop the other if for only\nan instant. He drew back his right foot and swift kick connected with the\nunknown\u2019s shins with such force that an involuntary cry rang through the\nroom. Bob leaped on and crashed into the half opened door. With anxious\nfingers he found the key on the inside, slammed the door shut and turned\nthe lock.\nThat done Bob dropped down on the floor where he would have a chance to\nrest, to collect his wits, and to plan his future course of action.\nFor a time there was no sound in the room. He could not even catch the\nbreathing of the other man and he thought of the possibility that the\nother had slipped out the door before he had closed it. Then he dismissed\nthat as an impossibility for there had not been sufficient time for that.\nBob knew every inch of the long office; knew where every desk and chair\nwas located and every window. As his eyes became more accustomed to the\ndark he could pick out the lighter blots which were the windows.\nThen a slight noise caught his attention. The unknown was moving,\nprobably on his hands and knees, feeling his way toward the door. Bob\ncouldn\u2019t resist a chuckle as he thought of the dismay that would spread\nthrough the other when he found the door securely locked and the key\nmissing.\nJust to be on the safe side, Bob edged away from the door and sought\nshelter behind a nearby desk. To make sure that he would move noiselessly\nhe slipped off his shoes and placed them beside a filing cabinet where he\nwouldn\u2019t fall over them if it was necessary for him to make a sudden\nmove.\nStrangely enough Bob felt very calm. His heart beat rapidly and his\nbreath came shorter and faster, but his mind was remarkably clear, his\nhands steady. He was glad now that he did not have the flashlight, for\nusing it would only have made him a target for the marauder.\nBob wondered how long it would take his uncle to reach the scene.\nProbably another ten minutes, for Merritt Hughes lived a considerable\ndistance from the building. What might happen inside that room in the\nnext ten minutes was something that Bob didn\u2019t care to guess about.\nAs Bob listened he could hear the almost noiseless movements of the other\nman and knew that he was nearing the door. Then he heard hands moving\nalong the woodwork\u2014finally the gentle turning of the doorknob. Then there\nwas the sharp rattle of the knob as though a sudden wave of anger had\nswept over the man at the realization that he had been trapped in the\nroom.\nBob moved away from the door, crawling on his hands and knees, and he\nkept going until he was well down the room and right at the steel cabinet\nwhere the radio documents were filed. With cautious hands he felt along\nthe front of the case. So far the drawers had not been pulled out for\nthey were identified only by key numbers instead of by the name of the\ntype of papers which they contained.\nThis was one cabinet Bob was determined to protect, for, after what his\nuncle had told him earlier in the night, he felt sure that this was the\nobject of the unknown\u2019s visit.\nOnce more the doorknob was rattled sharply; then silence again shrouded\nthe room and Bob felt his nerves tightening. It was tough waiting alone\nin the darkness. He wondered if the other man possessed a gun and if he\nwould have the nerve to use it if an emergency caught him.\nBob strained his ears for some sound of the other\u2019s maneuvers. A faint\nsort of \u201cplop\u201d made him smile. It sounded very much like a shoe being\nplaced gently on the floor. Several seconds later there was a similar\nsound and Bob knew that they were now on even terms; neither one of them\nhaving his shoes on. This man was no fool; he was determined to keep his\nown movements as secret as possible.\nThen Bob heard a sound which was anything but heartening. The unknown was\ncoming toward him. He could hear the gentle scrape of knees as the man\ncrawled along the floor. He was evidently feeling his way along the\nfiling cabinets and Bob moved out toward the center of the room where he\nfound protection between two desks, set fairly close together.\nHis action was not a minute too soon, for he had barely settled himself\nin his new position when he saw a darker shadow moving along in front of\nthe filing cases. The man was less than six feet away, and breathing very\nquietly, but steadily.\nBob held his own breath as the man passed along the row of filing cases.\nEvidently he was going to make the rounds of the room in an effort to\ncatch Bob by surprise, overpower him, and take away the key. Bob chuckled\ninwardly at that thought. He was too familiar with the room to be caught\nin that manner.\nMoving out slightly from behind the shelter of the desks, he saw the man\nreach a window and raise his head so that he could look down on the\nstreet. It was a temptation that Bob couldn\u2019t resist and he picked up an\ninkwell on the desk beside him, took careful aim, and hurled the heavy\nglass container.\nJust as he threw the inkwell, Bob slipped and the noise attracted the\nattention of the other man. He leaped to his feet and whirled about. The\nglass container, instead of striking the man\u2019s head, hit his shoulder,\nglanced into the window and crashed its way on out into the darkness.\nThere was a cry of pain from the intruder and then a sharp burst of flame\nas a bullet scarred the top of the desk which shielded Bob.\nBob went cold all over. There was no more fun in this thing. It was\ndeadly serious now and he knew that his very life might depend on the\nevents of the coming minutes for this man was cornered and capable of\nshooting his way out if necessary.\nAs the echoes of the shot died in the room, Bob realized that he had been\nfoolish in throwing the inkwell. It had unduly alarmed the other man and\nplaced his own life in jeopardy. The slug from the gun had come much\ncloser than Bob wanted it to.\nThere was only one consolation. The shot should attract the attention of\nthe guards on duty in the building and within a minute they should be at\nthe door, battering their way in. Against superior numbers Bob felt that\nthe intruder would not put up a resistance with gun play.\nBob stared at the windows. The head and shoulders of the unknown had\ndisappeared and the distant noises of the street were clearer now,\ndrifting in through the broken window.\nMerritt Hughes should arrive at almost any minute and Bob felt that the\nwise and sensible thing now was to play as safe as possible and await the\narrival of help.\nCrouched down between the desks, he was in a position to watch the file\nwith the radio documents and he knew that if they were molested he would\nfight with all his strength to protect them.\nAs the seconds passed into minutes Bob felt his muscles tensing and his\nnerves becoming tighter.\nThere was no sound in the room; there had been no sound since the echoes\nof the shot had died away. Had his missile disabled the other man; had\nthe shot been fired involuntarily? They were questions he couldn\u2019t\nanswer.\nWhy didn\u2019t a night guard appear in the corridor outside? Bob believed\nthat he would have risked a call for help if anyone passed. But strain as\nhe might, he could hear no one outside the door.\nThen Bob broke into a cold sweat. The man who had fired the shot was\nalmost beside him.\nBob had been so intent upon listening for some sound in the corridor that\nhe had failed to hear the unknown crawling toward his own hiding place.\nBob sensed, rather than saw, what was happening. He could hear the steady\nbreathing of the other and he held his own breath. Would the man crawl on\ndown the room toward the doorway or would he turn in between the desks\nwhere Bob had sought shelter?\nThe dark blob that was the other\u2019s head and shoulders appeared between\nthe desks and Bob waited for an agonizing interval. Then the figure moved\non and Bob could breathe once more.\nThat had been a close call.\nThen came another sound that brought Bob back to the alert. There was the\nfaint shrilling of a siren.\nWas it a fire alarm? Bob listened intently. No, it was sharper, more\npenetrating. A police car. That was it!\nIt was evident that the other man had also heard the night alarm for Bob\nheard a muffled exclamation. He doubted if it was an alarm turned in by\nhis uncle for his protection, but at least it was enough to alarm the\nmarauder and Bob\u2019s muscles snapped back to steelly tension. He had gone\nso far now that he had no intention of allowing the other to escape at\nthe last minute.\nThe steady wail of the siren drew nearer as down on the avenue the\nspeeding machine dashed through traffic lights and skidded past other\nmachines which were pulling over to give it the right of way.\nThe siren rose to a crescendo and then died to a wail as the police car\nswayed to a stop somewhere below and Bob knew then that rescue was near.\nHis uncle, feeling the need for quick re-enforcements, had evidently\ncalled on the Washington police and commandeered a cruising radio car.\nFrom somewhere out of the darkness came a low, deadly voice.\n\u201cListen, kid, this spot is getting tough. Give me the key to this door or\nI\u2019m going to turn this gun loose and it will be just too bad if I get\nyou. I\u2019ve got plenty of extra clips and I\u2019m going out of here on my feet.\nGive me that key!\u201d\nBob knew there was no time to lose for there was a ring of panic in the\nother\u2019s voice and you never could tell what a panic-stricken man would\ndo.\nThe desks afforded little protection from a barrage of bullets and Bob\nquickly edged his way out from behind them and in between two steel\nfiling cases. While these were not intended to be bullet proof, at least\nthey were much better than oak desks.\n\u201cDid you hear me?\u201d called the voice from near the doorway. \u201cGive me that\nkey.\u201d\nBob slipped his hands into his pockets, and pulled out a key ring. The\nkey to his own room was somewhat similar to the one that fitted the door\nof this office. He quickly detached this and tossed it toward the door.\nHe couldn\u2019t afford to cry out now for he knew the man near the door would\nshoot. The key fell on the floor and he could hear the frantic efforts of\nthe other to locate it. Then came a gasp of relief from the unknown and\nBob heard him fumbling at the keyhole, trying to insert the key and turn\nit in the lock.\nThere was a sharp cry from the man at the door.\n\u201cYou\u2019ve tricked me. Give me the right key. Give it to me!\u201d The voice was\nnearing a hysterical pitch and Bob smiled grimly.\nThe man couldn\u2019t stand the dark and the certain knowledge that outside\nmen were speeding toward that very room, men who would shoot first and\nask questions afterward.\nBob wondered whether tossing another key would again trick the man at the\ndoor.\nBefore he could decide there was a stab of flame in the blackness and a\nbullet crashed through the desks where he had been hiding.\n\u201cCome on; give me that key!\u201d The voice was hysterical now, a scream that\ncut through the room and echoed out the shattered window.\nDown below another police siren was ebbing as a second car pulled up at\nthe curb and disgorged its load of armed men, who rushed into the\nbuilding to follow the lead of the first detail.\nBob faintly heard elevator doors clang open. It would be only seconds now\nuntil they were at the door, beating their way in.\nBy this time Bob\u2019s eyes were well accustomed to the darkness and he could\ndistinguish the shadow of the man crouched near the door, listening now\nto the pounding of the police as they charged up the long corridor.\n\u201cBob, Bob! Where are you?\u201d\nIt was Merritt Hughes and Bob thrilled at the voice of his uncle. Then\ndismay filled him for he knew what would happen if they broke down the\ndoor and charged into the room for a trapped man is always dangerous.\nFists beat against the door and two ribbons of flame streaked from the\ngun, the bullets crashing through the door and out into the corridor.\nBob couldn\u2019t help shouting a warning.\n\u201cKeep away; he\u2019s desperate!\u201d\nThe answer to that was another shot into the desks where he had been\nhiding and Bob knew that the man felt sure he was still hiding there.\nThere was a sudden silence in the corridor and Bob knew that his uncle\nand the police were conferring on the best way to break into the room. As\nhe listened he saw the man near the door moving, backing down into the\nroom where Bob was hiding and if he kept on coming he would pass within a\nfoot or less of Bob.\nBob felt his muscles tightening and he breathed deeply. If he could only\ndisable the unknown, it would solve what promised to become a highly\ndangerous situation.\nThe man was coming noiselessly, in his stocking feet, his head cocked\ntoward the door where he listened for some further move.\nA yard, two feet and now only inches separated them. Bob was ready. His\nhands shot out and caught the other man in a steelly grasp that choked an\ninvoluntary cry from him. At the same time Bob kicked with all of his\nstrength. The blow caught the other man behind the knees and Bob could\nfeel him crumpling.\nThe gun, which he had feared the most, clattered to the floor and they\nwere on equal terms, ready now to fight hand to hand.\nAs they fell the other man twisted about and Bob knew that his adversary\nwas no weakling. He could feel the muscles of the other man\u2019s arms\ntightening and a short, sickening blow that started at the floor caught\nhim on the chin.\nBob was weak all over for a moment, an interval just long enough to give\nthe other a chance to collect his wits. Then Bob was at him again, his\narms held in close, his fists raining blows like a trip hammer. They were\nhard, fierce jabs that would have rocked an ordinary man to sleep in less\nthan ten seconds. He heard the other gasp as a right caught him in the\nmidriff, but he came back for more.\nFighting in the dark was dangerous business. A wild blow might send his\nhand crashing into a steel case or against a desk and his knuckles might\nbe broken but it was a chance Bob had to take and he slammed away with a\nwill.\nSuddenly the man went limp. Bob caught him, fearing a ruse, and shot home\none more hard right. Then he knew that the other was out\u2014out cold, and he\nsuddenly went weak himself.\nFists were beating against the door.\n\u201cOpen up, open up!\u201d It was Merritt Hughes\u2019 voice.\nBob managed a reply.\n\u201cComing,\u201d he called. \u201cJust a minute.\u201d\n\u201cYou all right?\u201d demanded the federal agent, but Bob was too weak and\ntired to reply.\nSomehow he managed to dig the key out of his pocket and with trembling\nfingers he found the keyhole, inserted the key and turned the lock. The\ndoor burst open to reveal Bob standing on wavering legs, and Merritt\nHughes caught him just as he collapsed.\nLights from a whole battery of flashlights seemed to blaze down at Bob\nand he blinked hard as Merritt Hughes leaned over him.\n\u201cBob, Bob, are you hurt?\u201d demanded the ace federal agent.\nBob managed to shake his head. Just then he was too exhausted even to\ntalk.\nAs he watched the flashlights swept around the room, revealing its wild\ndisorder. Then the lights focused on the form of a man sprawled out under\nthe nearest desk and Bob caught his breath for the man was in a uniform\nof one of the night watchmen. So that was the reason why there had been\nno response to his calls for help; the marauder had been the guard!\nMerritt Hughes stepped over to the unconscious form and gazed at the\nman\u2019s face.\n\u201cYou certainly landed a haymaker on one eye,\u201d he told Bob. \u201cKnow who he\nis?\u201d Bob managed to sit up where he could glimpse the other man.\n\u201cHe\u2019s the guard who was on duty tonight,\u201d he said, \u201cbut I don\u2019t know his\nname. He is a new man.\u201d\nMerritt Hughes chuckled grimly.\n\u201cWell, he\u2019s going to a lot different place. Maybe he\u2019ll be able to\nremember his name and tell us a few things when he wakes up. Now just\nwhat happened here?\u201d\n\u201cIt\u2019s a long story,\u201d began Bob.\n\u201cThen save it until we\u2019re alone later. Was anyone else running around up\nhere tonight except yourself and the guard?\u201d\nBob thought instantly of Tully Ross, then decided to wait and tell his\nuncle about that when they were alone.\n\u201cThis fellow was the only intruder,\u201d replied Bob, which was true enough,\nfor Tully belonged to the office staff.\n\u201cTake him down to the nearest station and have him fingerprinted and\nphotographed,\u201d the federal agent told the policemen.\nThe officers leaned down and picked up the man Bob had fought and managed\nsomehow to get him to his feet. Supporting him on their shoulders they\nwalked him down the hall and Bob heard the elevator doors click.\nBob\u2019s uncle tried to turn on the lights in the room, but the switches,\nthough they snapped as usual, failed to send any current into the lights.\n\u201cFuses blown,\u201d Bob heard him mutter.\nThey were alone now, the police having departed with their prisoner.\n\u201cHere\u2019s an extra flashlight, Bob. See if you can find anything missing by\nmaking a hurried search around the room,\u201d directed Merritt Hughes.\nBob felt stronger now and he got to his feet. He was still a little\nunsteady, but the cool, rain washed air, coming in sharp gusts through\nthe window now, cleared his head and he took the flashlight which his\nuncle offered.\nThe twin beams of light swept around the room.\n\u201cWhat a mess!\u201d exclaimed the federal agent, as the lights revealed the\nutter confusion.\n\u201cWho\u2019s in charge?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cArthur Jacobs is the filing chief for this room,\u201d replied Bob.\n\u201cThen you\u2019d better get him on the telephone and see that he gets down\nhere at once. Explain what\u2019s happened and tell him that you want to check\nover the files for any possible missing papers.\u201d\nBob looked up the number of the filing chief\u2019s home telephone and dialed.\nIt was some time before a sleepy voice answered and when Bob informed the\nfiling chief who was speaking the voice was sharp and angry.\nBut when he imparted the news and added that a federal agent was waiting\nfor his arrival and the checkup, the filing chief promised to come down\nat once.\nIn the meantime a janitor came up from somewhere below and fixed the\nfuses so that there was ample light in the long room.\n\u201cI can start in checking up on the files now,\u201d said Bob, but his uncle\nheld out his hand.\n\u201cI don\u2019t want a thing touched until the filing chief is here,\u201d he\nexplained. \u201cThen, if something important is missing, you\u2019ll have a clean\nbill of health.\u201d\n\u201cBut I\u2019m sure that nothing important has come through lately,\u201d said Bob.\n\u201cOf course we don\u2019t know definitely when important records are being\nfiled, but we usually have a pretty good hunch.\u201d\n\u201cThen here\u2019s hoping that your hunch has been right,\u201d replied his uncle.\nBob told him about the condition of the other room down the hall and they\nwent there and examined it at some length, finally deciding to lock and\nseal the door until morning when a more thorough inspection could be\nmade.\nBy the time they were back in the room where Bob worked, the elevator\ndoors clanged open and they could hear impatient footsteps hurrying\ntoward them.\nArthur Jacobs, short, heavy and round-faced, fairly popped through the\ndoor. His blue eyes went wide as he saw the litter of papers in the room\nand Bob felt sorry for the filing chief for Jacobs had a splendid record\nof efficiency.\n\u201cWhat under the sun happened?\u201d demanded Jacobs. \u201cI\u2019m afraid I was so\nsleepy I was sharp with you over the phone,\u201d he told Bob.\n\u201cI guess I would have been a little provoked at being routed out at this\ntime of night,\u201d admitted Bob. \u201cI guess my uncle can tell you better than\nI can.\u201d\nArthur Jacobs, after glancing again at the wild confusion of papers on\nthe floor, faced the federal agent.\nMerritt Hughes described the events of the night briefly and Bob saw the\nfiling chief casting anxious glances toward one of the steel cabinets.\nHis own heart missed a beat or two for the cabinet that appeared to be\nworrying the filing chief was the one in which the newest radio documents\nwere kept. It was here that any papers relating to new discoveries in\nthis field would be placed.\nBut Bob managed to reassure himself. He was convinced that only the man\nhe had caught could have been in the room and there had been no way for\nhim to get rid of any papers which he might have stolen from the file.\nThen Arthur Jacobs interrupted the federal agent.\n\u201cJust a minute. Some important papers came through late this afternoon\nand I placed them in one of the files myself. I want to be sure that\nthey\u2019re here.\u201d\nThe filing chief stepped to the radio filing cabinet and skimmed through\nthe papers with expert fingers.\nBob saw the frown of anxiety deepen on the filing chief\u2019s face as his\nfingers sorted the documents expertly. Jacobs shook his head and then\nbent down and scanned each document on the floor in front of the case.\n\u201cAnything important missing?\u201d asked Merritt Hughes.\nJacobs didn\u2019t answer at once, and when he finally looked up, Bob read the\nanswer in his face.\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the filing chief in a voice so low that it carried only a few\nfeet, \u201cthe papers which came over this afternoon have vanished.\u201d\nBob and his uncle stared at Arthur Jacobs with unbelieving eyes, and the\nfiling chief saw their doubt.\n\u201cThe papers are gone\u2014gone I tell you.\u201d His voice rose almost to a frenzy\nfor this was the first time that such a thing had occurred in his usually\nwell ordered and carefully routined department, and he had visions of\nlosing his job.\n\u201cYes, yes, we heard you,\u201d replied Merritt Hughes. \u201cBut perhaps you missed\nthem in going through the file. Let\u2019s go through together.\u201d\n\u201cIt won\u2019t do any good,\u201d said Jacobs in a flat and hopeless voice. \u201cI know\nthis file from A to Z and the papers that came in this afternoon are not\nhere.\u201d\nThe federal agent paused and looked hard at the filing chief.\n\u201cYou say they were important papers?\u201d\nJacobs nodded. \u201cThey were so important that I refused to trust them to\nanyone else.\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019re sure no one in the department knew these papers were coming\nthrough?\u201d insisted the federal agent.\n\u201cI can\u2019t be sure,\u201d replied the filing chief, \u201cfor there has been talk\ndrifting around the last few days about some important radio discoveries\nthat have been made by the army engineers. But I am sure that no one knew\nthe exact time these papers came over.\u201d\n\u201cWas it a complete file on the new discoveries?\u201d asked Merritt Hughes\nanxiously.\n\u201cI don\u2019t know, but from the usual procedure, I would say that it was only\na partial file. Just as a precautionary step they usually send the\nrecords of new formulas, and developments over in several sections so\nthat it would be almost impossible to take one section and know what it\nwas all about.\u201d\n\u201cBut you\u2019re not sure about this special file?\u201d\n\u201cNo, except that it was small; a single sheet of paper in a sturdy manila\nenvelope.\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019d better go through everything in the room,\u201d decided Bob\u2019s uncle, and\nthey got down on their hands and knees and started rummaging through the\nlitter of papers.\nIt would take days to place these back in their proper sequences and Bob\nfelt sorry for Jacobs.\nThey finished one side of the room and started down another. There was no\nsign of the missing envelope and Bob\u2019s uncle phoned the precinct police\nstation to learn if such an envelope had been found on the prisoner.\n\u201cSearch him again,\u201d he instructed the police when they informed him that\nno envelope or papers of any description had been found.\nBob looked toward the half opened window.\n\u201cDo you think it would have been possible for him to toss that paper out\nthe window and have it picked up by someone on the ground?\u201d he asked.\nMerritt Hughes went to the window and looked down. It was better than a\nhundred feet to the ground and the sharpness of the wind had not\nlessened. He shook his head.\n\u201cI don\u2019t think that happened,\u201d he said. \u201cIt would have been too risky.\nEither that paper is still in this room or it was taken out by that\nfellow when he left.\u201d\n\u201cBut the police haven\u2019t found anything,\u201d protested Bob.\n\u201cSometimes even the police slip up when they run into an especially\nclever crook and this man had to be clever to get in here in a guard\u2019s\nuniform and stand night duty.\u201d\nTheir search of the room neared an end and Arthur Jacobs looked even more\ndowncast.\n\u201cI knew it was missing when I failed to find it in the file,\u201d he groaned.\n\u201cThis is where I lose my reputation.\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t worry about that. We\u2019ve got to find this paper first,\u201d said\nMerritt Hughes. \u201cGo through the file once more.\u201d\nWith the federal agent on one side and Bob on the other, the filing chief\nexamined every paper in the cabinet, but without success.\nMerritt Hughes turned on his nephew.\n\u201cYou\u2019re sure that you were the only one in this office until this fellow\ngot in?\u201d he asked Bob.\nBob hesitated, wondering whether he dared implicate Tully Ross by\nmentioning his name. But Tully had been there and the disappearance of\nthe radio document was too important to let anything like that interfere,\nhe decided.\n\u201cWell, Tully Ross dropped in for a few minutes,\u201d said Bob.\n\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you tell me this in the first place?\u201d asked the federal\nagent, and Bob felt the color in his cheeks mounting at the rebuke which\nwas implied by his uncle\u2019s words.\nArthur Jacobs wheeled around sharply, at the exchange between uncle and\nnephew.\n\u201cWhat was Ross doing here at night?\u201d demanded the filing chief.\n\u201cI guess he just dropped in; saw the lights burning up here and wondered\nwhat was going on,\u201d replied Bob.\n\u201cDid he touch anything, work on anything?\u201d There was a desperate note of\nanxiety in the filing chief\u2019s voice and Bob knew that Jacobs was thinking\nonly of the reputation of his department rather than linking Tully to the\nevents of the night.\n\u201cNo, he only offered to help me, but I told him I was getting along all\nright,\u201d said Bob.\n\u201cDid he ask you about any of the papers you were filing?\u201d pressed the\nfederal agent.\n\u201cWell, not exactly, but he did mention something about the radio secrets.\nThat\u2019s been more or less common knowledge in the department that\nsomething big was breaking and we have all been curious about it.\u201d\n\u201cDid Tully touch this file or go into it?\u201d demanded the filing chief.\nBob hesitated. Tully had looked into the file, but he hadn\u2019t removed\nanything Bob was sure.\n\u201cWell, did he touch anything?\u201d pressed Jacobs.\n\u201cHe did open this file,\u201d admitted Bob, \u201cbut I looked up just then and I\nam sure that he didn\u2019t remove anything. In fact, I don\u2019t think he touched\nanything inside the file.\u201d\n\u201cWhy did he open the file?\u201d asked Merritt Hughes.\n\u201cWell, he mentioned something about wanting to see the way I kept my\nfiles. I guess he said he had heard Mr. Jacobs say he liked the way I\nhandled them.\u201d\nJacobs smiled for it was no secret with him that Bob was his star\nassistant, while Tully was probably the poorest of the clerks who worked\nin the filing room.\n\u201cYou\u2019re sure Tully didn\u2019t take anything out?\u201d insisted his uncle.\n\u201cI can\u2019t be positive,\u201d said Bob, \u201cbut I don\u2019t believe anything was\nremoved by him.\u201d\nMerritt Hughes was silent for a minute. When he spoke again he addressed\nhis words to Bob.\n\u201cGet Tully on the telephone and tell him to dress and get down here right\naway.\u201d\nFrom the tone of his voice, Bob knew that it would be useless to say\nanything more in defense of the other clerk and he went to the telephone\nand dialed Tully\u2019s apartment number. It was two o\u2019clock now and an\nunearthly hour to rout anyone out of bed, so Bob prepared himself for a\nlong wait at the telephone. He was not disappointed for it was at least\nthree minutes before a sleepy voice answered and Bob recognized it as\nthat of Tully.\nWhen he explained that the other clerk must come down at once, there were\nsleepy protests and Bob\u2019s uncle, provoked at Tully\u2019s attitude, took the\nphone.\n\u201cTully, this is Merritt Hughes. There\u2019s been trouble in this office\ntonight. You are one of two outsiders who were in here. If you know\nwhat\u2019s good for you, get down here at once and don\u2019t argue.\u201d\nWith that he hung up the receiver without giving Tully an opportunity to\nanswer.\n\u201cI think he\u2019ll be down without losing any time,\u201d he said, and Bob was\nready to agree.\nTully lived some distance from the office. Bob knew that it would be\nnearly half an hour before he could arrive.\n\u201cLet me have a flashlight,\u201d he said to his uncle, \u201cand I\u2019ll go down on\nthe ground floor and see if there is any chance that paper was thrown\nfrom the window.\u201d\nMerritt Hughes nodded his agreement and handed a light to Bob.\n\u201cI\u2019ll go along,\u201d said Arthur Jacobs. \u201cI can\u2019t stay up here and do\nnothing.\u201d\nThe filing chief was visibly shaken and Bob was glad enough to have\ncompanionship for there would be no fun in prowling through the shrubbery\nat the base of the building at that hour of the night.\nThey walked down the corridor together and turned and faced the elevator\nentrance. The cage came up in answer to their summons and they dropped\nswiftly toward the first floor.\n\u201cFind out yet what happened to the regular guard on our floor?\u201d Bob asked\nthe elevator operator.\n\u201cThey\u2019ve checked his home, but he left there right on time. It\u2019s a cinch\nhe never reached here, though. This building has been searched from top\nto bottom and there\u2019s no sign of him.\u201d\nWhen they stepped out on the main floor there was evidence of suppressed\nactivity for several guards, flashlights in their hands, hurried past\nthem.\n\u201cThey\u2019re even searching the closets,\u201d volunteered the elevator operator,\n\u201cfor the fellow who was caught up on your floor was wearing the guard\u2019s\nuniform.\u201d\nBob whistled softly. This was getting more serious every minute. He\nwondered about phoning the news upstairs to his uncle. But he decided\nagainst that. They would soon return to the upper floor and he could tell\nhim then.\nThe night was as blustery as ever and Bob drew his topcoat close as the\nfirst gust of wind and rain swept down on them. The flashlights threw\nfeeble glows ahead of them as they floundered through the shrubbery which\nflanked the base of the building.\n\u201cOuch!\u201d cried the filing chief as a piece of shrubbery snapped into his\nface and Bob turned to help him.\n\u201cGo on; I\u2019m all right,\u201d said Jacobs and they pushed ahead, Bob in the\nlead.\nBack and forth they beat their way through the shrubbery, their lights\nheld close to the ground. Time after time they stopped to pick up a sheet\nof paper in the faint hope that it might be the missing radio document\nthey were seeking so anxiously.\nNow they were directly under the windows of the office. Bob, looking up,\ncould see the glow of lights from the windows. Here they were doubly\ncareful to make a thorough search and Arthur Jacobs went over every inch\nof the ground with his own light, stooping to be sure that no scrap of\npaper went unobserved.\nThe quest looked hopeless and Bob stood up to ease his aching back.\n\u201cGuess we might as well give up,\u201d he said. \u201cTully will be here in a few\nminutes and we\u2019ll want to be back upstairs when he arrives.\u201d\n\u201cThere\u2019s just a chance the paper might have been blown around the\ncorner,\u201d said the filing chief, who was determined to cling to even the\nmost slender hope.\n\u201cWell, there\u2019s a chance, but it\u2019s a mighty slim one. We\u2019ll have a try,\nthough,\u201d agreed Bob.\nThe rain was even sharper as they turned to the corner of the building\nand the lights attempted to pierce the blackness of the hour.\nFor five minutes they crawled back and forth underneath the shrubbery.\nBob was chilled now and a trickle of water, coming off his hat and\ndropping down his neck, did nothing to improve his spirits. His knees and\nback ached and it would seem good to get back into the office where it\nwas light and warm and there would be no rain to face.\n\u201cI guess we\u2019ve looked under every shrub on this side of the building,\u201d\nfinally said Arthur Jacobs and there was a bitter note of disappointment\nin his voice. \u201cWe might as well give up and go back.\u201d\nBob straightened up and the beam from his flashlight struck one of the\ndeep, recessed windows that were on the ground floor. The ledge in front\nof the window itself was at least two feet wide and it was on this ledge\nthat the beam of light centered.\nBob cried out involuntarily and Arthur Jacobs, hearing the cry, whirled\nto his side.\nSomething was on that ledge; something that was shrouded in black. Bob\u2019s\nheart leaped with an emotion that was one of combined fear and curiosity\nand with Jacobs at his side he plunged forward through the shrubbery.\nBob was the first to reach the ledge, which was about two feet above the\nground level and well protected from the onslaughts of the storm.\nHis flashlight revealed the figure of a man, swathed in a dark blanket,\njammed up against the window.\nBob was reaching for the blanket when Arthur Jacobs seized his arm.\n\u201cDon\u2019t. We\u2019d better wait until we can get your uncle down here.\u201d\n\u201cNo,\u201d decided Bob, \u201cwe\u2019ll find out what this is all about right now.\u201d\nWith that he pulled the blanket off the figure and stared down into the\npain-wracked eyes of the guard who was usually on duty on his floor. A\ngag, which had been ruthlessly put in place, made speech for the captive\nout of the question.\n\u201cRun for help!\u201d Bob told Arthur Jacobs and the filing chief departed as\nrapidly as his short legs would carry him.\nWhile he was waiting for help, Bob busied himself in an effort to\nunfasten the captive\u2019s bonds.\nPicture wire had been used to bind the man\u2019s hands and wrists and the gag\nwas of rough, heavy material which was held in place by strips of\nadhesive tape. It was to this that Bob gave his first attention for from\nthe expression in the guard\u2019s eyes he knew that the gag was causing him\nuntold agony.\nWith capable but gentle fingers, Bob worked at the gag until the cruel\nbandage was freed. He bent down close to hear the first whisper from the\nman\u2019s lips.\n\u201cWater, please!\u201d\nBob half propped the captive up and then turned in quest of some water.\nAnything halfway decent would do. Nearby a small torrent was coming from\none of the drain spouts. It had been raining for hours, so the spouting\nshould have been clean.\nThe filing clerk cupped his hands under the spout and got a double\nhandful of water. This he carried back to the ledge and let it trickle\ninto the other\u2019s mouth.\nHe was just finishing his task when Arthur Jacobs, followed by half a\ndozen guards, appeared on the run, the beams from their flashlights\ncutting a broad swath of light through the darkness.\nThe guards picked up the captive and carried him inside. Blankets were\nproduced, the wire was cut from his hands and feet. By this time Merritt\nHughes, who had been notified, was down on the ground floor. He took\ncharge immediately.\n\u201cGet this man to a hospital at once,\u201d he directed. \u201cTwo of you go along\nto see that he talks with no one. Understand, no one. I\u2019ll be around soon\nand talk with him as soon as they get him into bed and take every\nprecaution to avoid pneumonia.\u201d\nBob felt sorry for the guard. He had been stripped of his uniform, bound\nand gagged and had been helpless on the ledge for hours. It would be a\nmiracle if he did not suffer an attack of pneumonia.\nAn ambulance, which had been summoned, arrived, and they saw the guard\nlifted into the vehicle. Two other guards climbed in beside him.\n\u201cRemember, no one is to talk with him until I arrive,\u201d Merritt Hughes\nordered.\nAs they turned to re-enter the building, the federal agent spoke to Bob.\n\u201cTully Ross got here just before the guard was found. Come along upstairs\nwhile I question him.\u201d\nThey were waiting for the elevator when a short, thick-set man hastened\nin. He was scowling and obviously had been routed out of bed.\nMerritt Hughes turned to greet the newcomer and as he recognized him\nthere was no cordiality in the greeting.\n\u201cHello, Adams,\u201d he said. \u201cI didn\u2019t expect to see you here tonight.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll bet you didn\u2019t,\u201d snapped the other, \u201cbut don\u2019t think for a minute\nyou can bull-doze my nephew and get away with it.\u201d\n\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d\n\u201cYou know darned well what I mean. Didn\u2019t you just phone Tully Ross and\norder him down here; didn\u2019t you practically threaten him?\u201d\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t call it exactly a threat, but I did tell him to get down here\nat once if he knew what was good for him. No clerk is going to be\nimpudent with me.\u201d\nMerritt Hughes spoke firmly and calmly, but there was something in the\nflash of his eyes that told Condon Adams that he had gone far enough.\n\u201cIf you want to come along while I talk with Tully, you\u2019re quite\nwelcome,\u201d he added.\nCondon Adams grunted and shouldered his way ahead of them and into the\nelevator.\nThey were silent as they rode up to the top floor and strode down the\ncorridor to the office where Tully Ross was waiting for them.\nTully\u2019s dark, rather handsome face, was marked by frowns as he saw Bob\nenter behind Merritt Hughes.\n\u201cNow what\u2019s been going on here?\u201d demanded Condon Adams as he surveyed the\nroom with cool, calculating eyes. Suddenly he saw the radio file and he\nswung to face Merritt Hughes.\n\u201cThis case getting hot?\u201d He shot the question out in short, chopped-off\nwords.\nBob\u2019s uncle nodded.\n\u201cLooks like it.\u201d\n\u201cFine one you are not to let me know,\u201d said Adams bitterly.\n\u201cI don\u2019t recall that you\u2019ve ever tipped me off to any breaks in any case\nwe\u2019ve worked on before,\u201d said Merritt Hughes coolly. \u201cWhen you get in\nthat habit I\u2019ll try to learn your telephone number.\u201d\nCondon Adams snorted.\n\u201cAbout what I expected. Well, let\u2019s get along here. What happened?\u201d\n\u201cYou\u2019ll learn all that in good time,\u201d said Bob\u2019s uncle. \u201cRight now I\u2019m in\ncharge and I want to know why Tully came up to the office tonight and why\nhe tried to look through the radio file. Speak up, Tully.\u201d\n\u201cThere isn\u2019t much to tell,\u201d began Tully. \u201cI was going by and when I saw\nthe lights on in the office I came up. Just curiosity, I guess.\u201d\n\u201cSure it wasn\u2019t anything more?\u201d\n\u201cSure.\u201d\n\u201cThen why did you try to look into the radio file?\u201d\nTully shot a bitter glance at Bob for he realized that Bob was the only\nsource of information on his activities while he was in the room.\n\u201cThat was curiosity, too. You know there\u2019s been talk around about some\nimportant papers coming over.\u201d\nArthur Jacobs wrung his hands.\n\u201cTalk, talk, talk. Are there no secrets any more in this department?\u201d\n\u201cNot many,\u201d retorted Tully, who appeared to take malicious glee in\ntaunting the filing chief.\n\u201cThat\u2019s enough, Tully. You know there have been serious happenings. Bob\nwas attacked by a marauder who had gone through the files here.\u201d\n\u201cWhat was he doing out of the room; how did anyone get in?\u201d It was Condon\nAdams\u2019 turn to speak.\nBob replied sharply, explaining what had happened.\n\u201cI\u2019d call it mighty poor judgment on your part to leave this room no\nmatter what the circumstances,\u201d said Adams. \u201cI think I\u2019ll lodge a\ncomplaint against you.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s going far enough,\u201d Merritt Hughes said firmly. \u201cYou\u2019ll do nothing\nof the kind. If this thing is going to get as personal as that I\u2019ll file\none against your nephew for coming up here and attempting to get into a\nfile that is prohibited to him. Now how would you like that?\u201d\nIt was obvious that Adams did not relish the suggestion and the whole\nmatter of filing complaints was dropped right there.\nMerritt Hughes took charge then, questioning Tully carefully about all of\nhis actions while he was in the room. Tully was surly, but he answered\ntruthfully enough.\n\u201cHow about it, Bob?\u201d asked the federal agent.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter? Doubt my word?\u201d flared Tully, his dark face flushing.\n\u201cSimply checking,\u201d said Bob\u2019s uncle and the tone of his voice invited no\nfurther remarks from Tully.\n\u201cTully\u2019s told exactly what happened up until the time he left the room,\u201d\nsaid Bob.\n\u201cThen suppose you tell us what happened after he left and you were left\nhere alone,\u201d interjected Condon Adams. There was an unpleasant inflection\nin his voice that Bob resented; an implication that Bob might have been\nresponsible for whatever had taken place that night. Merritt Hughes got\nit, too, but he ignored it.\nBob told his story in a straight-forward manner. Once or twice Adams\ninterrupted to ask questions, but he gained little satisfaction from his\nefforts to heckle Bob.\n\u201cWell we\u2019ve got two more sources of information,\u201d said Merritt Hughes.\n\u201cOne is the man who was captured in this room and the other is the guard\nwho was found on the ledge down below.\u201d\n\u201cWhich one are you going to question first?\u201d asked Adams.\n\u201cI don\u2019t know. It\u2019s late now. I think I\u2019ll see them in the morning.\u201d\n\u201cNot trying to give me the slip, are you?\u201d the words shot out of Adams\u2019\nmouth, which was twisted into a bitter sneer.\n\u201cI\u2019m simply handling this case in my own way,\u201d replied Merritt Hughes\nevenly.\n\u201cOh, I don\u2019t know whether it\u2019s your case or not. Remember that both of us\nhave been assigned to this radio angle. Well, you do the work and I\u2019ll\nget the information out of your reports. It will save me a lot of tedious\ndetail. Come on, Tully.\u201d\nCondon Adams, moving as rapidly as his short, thick legs would carry him,\nleft the room and Tully, with a backward glance of mingled relief and\nunsatisfied curiosity, trailed after him.\nMerritt Hughes, watching them depart, shook his head and Bob heard his\nuncle mutter, \u201cWhat a precious pair.\u201d\n\u201cWhat are we going to do now?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cWe\u2019re going home and get some sleep. You\u2019ve been through enough for one\nnight. Jacobs, see that he is relieved of routine tomorrow. I want him\nwith me when I question these men.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll make the necessary arrangements,\u201d promised the filing chief, who\nwas still looking disconsolately at the mess of papers scattered over the\nfloor. \u201cUse Bob as long as you need him and I\u2019ll fix up the reports here.\nGood luck and good night.\u201d\n\u201cGood night,\u201d replied the federal agent and Bob echoed the words. They\nstrode down the hall together, entered the elevator, and when they\nreached the entrance of the building were fortunate enough to hail an owl\ncab which went cruising by.\nThe air was fresh, but the rain, coming down steadily, was driven by a\nsharp wind and the night was as raw as ever.\nBob leaned back in the taxi. It was restful listening to the steady hum\nof the tires on the wet pavement. His uncle looked at him quizzically.\n\u201cPretty much all in?\u201d he asked.\nBob nodded. \u201cWell, I\u2019m willing to admit that I\u2019m more than a little tired\nand my muscles ache a good bit from that tussle in the dark back in the\noffice. I thought for a minute that fellow was going to get away from me.\nIt\u2019s a good thing you put in an appearance when you did.\u201d\n\u201cI knew speed was essential and I corralled a few of the local police to\nhelp me out,\u201d chuckled Merritt Hughes. \u201cStill think you\u2019d like to be a\nreal federal agent?\u201d\n\u201cAnd how!\u201d said Bob sincerely. \u201cIt\u2019s got the thrilling kind of a life I\u2019d\nlike to follow.\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t make the mistake of thinking it is all thrills and fun. There are\nmonths upon months when the cases are the merest of routines and the work\nis real drudgery. But every so often something bobs up that does add a\nzest to living. Where do you suppose that radio document went?\u201d\n\u201cI wish I knew. Jacobs will worry himself sick until it is recovered. I\nknew something was in the air, but none of us thought anything important\nhad been sent over.\u201d\n\u201cWell, someone knew it and that someone must have had inside knowledge.\nThere was no guess work in rifling those files.\u201d\n\u201cNo, but someone got into the wrong office the first time,\u201d said Bob,\nrecalling the ransacking of the other office on the same corridor. He\nfelt in his pocket for the thin steel wedges which had been used in the\ndoors. Snapping on the dome light in the taxi, he held them in the palm\nof his hand.\n\u201cThese wedges were used in an attempt to lock the doors and keep me in,\u201d\nhe explained. \u201cI forgot all about them until just now. What do you make\nof them?\u201d\nHis uncle looked at them sharply, but refused to touch them. Pulling out\na clean handkerchief, he had Bob drop the wedges into the cloth, covered\nthem carefully and placed them in an inside pocket.\n\u201cI\u2019ll turn them over to the laboratory. They may be able to find some\nfingerprints if they haven\u2019t been handled by too many people.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m the only one who\u2019s handled them outside of the man who put them in\nplace,\u201d declared Bob, who felt that here might be a really important\nclue.\nThe taxi swung toward the curb. A dull light gleamed over the entrance of\nthe apartment house where Bob had a room.\n\u201cSure you\u2019re all right?\u201d his uncle asked.\n\u201cAbsolutely. I\u2019ll take a shower and hop into bed. Don\u2019t forget to stop\nfor me when you go down town to interview those fellows.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s a promise,\u201d agreed the federal agent.\nBob jumped out of the cab, hurried across the parking and into the\nentrance of the apartment. Turning, he watched the cab pull away from the\ncurb. Then he inserted his key in the lock and entered the building. The\nair was warm and dank and it made him sleepy.\nHis room was on the third floor at the back and the lights in the hallway\nwere none too bright. Bob\u2019s room was part of an apartment occupied by an\nelderly couple, but it had an outside entrance on the hallway and he\ncould come and go as he pleased.\nAnother feature of it was a private bathroom. In spite of its comparative\nluxury, he was able to obtain the room for a rent well within his modest\nmeans for Bob also acted as a sort of caretaker for the apartment when\nthe older people were away on one of their extensive trips.\nBob unlocked the door of his room. He had left one window partially open\nand the air here was fresh. Turning on the lights he undressed quickly\nand stepped into the bathroom where he was soon under a shower.\nA rough toweling down made his body glow and then he pulled on fresh\npajamas. The clock on the dresser showed the time to be three thirty. The\nnight was nearly gone when Bob tumbled into bed and turned off the light\non the bedside stand. In less than a minute he was sound asleep.\nBob\u2019s slumber for the first hour was deep and dreamless. Then his mind,\nas his body threw off part of the fatigue, became restless and pictures\nof the events of the night flashed through his brain. Bob stirred\nrestlessly once or twice and finally aroused enough to mutter in his\nsleep.\nHe must have been reliving the vivid struggle in the darkness of the\noffice for he was tense when he sat up suddenly\u2014wide awake and listening\nfor some sound from the hall.\nSleep vanished from his eyes. There was no mistake about it. Someone was\noutside his door, trying the knob ever so gently. At that moment Bob\nlonged for some other weapon than his two capable hands. The side of the\nbed nearest the door creaked and Bob knew if he eased his body over that\nedge the creaking of the bed might scare away the marauder. Moving\ncautiously, he slid out the side next to the wall and put his bare feet\non the floor.\nAn alleyway ran back of the apartment and a street light at the head of\nthis sent just enough light down to mark the window as a lighter square\nagainst the general pattern of darkness.\nThis turning of the doorknob was getting to be too much for Bob and he\ncast about for some object which he could use as a club. His golf bag was\nin the corner and he managed to extract a steel shafted midiron which\nwould make an excellent weapon if he had a chance to swing it.\nThere was no thought of fear in Bob\u2019s mind as he moved toward the door.\nHis bare feet padded softly across the floor and he reached out and\ntouched the doorknob with his finger tips. It was moving.\nFor a moment Bob recoiled like he had been struck by an electric shock.\nThen he got a grip on his nerves and reached down for the key which he\nhad left in the lock on the inside of the door.\nTo his surprise the key was not in the lock. Then he understood the\nslight noise that had aroused him. Whoever was on the other side of the\ndoor had pushed the key out of the lock and the noise made when it had\nstruck the floor had brought him out of his sleep.\nBob leaned down and felt along the floor. He reached out in his search\nfor the key, became overbalanced, and before he could regain his\nequilibrium, dropped to his knees with a thud that was plainly audible in\nthe hall.\nBob\u2019s hands closed on the key he sought, but as he drew himself upright\nagain he heard someone running down the hall. Seconds later came the slam\nof an outside door and Bob knew that it would be useless to attempt any\npursuit.\nHe turned on the light and opened the door. The same dim lights were\nburning in the hallway. Closing the door, he was sure that it was locked\nand then wedged a chair under the doorknob.\nWhen Bob got back into bed he was a sadly perplexed young filing clerk.\nWhy should an attempt be made to enter his room? The riddle was beyond\nhim. Perhaps his uncle could solve it in the morning.\nBob\u2019s nerves were tight. The mystery of the turning knob had aroused and\nsharpened his senses and sleep was slow in coming to him again. He tossed\nfitfully on the bed, turning the pillow several times in an effort to\nfind a more comfortable place for his head. When he finally dropped\nasleep it was just before dawn.\nOnce asleep, Bob fell into a heavy slumber that was finally broken by the\nstrident ringing of the telephone at the stand beside his bed. It was\nwith an effort that he sat up in bed and reached sleepily for the\ninstrument.\n\u201cHello,\u201d he said in a voice still drugged with sleep.\nThen all thoughts of sleep were swept from his mind by the message which\ncame over the telephone. It was from his uncle.\n\u201cThe head of the bureau of investigation wants you to come down for an\ninterview at eleven o\u2019clock,\u201d said Merritt Hughes. \u201cThink you can make\nit?\u201d\n\u201cWhat time is it now?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cNine-thirty.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll be there with half an hour to spare,\u201d promised Bob. \u201cI\u2019ve got a lot\nto tell you.\u201d\n\u201cAnything happen?\u201d There was a note of anxiety in the question.\n\u201cNot quite. Tell you about it later. Where will I meet you?\u201d\nThe federal agent named an office in the Department of Justice building\nand Bob promised to be there right after breakfast.\nHe hung up the receiver and piled out of bed. His muscles were still a\nlittle sore as a result of the encounter of the night before, but a\nsnappy shower toned up his body and when he finished dressing he felt\nthat he was ready for anything the day might have in store in the way of\nexcitement and adventure.\nBob put on his topcoat and then removed the chair which he had wedged\nunder the doorknob. In the cool light of the morning, the events of the\nnight before seemed fantastic yet he knew that one man was in jail while\nanother was in a hospital.\nBob stepped into the hall and carefully locked the door. More or less as\na reaction he looked cautiously up and down the hall and then laughed at\nhimself. It was just a plain hall and his fears seemed so ridiculous now.\nIt was 9:45 o\u2019clock when Bob stepped out of the apartment building. He\npaused a moment to turn down the brim of his hat for the glare of the sun\nwas too bright for unprotected eyes.\nAcross the street a large, dark sedan was parked and several men were\napparently waiting for someone to emerge from the apartment house\nopposite. Bob turned and strode down the street. There was ample time for\nhim to have a leisurely breakfast and still reach the Department of\nJustice building with plenty of time to spare.\nThe young filing clerk stopped at a nearby restaurant where he usually\nhad breakfast and ordered rolls and coffee. Several morning papers were\non the table and he scanned them with unusual interest.\nWashington reporters were unusually alert and it was just possible that\nthey might have received some hint of what had taken place last night.\nBob went through every page, but there was no story even remotely\nconnected with the night before.\nHe put down the papers and turned to his breakfast, wondering what the\nchief of the bureau of investigation wanted. Of course it must be linked\nwith the radio document, but Bob felt that his uncle could adequately\ngive all of the information needed.\nThen another thought flashed through his head. But it seemed ridiculous.\nYet his uncle had mentioned only the night before that there was a\npossibility. Bob\u2019s great ambition was to become an agent of the\nDepartment of Justice and in that ambition Tully Ross was a bitter rival.\nBob finished his breakfast and started walking toward the Department of\nJustice building. The air was bracing and he swung along at a good pace,\nunaware of a sedan which was following at a discreet distance.\nThe filing clerk turned a corner and started down a little used street\nwhich was a short-cut toward his destination. As he turned, the car\nfollowing him spurted forward and closed in the distance. Bob was less\nthan fifty feet down the block when the car swung around the corner. The\nsqueal of the tires as the wheels were cramped caught Bob\u2019s attention and\nhe turned around to look at the sedan.\nHe recognized the machine instantly. It was the car which had been parked\nacross the street from his own apartment house. Something in the\nintentness of the driver and the alertness of the man beside him sent a\nwave of apprehension pounding through Bob\u2019s veins. He felt sure that the\ncar was on that street for no good purpose and he was the only pedestrian\nin sight.\nBob knew the short street thoroughly. Beside him was a rather high iron\nfence that protected a private home. Just inside the fence was a clump of\nbarberry so thick they were almost a jungle of shrubbery. There was no\nprotection across the street and it was a good two hundred feet to the\nintersection where he could hope to obtain help.\nBob heard the car slow down now and he steeled himself for what he felt\nwas going to be an unpleasant encounter. Just why he had that premonition\nhe could never tell, but in later days, his hunches were to serve him\nwell.\nThe driver of the sedan had a scar on his forehead while the passenger in\nthe front seat, who was nearest Bob, had red hair that frizzled out from\nbeneath a soft felt hat.\nThe car stopped at the curb and the passenger jumped out, leaving the\ndoor open.\n\u201cSay, buddy, I\u2019m looking for an address near here. Maybe you can help\nme.\u201d\n\u201cSorry, I\u2019m afraid not. I\u2019m in a hurry,\u201d retorted Bob, edging a little\ncloser to the iron picket fence.\n\u201cOh, I guess you\u2019re not in such a hurry. Matter of fact, I\u2019ve got a\nlittle business with you. Ain\u2019t you a filing clerk down in the archives\ndivision of the War Department?\u201d\n\u201cMaybe I am and then maybe I\u2019m not.\u201d Bob\u2019s reply was crisp.\n\u201cSmart guy, huh? Well, I know who you are and I\u2019ve got business with\nyou.\u201d\nBob measured the other, wondering just how hard he would have to hit him\nto knock him out. The red head was about five feet eight tall, but was\ncompact.\n\u201cWe\u2019re going to take a little ride and talk. See?\u201d There was a threat in\nevery word.\n\u201cI\u2019m not riding this morning,\u201d he said firmly.\n\u201cGive him a crack on the noodle and drag him in,\u201d called the man at the\nwheel of the sedan. He started to get out of the car and Bob knew that\nbetween the two of them they would be able to overpower him.\n\u201cYou asked for it,\u201d he muttered as his right swung in a short, hard chop\nthat landed on the red-head\u2019s solar plexus. The blow caught the other man\nnapping and doubled him up. Bob was ready for him and a hard cross with\nhis left to the chin ended all thoughts of a fight which might have been\nin the other\u2019s head.\n\u201cHey, you,\u201d yelled the driver. \u201cYou can\u2019t get away with that.\u201d\nBob saw him reaching for his back pocket and tugging at something. That\ndecided Bob, who felt sure the other was reaching for a gun. Putting his\nhands on the fence, Bob vaulted the iron barrier.\nHe landed in the tangle of barberry, but the shrubbery was so tall that\nhe crashed through and a protecting thicket shielded him from the eyes of\nthe man on the other side of the fence.\nWithout waiting to see what was happening in the street, Bob beat his way\nthrough the shrubbery. The thorns tore at his clothes and his hands were\nsoon streaked with scratches, but his thought was to get as far away as\npossible in the shortest time.\nAs Bob clawed his way through the dense shrubbery there was a sharp\nexplosion behind him. Whether it was a shot or the exhaust of the sedan\nwas something he didn\u2019t stop to find out.\nWhen he was finally clear of the barberry, Bob found himself in a small,\nopen yard in front of the house, which was heavily shuttered and\nevidently unoccupied. But Bob wasted no time in reconnoitering the house.\nHe kept on going, running around to the rear.\nThe iron fence enclosed the whole property but there was a gate and he\nmade for this. A heavy padlock secured the gate, but Bob scrambled over\nwithout tearing his clothes and dropped into the alley.\nFrom far behind on the other street he could hear the heavy roar of an\nexhaust and he ducked into a half opened garage on the other side of the\nalley for he had no intention of being caught out in the open.\nWhen the noise of the exhaust finally died away, Bob went back into the\nalley. A walk of a block and a half brought him to a thoroughfare and he\nhailed a passing cab, directing that he be taken to the Department of\nJustice building.\nOnce inside the cab, Bob sat back to take stock of the damage which the\nthorns of the barberry had done to his hands. There were half a dozen raw\nangry scratches and innumerable little snags in his suit from the prickly\nstuff.\nWhen he thought of what had happened in the last few minutes, Bob frankly\nadmitted that he was at a loss to account for it. Why should he be\nsingled out for an attack by a couple of hoodlums? Why should someone\nattempt to enter his room in the night? Perhaps his uncle would have the\nkey to answers when he met him.\nThe cab pulled up in front of the Department of Justice building and Bob\npaid the driver and stepped out. Several pedestrians going by looked at\nhim curiously and he realized that he looked strangely unkempt.\nBob stepped inside the building. His hands were smarting and he took out\ntwo clean handkerchiefs and wrapped them around his hands. There was\nstill a little time before his appointment and he turned around and went\nto a nearby drug store where he explained that his hands had been\nscratched by barberry. A clerk recommended an antiseptic solution and Bob\nwashed his hands thoroughly in this and then wrapped the handkerchiefs\naround them again.\nBack in the Department of Justice building, Bob was whisked to an upper\nfloor and a boy guided him to the room he inquired for. There was no name\non the glass panel of the doorway and Bob stepped inside, wondering just\nwhat kind of a reception he was going to have. There was no one in the\nroom when he entered and he sat down in a chair near a window to wait.\nThe door opened again and Tully Ross stepped in and stared at Bob. The\nsurprise was mutual.\n\u201cI didn\u2019t expect to find you here,\u201d exclaimed Tully, and there was no\npleasure in his words.\n\u201cGuess that goes for me, too,\u201d replied Bob.\nTully took a chair a few feet from Bob and conversation ended right then\nand there. For at least ten minutes no word was spoken until an inner\ndoor opened and Merritt Hughes entered.\n\u201cHello, Bob. Hello, Tully. You\u2019re right on time. Mr. Edgar will be here\nin a few minutes.\u201d\nBob had seen Waldo Edgar, chief of the bureau of investigation of the\nDepartment of Justice several times, but he had never been introduced to\nhim. Through the exploits of the bureau in recent months in tracking down\nsome of the nation\u2019s most notorious criminals, Edgar had become an almost\nlegendary figure for it was from his office far up in the Department of\nJustice building, that he directed, by telephone, telegraph and radio,\nthe great man hunts for the violators of the law.\nMerritt Hughes looked at Bob\u2019s hands.\n\u201cHurt your hands in the fight last night?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cNothing like that,\u201d replied Bob. \u201cI got tangled up in a barberry hedge a\nfew minutes ago and the thorns almost got the better of me. Guess I\u2019ve\nruined this suit.\u201d\n\u201cWhat under the sun were you doing in a barberry hedge?\u201d the federal\nagent wanted to know.\n\u201cTrying to get away from a couple of plug-uglies who seemed to want my\ncompany more than I wanted theirs.\u201d\n\u201cNo!\u201d exclaimed his uncle incredulously.\n\u201cYes!\u201d retorted Bob with equal insistence. \u201cI was taking a short-cut when\na sedan pulled alongside me and one fellow got out and asked about an\naddress. It was just a stall to get near me, but I had seen the car\nparked earlier just opposite the apartment. I was suspicious and when I\nthought he got insistent I let him have a couple. The driver started\nafter me and when I thought he was reaching for a gun I went over the\nfence and dove through the barberry.\u201d\nMerritt Hughes whistled softly.\n\u201cThis is serious. Have you reported it yet to the police?\u201d\n\u201cNo. I thought it was best to come right here and tell you. I didn\u2019t get\nthe number of the car for I was too busy trying to crash through that\nblamed barberry.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s not important. They\u2019ve either abandoned the car or changed the\nlicense plates by this time. Can you describe the men who were in it?\u201d\nBob supplied a detailed explanation and his uncle jotted the facts down\non a small card.\n\u201cThis will give us a lead to work on. Later we\u2019ll go over to the bureau\nof identification and run through some pictures of red heads and men with\nscars on their foreheads. Maybe we can pick up some real clues there.\u201d\nBob was tempted to relate the incident of the early morning at his room\nwhen someone had tried to gain access, but he hesitated to tell this in\nfront of Tully. It sounded a little like a fairy tale or the work of an\noverwrought imagination.\nThe door to an inner suite of offices opened and a dapper, well-built man\nof about 38 stepped into the room. Behind him was Condon Adams.\nBob felt his pulse quicken for even before their introduction he\nrecognized Waldo Edgar, ace of all the federal manhunters and chief of\nthe bureau of investigation.\nEdgar looked at the handkerchiefs on Bob\u2019s hands and smiled quizzically.\n\u201cFighting?\u201d\n\u201cNo, just plain barberry thorns,\u201d replied Bob.\n\u201cThen I take it you weren\u2019t strolling on the barberry just for the fun of\nthe thing,\u201d said the federal chief.\n\u201cWell, it wasn\u2019t exactly a stroll,\u201d grinned Bob. \u201cIt was something like\ntrying to do a hundred yard dash in nothing flat through half an acre of\nbarberry. It was a good place to hide, but a poor place for running.\u201d\nWaldo Edgar\u2019s eyebrows went up questioningly and he turned to Merritt\nHughes.\n\u201cDoes this tie in with what happened last night?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cApparently. Bob was trailed by a couple of hoodlums in a car. When he\nwas alone on a side street they waylaid him, but he knocked one out and\njumped over a fence and ran through a barberry patch to escape. He came\nhere directly after that happened.\u201d\n\u201cAnything else happened since last night?\u201d The question was from the\nthin, straight lips of Waldo Edgar and Bob told in detail what had taken\nplace during the early hours of the morning.\n\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you tell me about this, Bob?\u201d exclaimed his uncle.\nBob flushed. \u201cWell, it seemed like I\u2019d been having enough excitement for\nthe last twenty-four hours and this sounded sort of crazy.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll say it sounds crazy,\u201d snorted Condon Adams and Bob caught a\nsupercilious sneer flit across the lips of Tully Ross. It was plain that\nneither Adams nor his nephew believed the story and Bob turned back to\nthe federal chief.\n\u201cThere\u2019s nothing crazy about this story. It only confirms our realization\nthat some tremendously powerful force is after these radio secrets. We\nknow now that only a part of the secret papers were taken from the file\nlast night. The others had not been sent over from the radio engineering\ndivision of the War Department.\u201d\n\u201cBut how could those papers get out of the office last night?\u201d put in\nCondon Adams.\n\u201cThat\u2019s for you and Hughes here to determine. You\u2019re on this case, but\nI\u2019m going to add a couple of special agents to help you out. It isn\u2019t\nthat I think you\u2019re not capable, but I believe several inside men in the\narchives division will be tremendously helpful to you and I don\u2019t want to\nhave outsiders go in there.\u201d\nWaldo Edgar turned toward Bob and Tully and looked at them through\nsearching eyes. His scrutiny of Bob was fairly brief, but he appeared to\nbe making a more careful appraisal of Tully, and Bob thought he saw just\na flicker of doubt in the federal chief\u2019s eyes.\n\u201cIt is decidedly irregular for this division to take on additional men,\nand especially very young men, but when we feel a case merits unusual\nattention, we do not hesitate to cut away the red tape and employ the\nindividuals we want to serve us. Bob, would you consider joining the\nbureau of investigation as a provisional agent, working directly out of\nmy office and solely upon this radio case?\u201d\nBob\u2019s heart went into his throat and he choked in answering.\n\u201cI\u2019d like that very much, sir. I\u2019ll do my best.\u201d\n\u201cI feel sure that you will. Tully, how about you?\u201d\n\u201cGreat stuff. Count me in.\u201d\nWaldo Edgar nodded.\n\u201cI thought you would both agree. Wait just a moment.\u201d\nThe federal chief left the room and when he returned he had a Bible in\none hand and several small leather cases in another.\n\u201cPlace your left hands on the Bible and raise your right hands,\u201d he\ndirected. Then he read a brief pledge, which they repeated after him.\nThe pledge administered, Waldo Edgar handed one of the leather cases to\nTully and the other to Bob.\n\u201cYou will find your identification cards in there as well as a small gold\nbadge. Further instructions will be given you later in the day. I\u2019m\nexpecting a great deal from each of you.\u201d\nAfter shaking hands with each of them he hurried away and Bob looked down\nat the identification card in the leather case. He was now Bob Houston,\nSpecial Agent Nine.\nThere was a strange mist in Bob\u2019s eyes as he looked up at his uncle.\n\u201cShake, Bob. You\u2019ve got a real job ahead of you and I know you\u2019ll come\nthrough with flying colors.\u201d\n\u201cThanks a lot. This is the biggest thing that has ever come to me and I\u2019m\ngoing to succeed if it is at all possible.\u201d\nThere was a grim sort of a chuckle from Tully Ross, who had shoved his\nleather case with its card and badge into an inside pocket.\n\u201cYou\u2019re going to have to step some if you think you can put anything over\non me.\u201d\nTully and his uncle left the office and Bob watched the door close behind\nthem.\n\u201cNice people,\u201d he grinned.\n\u201cI don\u2019t like the looks of this case,\u201d said his uncle. \u201cIt isn\u2019t pleasant\nto think that you\u2019ve got someone else in the same department, who goes\nout of his way to make it unpleasant for you, working on the same case.\u201d\n\u201cThen why is Adams assigned to team up with you?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cPerhaps because we have a habit of getting results,\u201d admitted Merritt\nHughes, with a rueful smile. \u201cWe\u2019ve been pretty lucky on a number of\ncases where we have worked together. The breaks have been about\nfifty-fifty and now we both want a really smashing victory that will\nbring us advancement. It looks like this may be the case, but it\u2019s going\nto be dangerous business.\u201d\n\u201cWhat do you mean by that?\u201d\n\u201cWell, look back over the events of the last few hours. We know that an\nimportant paper, containing part of a new radio discovery, was sent over\nto your department from the radio engineering division. Before it can be\nproperly filed, a guard is overpowered and two offices ransacked to find\nthis paper. Later in the night another attempt is made to enter your room\nand this morning there was an attempt to kidnap you. Looks to me like\nyou\u2019re in a key position, but I don\u2019t know just what it is yet.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll admit the attempt to get into my room last night and the trouble\nthis morning have me worried,\u201d said Bob. \u201cI\u2019m only a filing clerk so why\nsuch attention should be centered on me is a mystery.\u201d\nThey walked out into the corridor.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll stop at the bureau of identification and see if we can learn\nanything about the fellows who tried to kidnap you,\u201d said the federal\nagent.\nThey dropped down a floor and entered a long room where a number of\nclerks were working at filing cases.\nMerritt Hughes walked up to a slender chap busy at a flat-topped desk.\n\u201cLook alive, Jimmy,\u201d he said. \u201cThere\u2019s business at hand.\u201d\nJimmy Adel, chief of the filing division, looked up.\n\u201cHello, sleuth. Who are you trailing this morning?\u201d\n\u201cOne red head and one fellow with a scar on his forehead.\u201d\n\u201cNow isn\u2019t that a lot of help! Don\u2019t you know that there are a good many\nred heads and a whole lot of people with scars on their foreheads? Just\nbe a little more exact, please.\u201d But he grinned as he chided the federal\nagent.\n\u201cJimmy, this is my nephew, Bob Houston. He\u2019s detailed to help me on a new\ncase that\u2019s breaking pretty fast.\u201d\n\u201cThe radio case?\u201d\n\u201cYou hear about that?\u201d\n\u201cSure, it\u2019s all over the department. Looks big to me. Adams working on it\ntoo?\u201d\nMerritt Hughes nodded.\n\u201cThat means you\u2019ll have to step fast. I hear that whoever solves this\nthing will be in line for an inspectorship.\u201d\n\u201cHope you\u2019re right, Jimmy, because Bob and I are going to clear up this\nmystery. That is, if you\u2019ll give us a little help. A couple of hoodlums\ntried to kidnap Bob a while ago. He can give you an accurate description\nof them and you may be able to pull their pictures out of the files.\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019ll find them for you if they\u2019ve any record at all.\u201d He pulled a blank\nform from a file and fired question after question at Bob on height,\nweight, color of eyes, and any possible peculiarities which they might\nhave had. When he had finished both forms, he leaned back in his chair.\n\u201cI\u2019d call that an almost perfect description of these chaps. If we don\u2019t\ndig them out of the files, I\u2019ll miss my bet. We\u2019ll get something for you\nbefore midnight. Good luck.\u201d\nBob and his uncle left the identification bureau and took an elevator\ndown to the main floor. Bob\u2019s hands still smarted from the scratches they\nhad suffered from the barberry and he kept the handkerchiefs wrapped\naround them.\n\u201cI want to drop in at the police station and question the man caught last\nnight,\u201d said Merritt Hughes, \u201cbut we can stop at your apartment on our\nway down and give it the once-over. We might find something of interest\nin the hall.\u201d\nThe federal agent flagged a taxi and they sped swiftly toward Bob\u2019s\napartment.\n\u201cWell, how does it feel to be a federal agent, even though you\u2019re only a\nprovisional one?\u201d his uncle asked.\n\u201cI\u2019m not quite used to it,\u201d replied Bob, taking out the small leather\ncase and extracting the card and badge which it contained.\nHe turned the badge over carefully in his fingers. His name was engraved\non the back and behind this small emblem stood the mighty law enforcement\nmachinery of Uncle Sam. Bob thrilled even though he was as yet a small\nand comparatively unimportant part of that great system, which was\nrapidly building up a worldwide reputation for \u201cgetting its man.\u201d\nMerritt Hughes settled back in the cushions.\n\u201cThis is likely to be a rather long-drawn out case,\u201d he said, \u201cand from\nthe way it\u2019s started, it may be extremely dangerous. When it comes to\nthat, I want you to step aside and let the regular agents take the\nchances. Do you understand, Bob?\u201d\n\u201cBut I\u2019m not afraid of trouble,\u201d insisted Bob.\n\u201cThat isn\u2019t it. When the pinches come we want men who have been tried\nunder fire in there. You\u2019ll be used as an inside man in the archives\ndivision and in that capacity you are going to be highly important. There\nmust have been a leak somewhere, else how would it have been known that a\npart of the new radio development had been sent over for filing? It will\nbe up to you to find where this information leaked before Tully Ross and\nCondon Adams learn it.\u201d\nThe federal agent paused a moment, before continuing.\n\u201cAfter we find the leak in your department, we\u2019ll have something to work\nback on. That should lead us to the man or the men who now have the\npapers that disappeared last night.\u201d\n\u201cWon\u2019t the man arrested last night be the key to that?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cPerhaps, but I hardly believe so. Usually the boys who do the rough\nstuff in a case like this know little of what is really going on. But\nwe\u2019ll see him a little later. No use in letting anything slip.\u201d\nThe cab slowed down in front of the apartment house and Bob\u2019s uncle paid\nthe taxi bill.\nThey walked up to the third floor and then back along the corridor to the\ndoor which opened into Bob\u2019s room. The door was slightly ajar and Merritt\nHughes was about to push it open when Bob seized his arm and put his\nfinger on his lips. Then he pulled his uncle back several steps.\n\u201cThat door was locked when I left,\u201d he whispered. \u201cSomeone\u2019s been in my\nroom.\u201d\nMerritt Hughes looked startled.\n\u201cSure?\u201d he whispered.\n\u201cThere\u2019s no question about it,\u201d replied Bob.\n\u201cThen keep back and let me go ahead.\u201d It was a whispered command that Bob\ndared not disobey and he saw his uncle reach under his left arm and draw\na revolver from a shoulder holster.\nThey stepped close to the wall and again advanced toward the door,\ntreading silently on the heavy carpet of the corridor. There was no sound\nof anyone moving about inside the room, but Merritt Hughes did not\nbelieve in taking unnecessary chances.\nAfter listening a moment at the door, he reached out with one foot and\ngave it a hard shove inward, at the same time leaping into the doorway,\ngun in hand and ready for action.\nIt was a breathless moment for Bob until he saw his uncle lower the\nweapon and nod to him.\n\u201cCome here and take a look at your room.\u201d\nBob stepped through the doorway, and stopped involuntarily. The interior\nof his room looked like a young cyclone had been turned loose on a spring\nafternoon. Every drawer in the dresser had been pulled out and its\ncontents dumped on the floor, the bedding was strewn about the room and\nthe mattress had been ripped open and even his clothes had been taken out\nof the closet and scattered about.\n\u201cFriends of yours must have been disappointed because you weren\u2019t at\nhome,\u201d said his uncle.\nBob sat down in a chair and took another look around. Nothing in the room\nhad been spared. Even the pictures had been taken off the walls and the\nbacks ripped out.\nHe looked down at a coat which had been dropped beside the chair. The\npockets had been turned inside out and the lining of the garment had been\ntorn and ripped. The coat was ruined and Bob felt hot tears of anger\nwelling into his eyes. His fists doubled up involuntarily. Someone would\nhave to pay for this, he told himself.\nMerritt Hughes touched his shoulder.\n\u201cKeep your chin up, Bob. This is kind of tough and it looks plain\nmalicious to me, but your time will come. I\u2019m just wondering why all of\nthis attention is being centered on you. I can\u2019t make myself believe that\nthey are trying to get even with you because you spoiled the game last\nnight.\u201d\n\u201cBut I didn\u2019t. The paper is missing.\u201d\n\u201cYes, it\u2019s gone from the files, but they may not have their hands on it\nyet. Sure you made a thorough search down below the building last night?\nIt couldn\u2019t have been caught in the shrubbery?\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m sure about that. We went over every inch of space and found half of\nthe gum wrappers in Washington,\u201d replied Bob.\n\u201cI wish I could feel sure that the paper has not gotten into the hands of\nthe men who are after it. From what\u2019s gone on today I\u2019m inclined to\nbelieve there has been a slip somewhere. We know the paper is missing\nfrom the files but we\u2019re not sure that the man who took it was able to\ndeliver it outside before you caught him.\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t think he did. His only chance would have been to have dropped it\nfrom the window and that would have been too risky.\u201d\n\u201cHe might have placed it in a marked container of some kind and have had\na confederate waiting below,\u201d suggested the federal agent.\n\u201cThat\u2019s possible, but when Arthur Jacobs and I searched last night we\ncouldn\u2019t even find fresh footprints under the windows. Of course there\nwere some near the window where the guard was trussed up, but if the\npaper had been dropped in a container, there should have been footprints\ndirectly below.\u201d\n\u201cThe rain might have erased them.\u201d\n\u201cI doubt it. The ground under the shrubbery is unusually soft and I\nnoticed how deep our own prints were.\u201d\nMerritt Hughes sat down on the bed and it was a long time before he asked\nBob another question.\n\u201cWhat do you think about Tully? Could he possibly have taken that paper\nout of the file?\u201d\n\u201cNot unless he was a magician and I don\u2019t think Tully would do a thing\nlike that. He\u2019s wild and headstrong, but he wouldn\u2019t go that far. Why\nthat\u2019s working against Uncle Sam!\u201d\n\u201cCertainly, but some people aren\u2019t bothered by scruples like that. Well,\nif we\u2019re sure the paper wasn\u2019t tossed out the window, it narrows down to\nthree people\u2014the man you caught, Tully and yourself.\u201d\n\u201cBut I wouldn\u2019t take that paper,\u201d smiled Bob.\n\u201cOf course not. I know that and so does Waldo Edgar, or he wouldn\u2019t have\nmade you a provisional agent. But Condon Adams is as anxious to solve\nthis case as I am and he may try to hang something around your neck.\nRemember, that only three of you were in the room and that paper\ndisappeared in some manner.\u201d\n\u201cI hadn\u2019t thought of it in that way,\u201d reflected Bob. \u201cIt does put me in a\npretty serious light.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s why I have been so anxious that you be assigned to work with me\non this case. I had a long talk with Edgar this morning. I\u2019d told him of\nyour ambition to eventually join the service and pointed out that you\nmight well prove invaluable as an inside man on this case. He agreed with\nme and of course when Condon Adams put up about the same kind of a\nproposition in behalf of Tully, he couldn\u2019t say no.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019d like to know where Adams gets all his pull,\u201d said Bob.\n\u201cPart of it is due to ability and part of it to powerful political\nfriends,\u201d explained his uncle. \u201cThe senator from Adams\u2019 home state is\nhigh up in administration circles and in addition is a firm friend of\nthis department. He\u2019s helped get us the additional appropriations we\u2019ve\nneeded to expand and equip the department properly and of course the\nchief can\u2019t ignore that when Adams puts the pressure on.\u201d\n\u201cI suppose not,\u201d admitted Bob, \u201cbut it seems unfair to the other men who\nhave no political friends.\u201d\n\u201cHis is about the only case in the department in which that is true,\u201d\nsaid his uncle. \u201cBut he\u2019s competent, too. Don\u2019t mistake that. I\u2019ll have\nto keep on my toes if I run this radio mystery down before he does.\u201d\n\u201cAll of which means that I am the inside man for you while Tully is to\nserve his uncle in whatever inside capacity he can in our department,\u201d\nsaid Bob. \u201cI can see where there is going to be some intense rivalry.\u201d\n\u201cWell, either Adams or myself should benefit by it,\u201d smiled the federal\nagent. \u201cOnly don\u2019t kill each other trying to dig out facts and get them\nto us first. Now we\u2019d better find out what we can about the invasion\nhere. How about your landlords?\u201d\n\u201cThey\u2019re down in Virginia on a vacation. The only person likely to know\nanything about this is the janitor,\u201d explained Bob.\n\u201cTake me down to him,\u201d directed his uncle.\nBob looked ruefully at the room. There wasn\u2019t a whole lot that could be\nsalvaged, for his clothing was ruined and one of the suits had been\npractically new. He could see his savings account going down almost to\nthe vanishing point.\nThey stepped out into the hall and Bob started to lock the door.\n\u201cWait a minute. I want a look at that doorknob,\u201d said his uncle. He took\na small but powerful glass from his coat pocket and examined the\ndoorknob. When he stood up he shook his head.\n\u201cWhoever opened that door was wearing gloves. That means if they were\nthat smart there isn\u2019t much use to check over the interior of the rooms\nfor fingerprints.\u201d\n\u201cAny sign of the door being forced?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cNo. A skeleton key must have been used. Lead on; we\u2019ll see the janitor\nnow.\u201d\nThey found the janitor in the basement and when Bob explained their\nmission he readily assented to answer their questions.\n\u201cStrangers?\u201d he said, repeating the question the federal agent asked.\n\u201cYes, a couple of them called about an hour ago. They wanted to know\nwhere Mr. Houston lived and I took them up to the third floor back. They\nsaid they had been sent to get some papers he had left at home.\u201d\n\u201cHow did they get in?\u201d the question shot from the lips of the federal\nagent.\n\u201cWhy, they had a key,\u201d explained the janitor. \u201cOne of them said Mr.\nHouston had given them his key. It worked all right and I didn\u2019t think\nany more about it. I was having trouble with the furnace smoking, so I\ncame right back down here.\u201d\n\u201cAnd left them alone in Bob\u2019s room?\u201d the agent pressed.\n\u201cThat\u2019s right. They seemed to know what they were about.\u201d\n\u201cHow long did they stay up there?\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t rightly know. I went up to that floor a few minutes ago, but no\none was in sight then. Maybe they were there half an hour; maybe only\nfive minutes.\u201d\n\u201cWhat did they look like?\u201d\nThe janitor scratched his head.\n\u201cWell, now, I didn\u2019t pay a whole lot of attention to them. One of them\nwas a lot taller than the other one, though.\u201d\nA premonition had been growing on Bob and he couldn\u2019t repress his\nquestion.\n\u201cDid the taller one have red hair?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cCome to think of it, he did,\u201d replied the janitor.\n\u201cAnd the shorter one; was there a scar on his forehead?\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s right. Friends of yours, of course?\u201d\n\u201cWell, not exactly friends,\u201d said Bob.\n\u201cRemember anything else about them?\u201d asked Merritt Hughes.\n\u201cNot right now, anyhow,\u201d said the janitor and they left him to return to\nhis work while they went outdoors.\nMerritt Hughes was the first to speak.\n\u201cI guess there is no question about the identity of your visitors. They\nare the same ones who attempted to kidnap you. What\u2019s the reason for all\nof your popularity?\u201d\nBob shook his head.\n\u201cI only wish I knew,\u201d he said. \u201cBelieve me, it is no fun to have your\nroom torn apart like that. Why they ruined my clothes and it\u2019s going to\nbe mighty costly getting them repaired.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll help you out if you\u2019re pinched for money,\u201d volunteered his uncle,\nreaching for his billfold.\nBut Bob waved the offer aside.\n\u201cThanks, but I\u2019ll get along all right. If I ever catch up with those\nfellows they\u2019ll have to get their fists into action pretty fast if they\nwant to escape a thorough drubbing.\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t blame you a bit for feeling that way. But we\u2019ve got to get\nalong. I have an appointment with one of the army\u2019s chief radio engineers\nin less than fifteen minutes and I want you to sit in.\u201d\nThey signalled for a cab and started for the meeting which was to reveal\nsome startling information on Bob\u2019s first case.\nMerritt Hughes leaned back in the seat as the cab darted in and out of\nthe heavy traffic on the avenue.\n\u201cAll of the breaks have been against us so far,\u201d he mused, half to\nhimself and half to Bob, \u201cbut we\u2019re bound to find something coming our\nway soon.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m anxious to see the fellow who is being held at the police station,\u201d\nsaid Bob. \u201cSurely you\u2019ll be able to get some information out of him.\u201d\n\u201cRemember you\u2019re working on this case, too. Better say \u2019we\u2019 instead of\n\u2019you\u2019 when you\u2019re talking about it. This is the firm of Hughes and\nHouston, working for Uncle Sam on a radio mystery.\u201d\nTheir cab pulled up in front of the War Department and they entered and\nhastened to an upper floor where the federal agent rapped sharply on a\ndoor marked \u201cMajor Francis McCreary, Private.\u201d\n\u201cCome in,\u201d a heavy voice on the other side rumbled and Merritt Hughes\nopened the door.\nBob, looking in, saw a heavy man, a huge thatch of hair bristling over\nhis forehead, at a flat-topped desk. He rose as they entered.\n\u201cHello, Hughes,\u201d greeted the major. \u201cRight on time.\u201d He nodded toward a\ndesk clock.\n\u201cMade it with nothing to spare,\u201d grinned Bob\u2019s uncle. Then he added,\n\u201cMajor, I want you to know my nephew, Bob Houston. He\u2019s working with me\non this case. Bob\u2019s the man who captured our radio thief last night and\nI\u2019m counting on him as a valuable inside man in the department over\nthere.\u201d\n\u201cGlad to meet you,\u201d boomed the major, offering a warm handclasp. \u201cAre you\nin the Department of Justice?\u201d\nBob started to reply but his uncle spoke first.\n\u201cHe\u2019s in the filing division right now, but he\u2019s also a provisional agent\nand I\u2019m expecting he\u2019ll join the service permanently.\u201d\nThe major shuffled several papers on his desk and picked up one.\n\u201cHere\u2019s a copy of the paper stolen last night,\u201d he said. \u201cI know you want\nthe gist of its importance and why so much interest attaches to it.\u201d\nHe waved them toward chairs and dropped back in his own swivel seat,\nwhich he filled to overflowing with his generous bulk.\n\u201cWe\u2019ve been making some real strides in our army radio development,\u201d he\nwent on, \u201cand some other powers have been watching us closely. There\u2019s no\nneed to mention names right now until suspicion definitely points to a\nnation. What we have actually perfected in recent weeks is a workable\nradio control for robot operated bombing planes.\u201d\nHe paused a moment to let the significance of his statement sink in.\nBob knew its importance. Of course there had long been talk that such a\ndevice was possible, but it had never been perfected so far as he knew.\nIts value as a weapon of destruction was tremendous for airplanes loaded\nwith high explosives could be dispatched over great distances and then\nmade to drop their deadly cargoes upon a radio signal.\nBob glanced at his uncle. Merritt Hughes was sitting on the edge of his\nchair, waiting for the army officer to continue.\nMajor McCreary cleared his throat and Bob sensed that he was laboring\nunder a definite strain.\n\u201cThis project has been a pet of mine for years. I\u2019ve encountered one\ndiscouragement after another and it was only two months ago that I struck\nthe right track. Since then my developments have been almost\nsensational.\u201d He paused a moment as though fearing they might feel he was\nbragging about his own accomplishments.\n\u201cActual tests last week proved the practicability of my invention and I\nthen set it down in detail for final filing. Of course we knew that other\npowers were aware of the line along which the experiments had been\ncarried out, but our real source of worry was that they might get their\nhands on the actual details of operation. For that reason it was decided\nto file the material in various sections and to make no special fuss\nabout it.\u201d\n\u201cAnd the paper stolen last night was the first section of your file?\u201d\nasked Merritt Hughes, restraining his eagerness no longer.\nThe army officer nodded.\n\u201cRight. It was the original. The one on my desk is a copy. The other\noriginals are in a safe in this building.\u201d\n\u201cIs there enough information on the first section which was stolen to\nreveal your plan in full?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cThat\u2019s something that would depend upon the cleverness of the men into\nwhose hands it is delivered. There is one European power whose radio\nexperts are well advanced along the line on which I have been working. If\nthis document is delivered into their hands, there is a good chance that\nit contains information which would be of value to them.\u201d\n\u201cBut so far we have no idea who is behind the theft last night,\u201d said the\nfederal agent. \u201cHave you any hunches?\u201d\nMajor McCreary shook his head.\n\u201cNothing strong enough to give you any leads. But I\u2019ll let you know the\nminute anything develops. In the meantime, make every effort to recover\nthis paper. Once it passes beyond the boundaries of this country it may\nfall into the hands of men smart enough and unscrupulous enough to learn\nits meaning and put it to their own selfish use. It is a secret which\nwould give them unlimited powers of destruction.\u201d\nAfter they had left Major McCreary\u2019s office Bob looked at his uncle.\n\u201cWhat next?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cTo the police station to interview that prisoner without any further\nloss of time,\u201d was the decision.\nThe station was some distance away and they took a taxi. Before they had\ngone three blocks the hooting of police sirens fairly filled the air and\ntheir driver was forced to pull far over to the right as radio cars went\nracing past, each driver tense at his wheel and the other officer ready\nwith a shotgun in his lap.\n\u201cSomething big\u2019s broken,\u201d said the federal agent. \u201cBe just my luck to\nhave it an angle on this case. Oh well, we might as well go on to the\nstation and see what we can dig out of your friend.\u201d\nAs they reached the police station another squad car rushed away, its\nsiren screaming a warning to traffic.\nMerritt Hughes fairly tossed the cab fare at the driver and with Bob at\nhis heels, ran into the building. The federal agent knew the desk\nsergeant and directed his questions at him.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s up, Barney? Bank been robbed?\u201d\n\u201cJust about as bad. Someone slugged one of your agents and made a break.\nMatter of fact, I guess it was a friend of yours.\u201d\n\u201cQuit kidding, Barney. What happened?\u201d\n\u201cThe fellow you caught last night was being questioned by Condon Adams\nwhen all of a sudden he ups and smashes Adams a nasty crack on the chin,\ngrabs his gun, and legs it out the door. We\u2019ve got every squad car in\ntown out hunting for him.\u201d\nBob felt his own heart sink for he knew that unless the fugitive was\nrecaptured, their hopes for a real break in the radio mystery were slim.\nMerritt Hughes stared hard at the police sergeant as though he dared not\nbelieve the officer\u2019s words.\n\u201cSay that again, Barney. There must be some mistake.\u201d\n\u201cThere was,\u201d grinned the sergeant. \u201cCondon Adams made a mistake in\nquestioning that fellow alone. Things certainly happened fast and\nfuriously around here.\u201d\nThe federal agent shook his head.\n\u201cWe\u2019re certainly not getting the breaks in this case,\u201d he growled.\n\u201cWhere\u2019s Adams?\u201d\n\u201cHe\u2019s out with one of the radio patrols.\u201d\n\u201cHave any idea where this fellow went when he made his break from the\nstation here?\u201d\n\u201cHe forced a passing motorist to pick him up, but we didn\u2019t even get a\ngood description of the car. Oh, it was a smooth job.\u201d\nMerritt Hughes turned to his nephew and Bob saw an expression of almost\ndespair in his face. Then it was gone in a moment, and in its place was a\nset look of determination which Bob had often seen when his uncle was\nworking on a big case.\n\u201cAnything I can do to help you here?\u201d the federal agent asked the desk\nsergeant.\n\u201cNot a thing, unless this fellow comes back and tries to steal the\nstation.\u201d\n\u201cThen we\u2019ll go along to the hospital and have a talk with the guard who\nwas attacked last night.\u201d\nAs they left the police station they could hear the echo of the sirens in\nthe distance.\n\u201cThink he\u2019ll get away?\u201d asked Bob, who had spoken only once or twice\nduring the entire time they had been in the station.\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid so, especially since the police have no description of the\ncar he commandeered,\u201d replied Merritt Hughes.\nWhen they reached the hospital, they were shown immediately to the room\nwhere the guard was a patient. He was a middle-aged man, his dark hair\nstreaked with grey and there was a bandage around his forehead where he\nhad received a particularly painful blow from his assailant.\n\u201cCan he be interviewed?\u201d the federal agent asked the nurse on duty in the\nroom.\n\u201cIf he doesn\u2019t talk too long,\u201d she replied.\nBob glimpsed the chart at the foot of the bed and learned that the\nguard\u2019s name was Max Chervinka, and that he was fifty-three years old.\nMerritt Hughes sat down beside the bed, while Bob, behind him, leaned\nagainst the wall.\n\u201cI\u2019ll ask all the questions,\u201d the federal agent told the guard. \u201cDon\u2019t\ntalk unless you have to. Just nod a little in answer and that will do.\nUnderstand?\u201d\nThe guard smiled and nodded.\n\u201cHad you noticed anything suspicious about the building recently?\u201d\nThe answer was negative. Then the federal agent plunged into his\nquestions, how had the attack taken place, what did the man look like,\nwas there more than one, had he seen anything of a paper which might have\nbeen tossed from an upper window?\nThe answers were definite. The guard could not describe his assailant, as\nfar as he knew there had been only one man, and he had not seen anything\nof a paper thrown from a window.\n\u201cHave you ever been offered anything to let anyone in the building who\nhad no business there?\u201d The federal agent rapped out this question\nsharply and Bob knew that his uncle attached great importance to the\nanswer.\n\u201cNever!\u201d The guard\u2019s reply, though in a weak voice, was definite. \u201cThere\nwas never any trouble until last night,\u201d he added.\nThe nurse re-entered the room, noticed the bright eyes and the flushed\ncheeks of her patient, and spoke to the federal agents.\n\u201cI think he\u2019s had all of the exertion he can stand for a while,\u201d she\nsaid. \u201cLater, perhaps this evening, you might call again if you like.\u201d\n\u201cHas anyone else been here?\u201d asked Merritt Hughes.\n\u201cNot yet.\u201d\n\u201cThen don\u2019t allow anyone to see him unless he can identify himself as a\nDepartment of Justice agent,\u201d he instructed.\nWhen they were down on the main floor, Bob spoke.\n\u201cWhy did you instruct the nurse like that?\u201d\n\u201cJust playing safe. We know that the guard didn\u2019t see enough of his\nassailant to identify him, but other members of that gang don\u2019t know\nthat. There is no use in exposing that fellow to any unnecessary risks.\u201d\nWhen they were outside once more, Bob voiced another question.\n\u201cWhat do you want me to do now?\u201d\n\u201cBetter go down to your own office and step back into the routine. But\nkeep your eyes open. Listen to everything that is going on, but don\u2019t let\nanyone get anything out of you. Phone me before you leave this afternoon\nto go home. I don\u2019t want you gallivanting around this town all alone. The\nnext time some of your \u2019friends\u2019 may come along and there may not be a\nfence and a thicket of barberry handy.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll take a taxi home; you won\u2019t need to come for me,\u201d protested Bob.\n\u201cYou\u2019re not going to take a taxi home and you\u2019re not going home. Until\nthis thing is cleared up you\u2019re going to stay with me. Then if anyone\ndecides to pay us a visit in the middle of the night we\u2019ll give them a\nsurprise.\u201d\n\u201cLet me know if anything big breaks,\u201d urged Bob, and his uncle promised\nto do this.\nAfter their parting, Bob walked down the street alone. A police car sped\nby, but its siren was not sounding an alarm, and Bob wondered if the rush\nof the first chase for the escaped prisoner was over.\nAs he hurried toward the archives building, he pondered the events of the\nlast 24 hours. It seemed almost incredible that so much could have\nhappened; that he could have been involved in so many different and\nexciting things. And now he was a federal agent. True he was only on\nprovisional duty, but if he made good, there was an excellent chance that\nhe would become a permanent member of the great crime-fighting\norganization.\nHis uncle had been right\u2014so far the breaks had all been against them and\nnow the one man on whom they had been counting for information had\nslipped away. But Bob couldn\u2019t help a grin as he thought of the chagrin\nwhich Condon Adams must be suffering now. It would be hard to explain\nthat escape from the very heart of a police station.\nBob turned into the building where his own office was located and took\nthe elevator to the top floor.\nWhen he entered the office he almost bumped into Arthur Jacobs, the\nfiling chief.\n\u201cAny news?\u201d asked Jacobs anxiously and Bob shook his head.\n\u201cWhat about the prisoner captured last night?\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t you know?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cKnow what?\u201d demanded the filing chief.\n\u201cHe just escaped from the police station.\u201d\n\u201cThen we\u2019re sunk,\u201d groaned the filing chief. \u201cThat means that paper is\ngone for good and I\u2019ll bet my job is too.\u201d\n\u201cOh, I wouldn\u2019t say that. Give the federal men a chance.\u201d\n\u201cBut they\u2019ve had nearly 24 hours,\u201d wailed the chubby Jacobs.\n\u201cYou can\u2019t expect them to do miracles in that length of time,\u201d cautioned\nBob.\nBefore the filing chief could reply, the door swung inward and Tully Ross\nhurried in.\nHis face was flushed and he appeared to be laboring under some great\nexcitement.\nArthur Jacobs looked at his watch.\n\u201cYou might just as well have taken the whole day off,\u201d he snapped.\n\u201cWell, maybe I will,\u201d retorted Tully.\n\u201cI guess that\u2019s about enough from you,\u201d said the filing chief. \u201cI\u2019ll find\nplenty of extra work for you to do and you may change your attitude and\nshow a little respect.\u201d\nA dark wave of color swept over Tully\u2019s face and Bob saw his fists\nclench. He stepped closer to Jacobs.\n\u201cI\u2019ll get here just when I please,\u201d he stormed, \u201cand don\u2019t think I\u2019m\ngoing to let you boss me around. I\u2019m a federal agent now and I\u2019m working\non a big case. Don\u2019t you forget that.\u201d\nBut in spite of the bravado, Arthur Jacobs stood his ground.\n\u201cI don\u2019t care what you are,\u201d he replied. \u201cAs far as I know you\u2019re nothing\nbut a clerk in my department and you\u2019ll get to work on time and you\u2019ll be\nrespectful or you\u2019ll get another job.\u201d\n\u201cIf you don\u2019t believe I\u2019m a federal agent, ask Bob; he\u2019ll tell you.\u201d\nThe filing chief turned to Bob.\n\u201cTully is right. I saw him sworn into the service today,\u201d said Bob. He\nwas glad that Jacobs had not asked him about his own position.\nTully seemed satisfied and his anger subsided when Jacobs once more told\nhim to go to his desk and start work.\nBob glanced at the other clerks in the room. All of them had been\ncovertly watching the entire proceedings. Bob felt that they were all\ntrustworthy, but he felt better in knowing that they were not aware that\nhe was a federal agent. Such knowledge might have spoiled any later\nefforts of his to gain information from them.\nThe affairs of the filing office gradually returned to routine with Bob\nand Tully once more at their desks. There was a tremendous amount of work\nto be done, for hundreds upon hundreds of papers had been removed from\ntheir usual places in the m\u00eal\u00e9e of the night before. Bob realized that it\nwould take days for them all to be restored to their places and he rather\nhoped, as he contemplated the long and tedious task, that his uncle would\nhave work for him to do that would take him outside the office.\nAs the afternoon waned Bob tried to analyze the character of the other\nclerks in the office. He had known them casually for more than a year\nnow, but until this time he had never really tried to probe into their\ninner characters.\nIt was a task that he was particularly well fitted to do, for he had a\nrare gift of discernment of character and anything untrue in another\nusually sounded an alarm bell in Bob\u2019s mind.\nOne by one he checked them off his list of possible suspects in\nconnection with the disappearance of the radio paper. Could one of them\nhave tipped off anyone outside? It was an unpleasant possibility, but Bob\nknew that in his new work he would be up against many unpleasant things.\nThe list narrowed down until Bob\u2019s eyes rested on Tully\u2019s broad\nshoulders. The other was hunched over his desk, apparently gazing through\na nearby window and certainly not much concerned with the work on the\ndesk in front of him.\nWas Tully linked up with the mystery? Could he have been the one inside\nwho had learned of the arrival of the precious paper and given the\ninformation to someone outside?\nBob didn\u2019t want to believe that, yet he had checked all of the others off\nhis list. His eyes rested on Arthur Jacobs, the filing chief. Could it\nhave been Jacobs? It was possible, but Bob scouted serious consideration\nof the thought, for Jacobs\u2019 heart was too much in his work and his pride\nwas too great for such a deed.\nBob felt up against a blank wall. It was his job to sit tight in the\noffice on the supposition that someone inside must have given out\ninformation. He felt now that there was little chance that this had been\nthe case. There were plenty of other loopholes for the information to\nleak out and Bob was convinced that it must have leaked before the paper\ncame into the filing office.\nAt five o\u2019clock the other clerks left their desks, but Tully, Bob and the\nfiling chief lingered in the office.\nJacobs spoke to Tully.\n\u201cI don\u2019t care what you\u2019re doing outside this office,\u201d he said, \u201cbut as\nlong as you\u2019re here and at your desk you\u2019ll have to work. I don\u2019t believe\nyou did five minutes work this afternoon.\u201d\nTully\u2019s eyes dropped and he studied the toes of his shoes. His voice was\nheavy when he spoke.\n\u201cI know I didn\u2019t get much work done,\u201d he said. \u201cBut I was so blamed\nexcited over being a federal agent and then trying to figure out how this\ninformation could have leaked out. I\u2019ll be back to earth again tomorrow.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m glad of that for we need your help in getting this mess straightened\nout.\u201d\nTully nodded and went on, while Bob hesitated.\n\u201cI wanted just a word with you alone,\u201d he told the filing chief. \u201cI\ndidn\u2019t say anything earlier, but I\u2019m also working on this case as a\nprovisional federal agent. That means I\u2019m on probation. If I make good on\nthis case there may be a permanent job waiting for me.\u201d\n\u201cI rather thought you might be,\u201d smiled Jacobs, \u201cafter Tully blurted out\nthat he was a special agent. I kind of put two and two together and it\nlooked like it would be mighty strange if Tully were selected and not\nyou.\u201d\n\u201cIt may be necessary for me to be away from the office at various times,\u201d\nwent on Bob, \u201cbut if I can\u2019t get word to you, my uncle will see that you\nare advised.\u201d\n\u201cAnything that really looks like a clue turned up?\u201d asked Jacobs.\nBob shook his head.\n\u201cNot as far as I know, and I guess if there had been I wouldn\u2019t be at\nliberty to tell you.\u201d\nJacobs put on his coat.\n\u201cComing down tonight?\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ve some routine I can get out of the way,\u201d replied Bob. \u201cI\u2019ll have\nlunch nearby and will be able to get through in a couple of hours.\u201d\n\u201cI should come back, but I\u2019m all in. Don\u2019t work too late.\u201d\nThe filing chief stepped out of the office and closed the door behind him\nand Bob was left alone in the long, high-ceilinged office. The room was\nin heavy shadows already, for the day had been cloudy and twilight had\ncome early. He turned on the light over his desk, decided that he was\nhungry, snapped it off, put on his coat and left the office. At the door\nhe turned and made sure that the room was securely locked. Then he walked\nrapidly down the corridor, turned, and signalled for an elevator.\nBob was walking through the main doors when someone hailed him and he saw\nhis uncle.\n\u201cGoing to eat?\u201d asked Merritt Hughes.\n\u201cJust about half a ton of food,\u201d grinned Bob. \u201cIt seems ages since I had\nanything, yet it was only a few hours ago.\u201d\n\u201cCharge that up to excitement,\u201d replied his uncle, as they strode along\ntogether.\n\u201cAny news of the man who broke out of the police station?\u201d There was a\nreal note of anxiety in Bob\u2019s voice.\n\u201cNot a word. He must have been a magician. The police are still combing\nthe city, but I doubt if they\u2019ll find him. He belongs to too clever a\ngang.\u201d\n\u201cBut where could he hide so securely in Washington?\u201d\n\u201cAn embassy, possibly,\u201d shrugged the federal agent.\nBob\u2019s eyes widened. It had never occurred to him that a representative of\na foreign government would give shelter to a criminal. Yet he knew that\nany one of half a dozen foreign powers would give a great deal to possess\nthe new radio secrets.\n\u201cDon\u2019t take that suggestion too seriously,\u201d warned Merritt Hughes, who\nguessed the trend of Bob\u2019s thoughts.\nHe leaned closer to Bob. \u201cThis case is causing all kinds of trouble. The\nentire War Department is in a furore and I hear special intelligence\nofficers are being assigned to see if they can\u2019t ferret it out.\u201d\n\u201cDoes that mean they don\u2019t think the Justice Department capable of\nsolving the mystery?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cNot exactly that, I guess. It simply means that this case is of such\ntremendous importance that everything the government can do will be done\nin its solution.\u201d\nThey turned into a quiet restaurant and selected a table well to the rear\nwhere they could talk without danger of being overheard for there were\nonly a few diners in the place.\n\u201cHave you seen Condon Adams?\u201d asked Bob.\nThe federal agent shook his head.\n\u201cI hear he\u2019s having a pretty hard time of it. The chief had him in on the\ncarpet and gave him a going over for letting this fellow slip away from\nhim. But it could have happened to anyone. If we\u2019d gotten there first\ninstead of Adams, we might have been the victims.\u201d\nThey ordered their dinners and Bob leaned across the table.\n\u201cI\u2019ve been trying to figure out everyone in the office,\u201d he said, \u201cand I\ncan\u2019t find a single one on whom you can pin any suspicion. The leak about\nthat paper must have come from outside before the paper reached us.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s possible,\u201d nodded his uncle.\n\u201cRemember that another office was rifled before our own was visited,\u201d\nsaid Bob. \u201cThat should indicate that the marauder had none too clear\ninformation on where to look for the paper.\u201d\n\u201cNow you\u2019ve hit a point I\u2019ve been considering. The more I think about it\nthe more convinced I become that the leak came before the paper reached\nyour filing room. That means our job will be complicated. Maybe we\u2019ll get\na break one of these days.\u201d\nDinner was served and they ate heartily, ignoring for the time the case\nthat had enfolded both of them in its mysterious tangle.\nThe dinner at an end, Bob leaned back in his chair and shoved his hands\nin his coat pockets. The fingers of his right hand crinkled a stiff sheet\nof paper and he drew it out and placed it on the table.\nIt was not an unusual sheet, at first glance, being about eight inches\nwide and eleven inches long, but it was of heavy material, probably a\npure rag paper.\nBut it was not the paper that caught and held Bob\u2019s attention. It was the\ncrest of the War Department which was centered at the top of the page.\nMerritt Hughes saw Bob staring at the paper and looked at his nephew\ncuriously.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter, Bob? Forget to file something this afternoon?\u201d\nWhen Bob did not answer at once, he reached over and picked up the paper.\nIt was his turn to stare at the sheet and his eyes widened as he looked\nup at his nephew.\n\u201cGreat heavens, Bob. Where did this come from?\u201d\nBob shook his head.\n\u201cI haven\u2019t any idea. I put my hands in my pockets just now and the paper\nwas in the right hand pocket.\u201d\n\u201cBut you know what this is?\u201d\nBob nodded. \u201cYes, I know. It\u2019s the missing paper with the radio secrets.\u201d\nUncle and nephew stared at each other across the litter of dishes and for\na moment neither was able to speak.\n\u201cBob, Bob, how did you get mixed up in this thing? What have you done?\u201d\nThere was anxiety and agony in every word that came from the lips of the\nfederal agent.\nBob\u2019s eyes widened.\n\u201cBut surely you don\u2019t think I took this? I couldn\u2019t have done that.\u201d\nHis uncle waved his hands impatiently.\n\u201cNo, no, Bob. Of course that wasn\u2019t what I meant. I spoke hastily. You\u2019re\nclean enough in this thing. What I want to know is how did that paper get\ninto your coat pocket and how long has it been there.\u201d\n\u201cI only wish I knew,\u201d retorted Bob, the color surging back into his\ncheeks.\nHe stared steadily at the paper on the table before him. It was\nincredible that it could have been in his coat pocket all during the long\nhours of the frantic search for it. Yet it must have been, for there had\nbeen no opportunity for anyone to slip it into his coat recently.\n\u201cI think the discovery of the paper in your pocket explains the\nmysterious attacks which have been aimed at you,\u201d said his uncle slowly.\n\u201cCertainly it was the reason for the rifling of your room and the attempt\nto kidnap you this morning. What a dumb-bell I was not to have guessed\nsomething like this before. It\u2019s as plain as day now.\u201d\n\u201cI wish I could see it that way,\u201d replied Bob, shaking his head.\n\u201cThe paper has been in your pocket ever since you encountered that\nmarauder in the office last night. During the tussle he slipped it into\nyour coat pocket when he realized that his capture was inevitable.\u201d\n\u201cThat sounds plausible,\u201d agreed Bob. \u201cWhy didn\u2019t I search my own\nclothes?\u201d\n\u201cBecause that was the last place in the world we would have surmised that\npaper had been hidden. What chumps we have been.\u201d The federal agent look\ngloomy.\n\u201cWell, I guess we might as well get going. We\u2019ll report this directly to\nthe chief and see what he has to say about it.\u201d\n\u201cWill he be on the job during the evening?\u201d\n\u201cWhen a case like this breaks he practically lives in his office. He\u2019ll\nbe there all right.\u201d\nThey left the restaurant, secured a taxi, and drove rapidly toward the\nDepartment of Justice building.\nBob, catching the reflection of lights behind them in the mirror at the\nfront, looked back.\n\u201cSomeone\u2019s following us,\u201d he said.\nThe federal agent turned quickly. There was no mistake. A car several\nhundred feet to the rear was making every turn their own machine took.\nMerritt Hughes leaned ahead and spoke to the driver.\n\u201cWe\u2019re being trailed. Step on it. I\u2019ll take care of any officers who try\nto stop us.\u201d\n\u201cNothing doin\u2019, mister. I\u2019m not getting myself into trouble. We\u2019re\nstopping right here.\u201d\nThe driver slammed on the brakes and swung his car toward the curb, but a\ncurt command from Bob\u2019s uncle stopped him.\n\u201cGet this car under way. I\u2019m a federal agent and I\u2019m in no mood to have\nyou playing any tricks. Wheel this buggy for the Department of Justice\nbuilding and make it snappy.\u201d At the same time he thrust the little\nemblem of his office under the driver\u2019s nose.\nThe motor of the taxi roared as the driver tramped on the accelerator and\ntheir vehicle leaped ahead, widening the distance between the car which\nwas trailing them. They took a corner so fast the tires screeched in\nprotest and Bob wondered whether the other machine would be able to make\nthe turn.\nLooking back he saw the car swing wildly, veer toward the far side of the\nstreet, and finally straighten out in pursuit of them.\n\u201cYou seem to spell \u2019trouble\u2019 with capital letters,\u201d said the federal\nagent as he joined Bob in peering out the window. \u201cMaybe you\u2019d better\ngive me that paper. They know you\u2019ve got it and if we get in a jam\nthey\u2019ll try and get it away from you.\u201d\nBob handed over the paper and his uncle slipped it into a small leather\nportfolio which he carried in an inside pocket of his coat.\nThe taxi swung wildly around another corner and the brakes screeched as a\nstring of red lights barred their way. The street was undergoing repairs.\nThe driver of their vehicle jammed on his brakes just as the pursuing\nmachine lurched around the corner.\n\u201cKeep on going!\u201d cried Bob\u2019s uncle, grabbing the driver by the shoulder\nand shaking him roughly. \u201cKeep on!\u201d\nIt was a command the driver dared not disobey, and their car leaped ahead\nonce more, aimed straight at the first of the red lights.\nTheir headlights revealed a wooden barrier, but there was no stopping now\nand the taxi crashed into the stringers. Several red lights were bowled\nover as the barrier went down. Then they were bouncing along over the\nuneven paving, the wheels dropping into deep ruts.\nBob turned and looked behind them. The pursuing car had stopped at the\nbarrier and he could see men leaping out. It was evident that they\nintended to pursue the chase, even on foot.\n\u201cI\u2019m wrecking this car,\u201d cried the taxi driver in protest as they struck\na particularly deep rut.\n\u201cKeep going; don\u2019t worry about the car!\u201d cried Merritt Hughes. \u201cWe\u2019ve got\nto get out of this trap.\u201d\nThe engine of the taxi groaned in protest of the punishment which it was\nundergoing, but it labored on, dragging the heavy vehicle out of one hole\nand into another.\nBob kept his eyes on the pursuers, who were now plainly revealed in the\nlights from the other car. They seemed to be gaining on the struggling\ntaxi.\n\u201cWe\u2019d better take a chance on foot,\u201d he warned his uncle.\n\u201cIt\u2019s only a little ways to the end of this construction work. If we can\nget that far, we\u2019ll soon outdistance them,\u201d replied Merritt Hughes. \u201cIf\nwe get stalled, make a break for it. Don\u2019t worry about me. Once you get\nclear go directly to the Department of Justice and report in person to\nWaldo Edgar.\u201d\n\u201cBut we\u2019ll have a better chance together,\u201d protested Bob.\n\u201cNo. We\u2019ll go it alone,\u201d his uncle decided. \u201cThat will confuse them and\none of us is bound to get away.\u201d\n\u201cBut how about the radio secret?\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019ve got to chance that. But remember that you are the one they\u2019ll be\nafter. Maybe that\u2019s putting you on the spot, but I\u2019ve got to do it now.\nIt\u2019s our only chance.\u201d\nThe headlights of the taxi showed the end of the construction work. A\nsmooth street was less than 100 feet ahead of them, but Bob thought the\nremainder of the distance they must go looked even rougher than that\nportion of the street they had negotiated so far.\nHe looked behind again. Several dim shadows, the men chasing them, were\ndodging down the street. He doubted if they were gaining now.\nThe taxi dropped into a deep rut and the engine groaned. The driver\nshifted gears with a clash that racked the entire car and the wheels spun\nin the rut. Then they shot into reverse, but the wheels couldn\u2019t climb\nout.\n\u201cWe\u2019re stuck!\u201d cried the driver. \u201cI\u2019m unloading.\u201d\nWith a single motion of his hand he struck the ignition switch and the\nmotor, overheated and steaming, sputtered and died. The headlights also\nwent out and Bob saw the now dim bulk of the cab driver leap away from\nthe car and vanish.\n\u201cGet out, Bob. Duck and keep low. Make for the side of the street. Here\u2019s\nwhere we separate.\u201d\nThe order was accompanied by a firm shove toward the door and then Bob\nwas rolling in the street, for he had missed his step and fallen. He\nheard the door on the other side of the cab open and knew that his uncle\nhad made his escape at least for the time.\nThe street was long, flanked by what appeared to be warehouses, and there\nwere street lights only at the ends of the block. For at least 400 feet\nin the middle there was no light and it was in this dismal area that Bob\nand his uncle were trapped.\nA pile of construction materials offered the first shelter for Bob and he\nducked behind this.\nFrom this shelter, he listened for some sound from the men who had been\npursuing them. He did not have long to wait for sharp voices could be\nheard a little further back along the street.\n\u201cThe taxi\u2019s stalled,\u201d someone said. \u201cSpread out and let them have it if\nthey make a break. We\u2019ve got to get them to be sure we\u2019ll get the paper.\u201d\nBob, behind the pile of construction materials, heard someone pounding\ndown the street.\nThe beam from a flashlight shot through the night and focused on the taxi\ndriver.\n\u201cSnap off that light!\u201d came a tense command. \u201cThat\u2019s only the driver. Let\nhim go.\u201d\n\u201cHe\u2019ll bring the cops on us,\u201d came a sharp protest, but the first voice\ncame back tartly.\n\u201cLet him. We\u2019ll be out of here long before he can get his nerve back and\ntalk to the police. Spread out, I tell you. We\u2019ve got to move fast. If\nthey break for the far end of the street we\u2019ll see them under the street\nlights. There\u2019s no place they can hide at each side.\u201d\nThe last words confirmed Bob\u2019s fears. That meant that there was no\nshelter in the buildings which flanked the street. This time there was no\nfriendly hedge into which he could leap. He would have been glad to have\nrisked the barberry thorns again if he had only had the chance.\nThe taxi was less than twenty feet away and Bob knew that the men hunting\nfor him and his uncle would reach it in a few more seconds. Then one of\nthe first places where they would search would be the pile of bricks and\ntimbers behind which he had sought refuge.\nBob moved away cautiously, a plan of action quickly forming in his mind.\nHe would get as far away as possible, then make some noise to attract\ntheir attention. It seemed like a good move for by concentrating their\nattention on himself, he would provide an opportunity for his uncle to\nslip away unnoticed and the radio document could be delivered safely back\nto the War Department.\nBob felt a nervous tension gripping his entire body. It was as though the\nvery night was alive to the danger which filled the deserted street. The\npounding footsteps of the taxi driver gradually died away and only Bob\nand his uncle and three unknown pursuers were in the street.\nA flashlight gleamed for a moment at the taxi as the beam sought the\ninterior.\n\u201cNothing here,\u201d Bob heard someone mutter as he backed away from the\nsheltering pile of materials.\nA piece of board crunched under his feet and he stumbled and half fell to\nthe ground.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that!\u201d the exclamation was sharp and commanding and a beam of\nlight swung toward him.\nBob forgot caution and scuttled away on his hands and feet, dodging\nbehind the piles of dirt which had been heaped indiscriminately around\nthe street.\nThe flashlight seemed to be playing a game of hide and seek with him, for\nnot once did the beam strike him and he found temporary shelter again\nbehind a pile of bricks.\nBut the sanctuary was not to last for long. From the voices near the\ntaxi, Bob knew that at least three men were after them and as he listened\nhe heard a command that sent a chill racing along his spine.\n\u201cDon\u2019t shoot unless you have to. But let them have it if it looks like\nthey\u2019re going to get away.\u201d\nBob remembered that his uncle had a gun. That was some consolation. He\nwould have to depend upon his fists for self protection and right now\nboth hands were sore and aching from his encounter earlier in the day\nwith the thorns of the barberry.\nThe young federal agent crouched close to the ground listening for some\nsound that might indicate the whereabouts of his uncle. He only knew that\nMerritt Hughes had dodged out the other side of the taxi. Since then\nthere had been no sign or noise to reveal where he had sought shelter.\nBob strained his eyes, but the darkness in the middle of the block was\nintense. Perhaps, after all, that was a blessing for it gave them a\nbetter opportunity to hide and made the task of the searchers all the\nharder.\nImpatient and cramped from hiding behind the pile of bricks, Bob moved\naway. He was determined to escape from the trap into which they had\nfallen and he decided that by working his way back along the street\ntoward the car which had been used by their pursuers might offer the best\navenue of escape.\nA bold thought occurred. It might even be possible to seize their car and\nmake his own escape.\nBob, crouching low, crept along the street, at times almost crawling. It\nwasn\u2019t a pleasant task, but he was steadily putting distance between\nhimself and the stalled taxi, where he knew the hunt for his uncle and\nhimself was being concentrated.\nThe young federal agent stumbled over a timber and sprawled headlong on\nthe dirt.\nTo Bob it sounded as though the noise of his fall must have echoed and\nre-echoed along the street. He remained motionless, almost breathless on\nthe ground, waiting for the pursuit to swing toward him. But evidently\nthe noise of his tumble was not as great as he had feared and the hunt\ncontinued near the taxi.\nBob continued his cautious advance toward the car which had brought their\npursuers. He was not certain whether anyone had been left to guard the\nmachine and he moved carefully as he neared the vehicle.\nHe was now at least 200 feet from the stalled taxi, and he had no desire\nto give an alarm which would bring the others swarming toward him.\nBob now had decided what he would do when he reached the car. In turning\nit about he would race the engine, which would be sure to attract the\nattention of the men seeking his uncle and allow him to escape from the\nfar end of the street. There should be ample time for Bob to maneuver the\ncar about and get it started back down the street before he could be\noverhauled.\nThe young federal agent was less than twenty feet from the car, close\nenough to hear the soft purring of its powerful engine, when a gun blazed\nfrom behind him and the echoes of a shot resounded between the buildings\nwhich flanked the street.\nAll thoughts of escaping in the car vanished from Bob\u2019s mind on the\nechoes of the shot, which meant that his uncle had been discovered, that\nhe was a target for gunfire from the guns of their pursuers.\nThe young federal agent swung about in his tracks and started back down\nthe street, stumbling over the piles of debris as he raced forward,\nforgetful now of any danger to himself and thinking only of his chance to\nhelp his uncle protect the precious paper which was in his possession.\nFrom the vicinity of the stalled taxi cab guns were barking steadily now\nand Bob paused.\nThe scarlet flashes marked the night and the sharp reports from the guns\nrang back and forth between the high-walled street. Bob counted three\nguns in action, all directed toward a darker mass near the far end of the\nstreet.\nThen another gun joined in the fusillade, this time from what apparently\nwas a pile of debris and from its heavy roar Bob knew that it was his\nuncle\u2019s automatic.\nMerritt Hughes, who had made his way cautiously toward the far end of the\nstreet, had been discovered just before he could make a final break to\nsafety. After the first shot from the guns of his pursuers, he had taken\nrefuge behind a pile of bricks and concrete slabs, where he was ready to\nmake a determined resistance.\nIf he could stand off the attack for several minutes, a swarm of police,\nattracted by the gunfire, would descend upon them. But the men in the\nstreet were shooting carefully and spreading out, attempting to encircle\nhim and force his surrender. They were moving rapidly, dodging so quickly\nthat it was almost impossible to single them out in the shadows or to\nflip an accurate shot at them.\nHis ammunition was confined to the one clip in his gun and a spare clip\nin his coat pocket. It wouldn\u2019t last long in an encounter with three\ngunmen and every shot must be made to count.\nA close shot, which struck a slab of concrete, threw a fine cloud of dust\ninto his eyes and blinded him for the moment. He wondered about Bob and\nwhether he had been able to make his escape. If he hadn\u2019t before this,\nnow surely, with all of the firing, he would be able to escape from the\nstreet. Perhaps he would even be able to lead the rescuing police which\nhe felt sure would come soon.\nBut Bob, at the other end of the street, had his own ideas about the\npolice and the need for a hasty rescue.\nHe paused in his mad dash down the block. Unarmed, he would be no match\nfor the gunmen who were attempting to surround his uncle and obtain the\npaper.\nA new plan formed in Bob\u2019s mind and he turned determinedly and headed for\nthe car. It was a large and powerful sedan with a motor under its hood\nthat equalled the power of a hundred and twenty horses.\nThere was no one in the car and Bob slid into the driver\u2019s seat. The\ndoors were unusually high and heavy and he guessed that the car was\nbullet proof.\nBob reached for the headlight switch, then thought better of it, and\nmeshed the gears into low. He tramped on the throttle and the motor\nroared into action. With a lurch the heavy car plunged off the pavement\nand into the street which was undergoing repairs.\nBob would have liked to have used the headlights for they would have\nrevealed the menace of hidden mounds of dirt and bricks and other\nconstruction materials, but to have switched them on would have made the\ncar too easy a target for the gunmen.\nLooking ahead, Bob saw the flashes of gunfire cease, as though the men\nwho had been pulling the triggers were surprised and alarmed at the\napproach of the car.\nThen there was a spurt of flame and something smacked hard against the\nwindshield. He saw the glass shatter, but it did not break, and it gave\nhim new confidence in the knowledge that the car was protected against\nbullets.\nNow there were more flashes of crimson ahead of him and bullets spanked\nagainst the car. The glass of a headlight shattered into a thousand bits.\nThe big machine rammed into a pile of bricks and stalled. They were only\nhalf way down the block and Bob reversed quickly and backed the car away.\nWith a sharp flip of the wheel he skirted the obstruction and once more\nroared ahead, the car gaining speed as it went along in second gear.\nThe roar of the motor was so loud that it drowned out the explosions of\nthe guns.\nBob, watching for some sign of his uncle, thought he saw a form flit\ntoward the side of the street, but he couldn\u2019t be sure.\nThe car bounced in and out of a ditch, the wheels spinning frantically\nand finally gaining enough traction to send it ahead once more.\nThe windshield, which had been struck four times, was a maze of shattered\nglass, and Bob could see only dimly the light which marked the end of the\nstreet. It was impossible to discern anything ahead of him and he turned\non the headlights. It didn\u2019t matter much now, for the car was too large a\ntarget to miss.\nBut the lights failed to come on. Some bullet had probably clipped the\nwires, and Bob, his hands wrapped around the steering wheel, hung on\ngrimly as the big car bounced along the uneven street.\nThere was a jarring crash and the big car, its wheels still spinning\nfutilely, came to a stop. Bob was knocked against the steering wheel and\nhis head reeled from the shock.\nDimly he heard someone jerk open the door and he tried to rally his\ndulled senses and put up a resistance, but a rough hand reached him and\nseized him by the shoulders. He was conscious that a light blazed\nsuddenly in his face.\n\u201cIt\u2019s the kid!\u201d cried the heavy voice. \u201cI\u2019ll search him. Get the other\nguy!\u201d\nBob was jerked from the car and dropped to the ground. Once more the\nflashlight blazed, this time shielded behind a pile of bricks, and heavy\nhands went through his pockets.\nAs his head cleared, Bob realized his situation. Resistance right now to\nthe search might give his uncle a few more precious minutes and Bob\nsuddenly doubled up his knees and aimed a heavy kick at the man who was\nbending over him.\nThe maneuver caught the other unaware, and he stumbled back against the\npile of bricks. The flashlight, dropping to the ground, went out.\n\u201cGive me a hand, over here! The kid\u2019s busted my flashlight,\u201d called the\nman Bob had kicked.\nThen it felt as though a ton of beef had suddenly been dropped on him for\nthe man who had captured him was trying to make sure that Bob would not\nsquirm away from him. Just to make sure, he fell heavily on the young\nfederal agent and Bob cried out in pain as the breath was forced from his\nlungs.\nFrom the distance came the shrill siren of a police car.\n\u201cHurry it up, over there,\u201d a voice called. \u201cWe\u2019ve got to make a break out\nof here.\u201d\n\u201cDid you get the other guy?\u201d demanded the man who was almost smothering\nBob.\n\u201cNot yet.\u201d\nOn the echo of those words there came a shot and a cry.\n\u201cWe\u2019ve got him!\u201d\nBob attempted to throw off his assailant, but a thousand stars seemed to\ndescend upon him, police sirens mixed in with roaring motors and blazing\nguns and in spite of his efforts he dropped into a jumbled sleep.\nMixed sounds penetrated through a maze of pain which filled Bob\u2019s head\nwhen he finally started to regain consciousness.\nFirst of all there was the noise of police sirens which seemed to fill\nthe night air with their shrieks.\nBob managed to raise himself up on one elbow just as a car careened\naround the corner and screeched to a stop. Men fairly poured from the car\nand Bob could see that each was heavily armed.\nLights gleamed in the disrupted street and Bob turned to look for the car\nwhich he had commandeered and from which he had been so roughly jerked.\nIt had vanished and only the damaged taxi remained.\nThe echo of the gunfire had died away.\nA beam of light focused on Bob and a sharp command followed.\n\u201cDon\u2019t move!\u201d\nAt the moment Bob ached too much to care whether he ever moved. Someone\ncame up from behind him and jerked him roughly to his feet.\n\u201cSnap a pair of handcuffs on this bird. We\u2019ll question him later.\u201d The\ncommand was from an officer who seemed to be in charge of the squad. From\nback down the street more sirens shrilled and Bob saw two more cars pull\nto a stop and officers unload hastily.\n\u201cLet me explain,\u201d protested Bob. \u201cIf you\u2019ll only look in the case inside\nmy coat you\u2019ll find my identification papers. I\u2019m a provisional federal\nagent.\u201d\nOne of the police laughed scornfully.\n\u201cThat\u2019s a fine story. You\u2019re only a kid.\u201d\nBob was tired and worried now about his uncle. Hot tears of anger welled\ninto his eyes and his voice trembled as he replied.\n\u201cYou\u2019d better take the time to make sure before you handcuff me. A\nfederal agent has been kidnaped on this street and you\u2019d better hunt for\nhim instead of wasting your time on me.\u201d\n\u201cWho was kidnaped?\u201d the question was asked by a newcomer who had joined\nthe group.\n\u201cMy uncle, Merritt Hughes,\u201d replied Bob. \u201cHe\u2019s in the Department of\nJustice.\u201d\n\u201cSay, maybe there is something to his story,\u201d chimed in another officer.\n\u201cI know there is a federal agent by the name of Hughes.\u201d\n\u201cThen you\u2019d better start looking for him. He was down at the end of this\nstreet a couple of minutes ago, the target for three gunmen. We were\ntrapped here in the taxi that\u2019s deserted over there.\u201d\n\u201cGet busy, boys, and see what you can find,\u201d ordered the sergeant who was\nin command of the squad. \u201cI\u2019ll take this boy down to the corner and we\u2019ll\nphone the Department of Justice and check up on his story.\u201d\nWhile the police detail spread out to comb the street, the sergeant and\nBob walked back to the police car.\n\u201cIt will go hard on you, kid, if you\u2019re trying to pull anything on us,\u201d\nwarned the sergeant.\n\u201cDon\u2019t worry about that,\u201d Bob reassured him. \u201cJust let me get to a\ntelephone where I can get in touch with Waldo Edgar.\u201d\nThey walked to the corner and then turned to their right. Half way down\nthe next block there was a small drug store and they found a pay\ntelephone there. Bob entered the booth while the sergeant, a blocky,\ndark-haired man of about 40, stuck his foot in the door so that it would\nremain open and he could hear the conversation.\n\u201cHand me your papers,\u201d he told Bob, and the young federal agent handed\nover the small leather case which he carried in an inner pocket.\nBob\u2019s fingers skimmed the pages of the telephone directory until he found\nthe desired number. Dropping a nickel in the phone, he dialed for the\nDepartment of Justice. When an operator answered, he gave his message\nquickly and concisely.\n\u201cI\u2019ll give you Mr. Edgar at once,\u201d promised the operator.\nIt was only a few seconds later when Bob heard the voice of the chief of\nthe division of investigation of the Department of Justice. It was a rich\nfull voice, that once heard would never be forgotten. Bob identified\nhimself quickly and then in rapid sentences told what had happened.\n\u201cYour uncle had the paper the last you saw of him?\u201d asked the federal\nchief.\n\u201cYes,\u201d replied Bob. \u201cHe was attempting to reach the far end of the street\nand escape while I attracted the attention of the men trying to capture\nhim. But I was knocked out and I don\u2019t know what happened. When the\npolice arrived the street was deserted and the bullet-proof sedan was\nmissing.\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019ll spread an alarm at once,\u201d said Edgar. \u201cSee that you are released\nat once by the police. Then come here at once.\u201d\nBob turned to the sergeant.\n\u201cSatisfied about my identity?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cYou\u2019re okay,\u201d grinned the sergeant, handing back the leather case, which\nBob slipped into his coat.\n\u201cI\u2019ll be over at once,\u201d he promised the federal chief.\nHe stepped out of the booth and started to hasten toward the door, but a\nquestion from the sergeant detained him.\n\u201cCan you give us a description of that car? We\u2019ll have it broadcast over\nthe police radio and also on the teletype circuit. Some of our men may\npick up the machine and the sooner we can get a report the better chance\nwe\u2019ll have of finding your uncle.\u201d\nBob\u2019s description of the car was meager. He wasn\u2019t even sure of the make,\nbut it had looked like a large Romney sedan.\n\u201cThe windshield is shattered and there ought to be a number of bullet\nmarks on the body,\u201d he said. \u201cI guess that will be the best way to\nidentify it.\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019ll shut down on every road out of the city. They can\u2019t get away,\u201d\npromised the sergeant, as he stepped back into the booth to telephone the\ndescription to police headquarters.\nBut Bob had his own doubts as to whether the police would be able to\napprehend the car. Too much time had elapsed. Even now the big machine\nmight be speeding out of the city.\nIt was then that Bob disobeyed his orders from the federal chief. Instead\nof summoning a taxi, he hastened back to the street where the attack had\ntaken place. He wanted to be sure that his uncle had not been wounded and\nleft there.\nWhen he arrived the police squad had completed its search.\n\u201cFind anyone?\u201d asked Bob anxiously.\n\u201cNot even a good ghost,\u201d grumbled one of the officers. \u201cSay, that taxi\u2019s\na wreck.\u201d\nBut Bob had no time to waste in talk over a damaged taxi. He half ran and\nhalf walked to the nearest thoroughfare where he flagged a taxi and\nordered the driver to take him to the Department of Justice building.\nOn the way over, Bob reviewed the events of the night. With the\ndisappearance of his uncle the case had deepened and he felt as though he\nwas drifting in a sea of puzzling problems.\nOn reaching the Department of Justice building, Bob went directly to the\nupper floor where the federal chief\u2019s office was located. An agent,\nevidently watching for him, escorted him into the inner office and Bob\u2019s\neyes widened as he saw Condon Adams and Tully Ross seated beside Waldo\nEdgar\u2019s desk.\nThe federal chief rose as Bob came in.\n\u201cHave a chair, Bob. We want to hear in detail everything that went on\ntonight. Now that your uncle has disappeared, you\u2019ll have to work with\nAdams and Ross here on the case. I\u2019m counting on you for a lot of good\nwork.\u201d\nBob, as he eased his weary body into a chair, looked at Condon Adams and\nTully Ross. Both of them looked tired and worn and their faces reflected\nthe strain they had been under since the escape of the prisoner from the\npolice station.\n\u201cSome more bungling, I expect,\u201d snapped Condon Adams. The words were\nharsh and uncalled for, and Bob\u2019s temper flared quickly.\n\u201cIf it was bungling, it wasn\u2019t the first bit of it today,\u201d he shot back\nat the older federal agent.\nAdams\u2019 face flushed. He started to reply, then thought better of it, and\nremained silent.\n\u201cI want to know everything in detail, Bob,\u201d said the federal chief. \u201cJust\ntell me all that happened this evening.\u201d\n\u201cWe were eating dinner,\u201d said Bob, \u201cwhen I happened to put my hand in my\ncoat pocket and I felt a paper in there. When I pulled it out and\ndiscovered what it was, I was dumfounded.\u201d\n\u201cDumb-bell!\u201d The word was whispered, but everyone in the room heard it\nand Bob whirled toward Tully.\n\u201cAnother crack like that out of you and I\u2019ll take you all apart,\u201d he\nflared.\n\u201cCalm down, boys,\u201d said Waldo Edgar. \u201cWe\u2019ve got to get facts and get them\nat once. A man\u2019s life may be hanging in the balance. Go on Bob.\u201d\nBob went on to describe the start of their trip to the Department of\nJustice building.\n\u201cWe saw a car following us, but we were holding our own until we turned\ninto a street where there was a lot of repair work going on. Our taxi\ndriver tried to get through, but the cab became stalled and he took to\nhis heels.\u201d\nBob paused a moment. The recent action in the street was so vivid that it\nwas hard to describe.\n\u201cUncle Merritt and I decided it would be better to try to make it alone\nand we parted just as these gunmen unloaded. I managed to crawl back to\ntheir car and when they started shooting at Uncle Merritt I took their\ncar and rammed it down the street in an effort to attract their attention\nand give him a chance to escape.\u201d\n\u201cIs there any chance that he got away?\u201d asked the federal chief, leaning\nforward anxiously in his chair.\nBob shook his head.\n\u201cThe last thing I remember was a single shot and then someone cried,\n\u2019We\u2019ve got him.\u2019 Then someone slugged me and I didn\u2019t regain\nconsciousness until the police arrived. They haven\u2019t found a trace of\nhim.\u201d\n\u201cI was afraid that was the case,\u201d said the federal chief. \u201cWe\u2019ve swung a\ntight cordon around the entire city and I\u2019m even having the airports\nchecked. We won\u2019t overlook a single angle. Something will turn up before\nmorning.\u201d\nThe telephone buzzed and the federal chief, seized it eagerly, but his\nface fell as some routine message came over the wire.\nWhen he had completed the conversation, he turned toward Condon Adams.\n\u201cNow that Merritt Hughes is off the case, you\u2019ll be in direct charge of\nfinding him and recovering that paper. I\u2019m assigning Bob to give you some\nhelp wherever you need it.\u201d\nAdams showed his displeasure, but he was careful not to make it too\nobvious to Waldo Edgar.\n\u201cThanks,\u201d he granted. \u201cI may need the kid for some leg work, but he\nalways seems to be getting into trouble.\u201d It was biting sarcasm, but Bob\nchose to ignore it.\n\u201cThis latest development,\u201d went on the federal chief, \u201cputs us right back\nwhere we were after we thought the paper had vanished from the office,\nwhile in reality it was in Bob\u2019s pocket. The one prisoner who could have\ngiven us some information slipped out of our hands and one of my best\nagents has been abducted. That means whoever is after this information is\nboth desperate and daring.\u201d\nThe federal chief looked at Bob, whose face was still flushed from the\nrecent fight in the street.\n\u201cGot a gun, Bob?\u201d\nWaldo Edgar shook his head.\n\u201cThat\u2019s not heavy enough,\u201d he summoned an assistant, who returned shortly\nwith a stubby but serviceable gun and two clips of cartridges.\n\u201cThis is a new gun with which we are equipping our agents,\u201d explained\nEdgar. \u201cIt\u2019s a .45 and when you hit anything with that, you stop it, even\nif it is a freight train. You can\u2019t afford to go rummaging around\nWashington at night without ample protection while you\u2019re on this case.\u201d\n\u201cSo far I\u2019ve been able to make pretty good use of my fists,\u201d grinned Bob,\n\u201cbut this may come in handy in a pinch.\u201d\n\u201cAny orders for Bob tonight?\u201d asked Edgar, directing his question at\nCondon Adams.\n\u201cI won\u2019t need him,\u201d was the tart reply. \u201cHe might as well go home and get\nsome sleep.\u201d\n\u201cI may get a little sleep, but I\u2019m not going home,\u201d replied Bob. \u201cThat\u2019s\ntoo popular with certain unpleasant people. You can find me at a hotel\nand I\u2019ll probably change my address every night.\u201d\nHe named a small hotel which was near his own room.\n\u201cThat\u2019s a good idea,\u201d said Waldo Edgar, \u201cbut be sure to keep us informed\nevery time you shift to a new address. We\u2019ll let you know the minute we\nget any information on your uncle. Now you\u2019d better get home and get some\nsleep.\u201d\nBob admitted that he was mighty tired, but he was far from sleepy for his\nmind was still spinning in circles.\nWhen he left the office Condon Adams and Tully Ross stepped out into the\nhall with him and they descended to the main floor in the same elevator.\nBob could feel the cold wave of animosity which engulfed the others and\nhe knew that though they would make every effort to recover the radio\nsecret, they probably would not overtax their energies in finding his\nuncle.\nAs they walked toward the main door, Condon Adams spoke.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll call on you when we need help, but this thing is going to be easy.\nToo bad your uncle muffed it this afternoon.\u201d\nBob wheeled and faced him squarely.\n\u201cLet\u2019s have an understanding right now. In the first place, my uncle\ndidn\u2019t muff anything. I\u2019d like to have seen you do any better than he did\nwhen three gunmen were shooting at you in a dark street and the only\nescape was at an end where there was a brilliant street light. Now as far\nas getting things in a mess, it seems to me that you did a perfect job\nwhen you let that prisoner, the one man who could have supplied valuable\ninformation, take your gun away from you in the police station this\nafternoon. That makes you out to be quite a chump and I\u2019ve always thought\nyou were.\u201d\nBob was surprised at his own words and his own boldness, but he saw a\nlook something like apprehension in Condon Adams\u2019 eyes.\n\u201cYou don\u2019t like my uncle; you never have. You\u2019ve always been jealous of\nhis brains and his ability. Your nephew doesn\u2019t like me. Well, that goes\nfor me, too. I don\u2019t think you\u2019ll make any effort to find my uncle. If\nyou can recover that paper, well and good\u2014that\u2019s your first thought. But\nI\u2019m serving notice on you right now that I\u2019m going to find him and I\u2019m\ngoing to recover that paper. And I\u2019ll do it without any help from either\none of you. So here\u2019s a tip. I\u2019m tired and I\u2019m mad and I don\u2019t like you.\nRight now I can think of nothing I\u2019d like to do better than give each of\nyou a biff on the nose and if you open your mouths again about my uncle,\nI\u2019ll do just that thing. Good night.\u201d\nBob\u2019s words had so amazed both Adams and his nephew that they were\nspeechless and the young federal agent turned and stepped through the\nmain doorway.\nTully Ross, angry words crowding to his lips, started to follow Bob, but\nthe firm hands of Condon Adams stopped him.\n\u201cKeep your head, Tully,\u201d he warned. \u201cThe boy\u2019s mad clear through and he\u2019d\ndo just what he said\u2014clean up on both of us. Maybe we\u2019ve got it coming,\nthough. We baited him too much. But we\u2019re going to find that missing\nradio document.\u201d\nThe same resolution was in Bob\u2019s heart as he stepped down the avenue, but\nin addition was the grim determination that he would find his uncle.\nThe coolness of the fall night helped to clear the mad whirl of Bob\u2019s\nfatigued mind and he mulled over the things that had happened as he\nwalked down the avenue.\nFor nearly 24 hours the missing paper had been in his possession, which\naccounted for the attempt to kidnap him. But how had it leaked that the\npaper had been sent over to the archives division for filing\u2014who had\nknown that he would be alone that night?\nBob felt that knowing the answer to this question, he would have\nsomething on which to base his further investigation.\nThen there was the disappearance of his uncle that night. Bob knew that\nboth the radio document and the federal agent were in the hands of\nruthless and relentless men. From what his uncle had told him before, the\nradio secret was worth a huge amount to almost every foreign power and he\ndared not guess what country might be interested in obtaining its\npossession through such means as had been employed.\nBob\u2019s walk took him to the archives building and he automatically turned\nin and went up to the office where he worked.\nThe guard on duty on that floor was a familiar one, and Bob spoke to him\nbriefly.\n\u201cAnything unusual tonight?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cNot a thing,\u201d was the quick and honest reply.\nBob walked down the corridor, unlocked the door of the office, switched\non the lights, and stepped inside.\nThe room appeared to be just as he had left it in the afternoon and Bob\nsat down at his desk. It was quiet here and he would have an opportunity\nto think out some of his problems.\nBut he found himself too tired even for that. His head was heavy and he\ndrowsed at his desk. Half an hour passed and Bob fell into a sound\nslumber. For an hour he slept at his desk until the tapping of the guard\nat the door aroused him.\nBob opened the door in response to the summons.\n\u201cThought something might have happened to you,\u201d said the guard, half\napologetically.\n\u201cSomething did,\u201d smiled Bob. \u201cI went sound asleep. I\u2019d better get out of\nhere and get to bed.\u201d\nWhile the guard looked on, Bob turned off the lights, locked the room and\nstarted toward the elevator.\nThe guard halted him a few paces down the hall.\n\u201cSorry, Mr. Houston, but I\u2019ll have to search you. There\u2019s a new rule that\nanyone working on this floor out of hours must be searched.\u201d\nBob was half inclined to be angry, but he realized the soundness of this\nrule, especially after what had just taken place. He quietly submitted to\na careful search of his clothing by the guard.\n\u201cYou know your job,\u201d said Bob when the search was over.\n\u201cI used to be a store detective,\u201d replied the other, with not a little\npride in his voice, \u201cand if I do say it myself, I was one of the best in\nWashington.\u201d\nIt was only a few blocks to the hotel at which Bob had decided to take up\ntemporary quarters, and he walked the short distance at a brisk pace.\nHe registered, asking for a quiet, inside room, but the clerk looked\ndubious when Bob informed him he had no baggage, but would arrange to\nhave his clothes sent down in the morning.\n\u201cYou\u2019ll have to pay in advance,\u201d he said.\nBob delved into his pockets in search of money and to his embarrassment\nfound that he had less than a dollar.\nThe clerk appeared skeptical. It was late and after the fight in the\nstreet Bob\u2019s clothes were in none too good condition.\n\u201cPerhaps you\u2019d better try another hotel,\u201d he suggested.\nBy that time Bob longed for nothing more than a comfortable bed and a few\nhours of sleep and his feet were heavy. They wouldn\u2019t have carried him\nanother block.\nReaching inside his coat he pulled out the billfold and drew out the\nidentification badge which had been given to him by the federal chief.\n\u201cI guess this will identify me, even though I\u2019m temporarily short of\nfunds,\u201d said Bob. \u201cNow I want that room and I don\u2019t want to be disturbed\nunless there is something really important. Understand?\u201d\nThe clerk stared at the identification card and his whole manner changed\ninto one of the utmost courtesy. In less than ten minutes Bob was in bed,\nto drop into a sleep that was to be disturbed hours later by the strident\nringing of the telephone on the stand beside his bed.\nIt was broad daylight when Bob rubbed the sleep from his eyes and\nanswered the telephone.\n\u201cYes, this is Bob Houston speaking,\u201d he said.\nThe words which came over the wire caught and held his attention.\n\u201cYes, I understand. Of course, come right over. I\u2019ll be dressed and ready\nto go over the entire affair.\u201d\nBob hung up the receiver, reached the bathroom in one long jump, and in\nanother had the shower on and was under it.\nAfter a brisk shower, he rubbed his body down thoroughly, feeling ready\nfor what he knew was to be a busy day. The caller was Lieutenant\nFrederick Gibbons of the intelligence unit of the War Department, who had\nbeen assigned to help on the case. He had promised Bob information of\nvital importance and almost before Bob had finished dressing there was a\nknock.\nWhen Bob opened the door a trim, soldierly figure was standing in the\nhall.\n\u201cLieutenant Gibbons?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cRight. I take it you\u2019re Bob Houston?\u201d\nBob nodded.\n\u201cHow about breakfast?\u201d asked the intelligence officer.\n\u201cI\u2019m ready now and hungry,\u201d grinned Bob.\n\u201cThen we\u2019ll eat and talk. The coffee shop downstairs is excellent.\u201d\nAfter they had placed their orders for breakfast, Lieutenant Gibbons\nleaned toward Bob.\n\u201cHow long have you been asleep?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cIt must have been nearly three o\u2019clock before I went to bed here,\u201d was\nthe reply.\n\u201cThen a lot of things have happened since you dropped out of this thing.\u201d\n\u201cHas my uncle been found?\u201d asked Bob anxiously.\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry, but he hasn\u2019t. However, we\u2019ve turned up some clues that may\nprove mighty interesting. The car in which he was abducted has been\nfound.\u201d\n\u201cWhere?\u201d The question was sharp and anxious.\n\u201cDown near the tidal basin.\u201d\n\u201cWas there any trace of him?\u201d\n\u201cThere was a stain or two on the rear cushions of the car, but nothing\nserious, so if he was wounded last night, I don\u2019t think we need to worry\nabout that.\u201d\n\u201cBut the tidal basin? Does that mean\u2014\u2014?\u201d\nThough Bob left the question unfinished, the lieutenant guessed what he\nfeared and was quick to ease his mind.\n\u201cI\u2019m sure your uncle is still a captive. We\u2019ve learned that sometime late\nin the night a high-speed motor boat dashed out of the basin and down the\nPotomac. It was a strange boat that came up the river early in the\nevening. We\u2019ve a fairly good description of the craft and may be able to\ntrace it down. Now our first mission is to locate your uncle and recover\nthat paper.\u201d\nBob liked the manner in which Lieutenant Gibbons spoke. The intelligence\nofficer looked keen and alive to everything. He was a little taller than\nBob and slender with a slenderness that was wiry. His eyes were a\nsparkling brown and there was an upward twist to his lips that Bob liked.\n\u201cHave you heard whether Condon Adams and Tully Ross have turned up\nanything?\u201d asked Bob.\nA frown marred the lieutenant\u2019s forehead.\n\u201cThey\u2019ve been busy,\u201d he said. \u201cAs a matter of fact, they\u2019ve caused the\narrest of Arthur Jacobs. They found some rather suspicious looking things\nat his apartment, including some half burned scraps of paper in a\nfireplace in which someone was offering Jacobs $5,000 for information on\nthe radio secrets.\u201d\n\u201cDoes it look like a real lead?\u201d Bob was anxious.\n\u201cIt may, but I hate to believe it. Jacobs is a foreigner and he has a\nbrother who only recently escaped from a midwestern prison and who has\nmade a bad record.\u201d\n\u201cDoes his description tally with that of the fellow who escaped from\njail?\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s just it. There is a real resemblance and Condon Adams says he is\ncertain that Jacobs\u2019 brother, Fritz, is the man who escaped from him.\u201d\n\u201cMaybe Adams is too anxious to build up a case,\u201d said Bob.\n\u201cThat\u2019s true, but the facts are starting to click and it looks like the\nJacobs brothers are going to be in for some unpleasant hours. Arthur is\ndown at the central station now.\u201d\n\u201cBut it doesn\u2019t seem possible. I\u2019ve known him for a long time; he didn\u2019t\nseem like the kind who would get involved in anything like this.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s just when you lose your way,\u201d he said. \u201cDon\u2019t take anything for\ngranted. If you want to succeed in intelligence work you have to put a\nquestion mark around everyone.\u201d\nBreakfast at an end, they left the hotel and the intelligence officer\nhailed a taxicab.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll go down and listen in on this grilling,\u201d he said.\nBob didn\u2019t relish seeing Arthur Jacobs, his filing chief, under the\nbarrage of questions he knew Condon Adams would hurl at the little man,\nbut he steeled his nerves for he knew that in his new work he must be\nwilling and prepared to face many an ordeal.\nThey found a small group in a plain room. There was none of the pictured\n\u201cthird degree\u201d methods.\nArthur Jacobs looked worried and tired. He sat behind a table, a pitcher\nand glass of water within easy reach. Lounging across the table from him\nwas Adams, his fingers drumming incessantly on the table. At another\ntable at one side sat a stenographer and Tully Ross was sitting in a\nchair tilted back against the wall.\nJust after Bob and the intelligence officer arrived, Waldo Edgar looked\nin.\n\u201cAny results?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cNot so far,\u201d grunted Condon Adams, \u201cbut this fellow has a story to tell\nand he\u2019s going to break pretty soon.\u201d\nA look of desperation flickered for a moment in Arthur Jacobs\u2019 eyes and\nhe turned toward Bob.\n\u201cHello, Mr. Jacobs,\u201d said Bob. \u201cI didn\u2019t think I\u2019d ever see you here.\u201d\nThere was just a trace of a smile around the filing chief\u2019s lips when he\nreplied.\n\u201cI never thought I would be here, Bob. Who\u2019s in charge of the office with\nboth of us away?\u201d\n\u201cI don\u2019t know, but I\u2019ll find out if you like.\u201d\n\u201cI would,\u201d said the filing chief simply and Bob stepped into an adjoining\noffice and telephoned the archives division, where he was informed that a\nsenior clerk from another office had taken over the duties temporarily.\nWhen Bob stepped back into the larger room, Jacobs was sweating freely.\n\u201cEverything\u2019s all right at the office,\u201d volunteered Bob, who felt sorry\nfor the little man. \u201cBondurance, from the next office, is taking charge\nand they\u2019re getting along all right. Of course they miss you.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid they won\u2019t get those papers back in the proper order. It\u2019s an\nawful mess.\u201d\nBob agreed that it was and he couldn\u2019t make himself feel that Arthur\nJacobs, so obviously worried about the routine at the office, could be\nguilty of anything very bad.\n\u201cCome on, now Jacobs,\u201d broke in the heavy voice of Condon Adams. \u201cQuit\nthis stalling and get down to business. How much did you get for selling\nout this secret?\u201d\n\u201cBut I tell you I didn\u2019t get anything,\u201d replied the filing chief,\nspreading his hands out on the table in a dramatic denial. \u201cHow many\ntimes must I tell you this?\u201d\n\u201cUntil you tell me the truth and admit that you were paid to sell\ninformation on a government secret.\u201d\n\u201cOh, go away; quit bothering me,\u201d cried the man behind the table.\nHe stood up and pointed at Adams.\n\u201cGet out! Get out! Leave Bob here I\u2019ll talk to him; I can trust him!\u201d\nCondon Adams half rose in utter surprise at the force of Jacobs\u2019 words.\nThen he dropped back into his chair and a look of sullen resentment swept\nover his face.\n\u201cYou\u2019ll tell me, or no one,\u201d he growled.\nBut from the back of the room, where he had stepped in unnoticed, Waldo\nEdgar spoke quietly.\n\u201cLet Jacobs talk in his own way,\u201d he ruled. \u201cThe rest of us will step out\nwhile Bob talks with him.\u201d\nThe legs of the chair in which Tully Ross had been leaning back against\nthe wall struck the floor with a thud and Tully started to protest, but\nhis uncle, realizing the futility, waved him into silence.\nLieutenant Gibbons grinned at Bob as the others left the room. He was the\nlast to step out and he closed the door carefully behind him.\nWhen they were alone a tremendous burden seemed to lift from the\nshoulders of the filing chief.\n\u201cI\u2019ve got to talk,\u201d he told Bob, in a voice so low that it would have\nbeen impossible for anyone at the door to hear. \u201cBut I had to talk with\nsomeone I could trust.\u201d\nHe paused for a moment.\n\u201cYour uncle is missing?\u201d\n\u201cHe was kidnaped last night,\u201d replied Bob. \u201cThere were three in the gang\nand they got him and the radio paper which was stolen from our file.\u201d\nArthur Jacobs nodded sorrowfully.\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry about that, Bob, for he is in great danger then. I\u2019ll tell my\nstory as quickly as I can; then you must act without loss of time.\u201d\nArthur Jacobs wiped the perspiration from his forehead and then reached\nfor the glass of water. He drained it at one gulp and leaned back in his\nchair, an air of relief on his face.\nBob, tense, waited for him to speak. When the words finally came they\nrushed out in a torrent and Bob heard a story that wrenched at his own\nheart.\n\u201cIt\u2019s been terrible, Bob, terrible. I\u2019ve got to tell you the whole story.\nWhen Fritz escaped from prison he made his way east and I had letters\nfrom him. He needed money; he had always needed money as far as that was\nconcerned. When I sent word that I had none to spare, he started\nthreatening me. Then he fell in with bad company and the first thing I\nknew he was here in Washington.\u201d\nThe filing chief paused a moment and wiped his forehead again for the\nperspiration was running freely.\n\u201cFritz came to my apartment and demanded money, but I actually didn\u2019t\nhave it. He went away for a while, and then came again later. It was on\nthis visit last week that I got some inkling of what was in his mind. He\nstarted hinting around about the secrets which passed through my hands\nfor filing and for safe-guarding. After an hour or so he came out in the\nopen and made me a proposition. He knew where he could sell the secret of\nthis new radio-propelled and guided plane if I could get my hands on the\nWar Department papers.\u201d\nThe filing chief stopped to pour out another glass of water.\n\u201cGo on,\u201d urged Bob, who was desperately anxious to learn the full story\nand then resume the hunt for his uncle.\n\u201cFritz offered me $5,000 for my share if I would only tell him when the\npapers reached the office. He said that was all they needed to know. I\ncould have used the $5,000, but I told him I wouldn\u2019t do such a thing.\nThen a couple of days later I got a letter from him. It was mailed\nsomewhere over in Maryland and he repeated his offer and threatened me\nwith exposing an old family scandal.\u201d\n\u201cThat was the letter Condon Adams found,\u201d exclaimed Bob, and the filing\nchief nodded.\n\u201cI was careless about that. I tossed it in the fireplace, but didn\u2019t make\nsure that it had been consumed.\u201d\n\u201cBut did you supply your brother with the necessary information?\u201d asked\nBob, pressing hard for more concrete information.\nArthur Jacobs lowered his head.\n\u201cFritz came back the other night. He was in a terrible rage. He had\npromised to get this information from me, and had failed. You\u2019ll never\nknow the fear I\u2019ve always had of Fritz. He was bigger, older and he\nalways bullied me. He threatened to beat me to death and I finally told\nhim what he wanted to know.\u201d\nBob saw tears welling into the chief clerk\u2019s eyes and he turned his own\nface away, for it had not been easy to hear this confession. When the\nyoung federal agent finally looked back, Arthur Jacobs was composed and\ncalm once more.\n\u201cWhen did you give him this information?\u201d\n\u201cIt was the night before you caught Fritz in the office,\u201d replied Jacobs.\n\u201cHave you seen him since then?\u201d\n\u201cYes, he came to my apartment after his escape and I sheltered him for a\nfew hours. I didn\u2019t want to, but he was armed and forced me to do it.\nThat\u2019s all I know about it.\u201d\n\u201cDon\u2019t you know who\u2019s behind Fritz? Who is supplying him with the money?\u201d\nArthur Jacobs shook his head.\n\u201cI didn\u2019t even see any money,\u201d he said bitterly. \u201cFritz said that would\ncome later after this thing had been forgotten.\u201d\nBob felt sorry for the little man, for he knew now that Jacobs had been\nthe unwilling dupe of an older and bullying brother.\nThere was one bit of information Bob must have, one thing that was vital.\n\u201cDid you save the envelope in which the letter Fritz sent you from\nMaryland was mailed?\u201d he asked.\nJacobs ran his fingers through his thinning hair.\n\u201cI can\u2019t remember.\u201d\n\u201cDid you toss it in the fireplace?\u201d\n\u201cNo, I don\u2019t think so. I probably dropped it in the wastebasket. The maid\ncleans my apartment each day.\u201d\n\u201cThen where would this type of rubbish go?\u201d\n\u201cDown to the janitor, who would burn it in the incinerator.\u201d\nBob reached for the telephone on the other table.\n\u201cGive me the number of your apartment house,\u201d he urged, and Jacobs\nsupplied the needed information.\nThe building superintendent answered and Bob\u2019s words fairly tumbled over\nthe wire.\n\u201cThis is Bob Houston, a federal agent speaking,\u201d he said. \u201cGet hold of\nyour janitor at once. Don\u2019t allow him to burn any more waste paper or\nrefuse of any type from the floor on which Arthur Jacobs lives. I\u2019ll be\nthere within half an hour to check up on you.\u201d\nThe building superintendent was inclined to argue, but Bob cut him short.\n\u201cThis is no time for words,\u201d he said. \u201cDo as you\u2019re told or I\u2019ll file a\ncharge against you for interfering with the work of a federal officer.\u201d\nActually Bob didn\u2019t know whether he had that power or not, but the words\nsounded well and the threat did what was intended\u2014the superintendent\nchanged his tone and agreed to halt the burning of any more wastepaper or\nrefuse.\nBob turned back from the telephone and Jacobs looked at him with a\nbrighter face.\n\u201cI don\u2019t know what\u2019s going to happen to me,\u201d he said, \u201cbut I feel better\nfor having told you.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019ll help you all I can,\u201d promised Bob heartily, turning to call for\nLieutenant Gibbons.\nThe intelligence officer opened the door almost instantly and Condon\nAdams and Tully Ross crowded in close behind him.\n\u201cWell, can you solve the mystery for us now?\u201d asked Adams, his voice\nheavy with sarcasm.\n\u201cI think so,\u201d replied Bob.\n\u201cLet\u2019s have it, then.\u201d\n\u201cHardly. Solve it in your own way. Remember that I\u2019m working with my\nuncle on this case. You have the invaluable help of Tully.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s enough of smart cracks like that,\u201d replied Adams, his face\nflushing a little. \u201cI want to know what Jacobs said.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m making my report direct to Mr. Edgar. You\u2019ll have to get it from\nhim.\u201d\nWith that Bob left the room and went directly to the office of the\nfederal chief, Lieutenant Gibbons trailing at his heels.\nWaldo Edgar listened intently while Bob recounted what Jacobs had told\nhim.\n\u201cI rather sensed what his story would be,\u201d mused the chief investigator.\n\u201cDon\u2019t you believe it?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cYes, every word of it. Just another case of an older and bullying\nbrother taking advantage of a weaker one. It looks like Jacobs has\nsupplied us with the key information we have been groping for. Good work,\nBob.\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid I don\u2019t deserve any congratulations. Adams turned up Jacobs\nas a suspect.\u201d\n\u201cTrue enough, but Jacobs would never have talked for Adams or any of the\nrest of us. The important thing is that he did talk to you. Now what are\nyou planning?\u201d\nBob told of the letter from Maryland and of his orders to the building\nsuperintendent.\n\u201cThe postmark on that letter should give us a clue to where the gang took\nmy uncle,\u201d he said. \u201cThere isn\u2019t much chance of finding it, but it\u2019s\nworth the time and effort.\u201d\nWaldo Edgar\u2019s eyes brightened.\n\u201cYou\u2019re going to do, my boy. It\u2019s things like that that count. You never\ncan tell when even the tiniest slip of paper is going to give you the key\nto the case you\u2019re working on.\u201d\nThe chief agent turned to Lieutenant Gibbons.\n\u201cYou\u2019re staying on the case with Bob?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cI\u2019m going to try and keep up with him,\u201d smiled the intelligence officer.\n\u201cSplendid. Then we\u2019ll expect your uncle and the missing radio paper\nwithin the next twenty-four hours, Bob.\u201d\nThere was a real feeling of hope in Bob\u2019s heart as he stepped out of the\nDepartment of Justice building with Lieutenant Gibbons at his side.\n\u201cThings are going to move fast from now on,\u201d predicted the lieutenant.\n\u201cBy the way, Bob, aren\u2019t you a little young to be a federal agent?\u201d\n\u201cI\u2019m not a full-fledged agent,\u201d explained Bob. \u201cWhen my uncle was\nassigned to this case and it looked like some valuable information might\nbe gained by an inside man in our office, I was delegated to help him and\ngiven papers as a provisional agent. If I make good on this case I may\nget into the service permanently, even though I\u2019m a little young.\u201d\n\u201cI think you\u2019re going in with a rush and I know you\u2019re going to make good\neven though Edgar gave you a pretty short time when he said you\u2019d have\nthe case solved within twenty-four hours.\u201d\n\u201cThat\u2019s what scares me,\u201d confessed Bob, \u201cbut I\u2019ve got to find my uncle.\nOnce he\u2019s safe I\u2019ll start worrying about the radio secret.\u201d\n\u201cWhen you find him you\u2019ll recover the radio secret,\u201d predicted the\nintelligence officer.\nFifteen minutes of fast driving in a taxi took them to the apartment\nwhere Arthur Jacobs resided.\nThe building superintendent, curious and somewhat worried over Bob\u2019s\ntelephoned orders, was waiting at the door to meet them.\nBob identified himself and the superintendent admitted them to the\nbuilding, taking them into the basement where an incinerator bulked in\nthe background. Beside it were a number of bales of paper.\n\u201cWe\u2019ve been baling and selling the waste paper,\u201d he explained, \u201cbut I\ncan\u2019t tell you in what bale the paper from the fourth floor, where Jacobs\nlives, can be found. It\u2019s a good thing you phoned. We were going to have\nthis trucked out sometime during the day.\u201d\nBob looked at the bales and a feeling of dismay crept into his heart. All\nhe wanted was one envelope\u2014a small slip of paper\u2014yet there were literally\nhundreds of pieces of paper in each one of the bales. He turned to\nLieutenant Gibbons. The intelligence officer grinned.\n\u201cLooks like we\u2019re in for it. Better get off your coat, Bob, and we\u2019ll\nstart on the first bale.\u201d\n\u201cYou mean you want to open up all those bales?\u201d demanded the building\nsuperintendent.\n\u201cThat\u2019s right,\u201d nodded the intelligence officer. \u201cWe not only want to,\nbut we\u2019re going to do it. Get some snippers and cut through the wires on\nthis bale.\u201d He indicated the huge stack of paper nearest him.\nThe superintendent snapped on additional lights and grudgingly cut the\nwires on the first bale while Bob took off his coat.\n\u201cSave every envelope with a Maryland postmark on it,\u201d he said.\nIt looked like an endless task, but Bob and the lieutenant, squatting on\ntheir heels, started through the pile of paper.\nThe building superintendent, after watching them for several minutes,\njoined in the hunt.\nAt the end of half an hour they had found four letters with Maryland\npostmarks on them, but none of them addressed to Arthur Jacobs.\n\u201cWe\u2019ve got to have more help,\u201d decided the intelligence officer when an\nhour had slipped away and they had gone through only one bale. He went to\na telephone and called the Department of Justice, with the result that\nwithin half an hour six other agents were on the job, delving through the\ngrowing pile of papers.\nBy noon they had examined every scrap of paper from five bales and their\narms and backs were aching sharply.\n\u201cI\u2019m dizzy,\u201d confessed the intelligence officer when they finally stopped\nfor lunch. Leaving one of the agents to guard the bales in the basement,\nthe others went to a nearby restaurant. Lunch was eaten quickly and with\na minimum of talk, for every one of them knew that perhaps a man\u2019s life\nhinged on the quickness with which they could find the tell-tale\nenvelope.\nThey carried a tray of lunch back to the agent who had been left on guard\nand plunged once more into the mountainous task which still faced them.\nThe early hours of the afternoon slipped away. Bale after bale of paper\nwas scanned with care and Bob felt his hopes sinking.\nAnother bale was finished and one more pulled down and clipped open. He\nknelt down again and picked up a handful of waste paper. An envelope drew\nhis attention, but it was for another resident on the floor on which the\nfiling chief lived.\nLieutenant Gibbons, whose lanky form was almost doubled in a knot from\nthe hours of bending down and looking at slips of paper, suddenly\nstraightened up with a triumphant cry.\n\u201cHere\u2019s the letter!\u201d he cried, waving a badly torn envelope.\nThe federal men, dropping the paper they had been sorting, rushed to his\nside.\nBob was the first to see the postmark on the envelope. It was marked from\nRubio, Maryland, and was addressed to Arthur Jacobs.\nThe handwriting on the envelope was large and heavy and the pen which had\nbeen used was none too good for it had dropped ink in two places on the\nenvelope.\nBob felt his heart leap. This was the clue they had sought for so many\nweary, back-breaking hours in the litter of paper in the basement.\n\u201cHow far is it to Rubio?\u201d Bob asked the intelligence officer.\n\u201cI\u2019m not sure that I even know what part of Maryland it\u2019s in, but I\nbelieve if we go by plane, we should be there in an hour.\u201d\n\u201cThen we\u2019ll go by plane,\u201d decided Bob.\nJust how he could obtain a plane was a question he couldn\u2019t have answered\nat the moment, but he was determined to make the trip with the least\npossible loss of time for he felt that either in Rubio or near it he\nwould find the solution to the mystery.\nBob and Lieutenant Gibbons left the other federal agents at the apartment\nbuilding to help the superintendent clean up the litter of paper they had\nstrewn about the basement while they hastened back to the Department of\nJustice building.\nWaldo Edgar himself was waiting for their report and he smiled\ncontentedly when he heard it.\n\u201cYou\u2019re on the right track, Bob. Follow it hard and don\u2019t let a single\ntrick get away from you. How are you going to Rubio?\u201d\nBob turned to a wall map which showed the entire state of Maryland. As\nLieutenant Gibbons had surmised, Rubio was on the east shore, a tiny dot\nof a town, well isolated from any of the other shore villages.\n\u201cThat\u2019s a desolate stretch,\u201d said the chief. \u201cYou may need help in\nrounding up this gang.\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019ll try it alone,\u201d said Bob. \u201cIf we find them, we can send in a call\nfor assistance. Can you arrange for us to fly there?\u201d\nThe chief of the division of investigation looked at his watch. It was\njust three o\u2019clock.\n\u201cA plane will be ready in half an hour at Antacostia,\u201d he said. \u201cMake\nsure that you are well armed and don\u2019t take unnecessary risks.\nUnderstand?\u201d\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d replied Bob.\n\u201cThen start for Antacostia at once. You\u2019re going, too, lieutenant?\u201d\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t miss this,\u201d replied the intelligence officer. \u201cBesides, we\nhave a considerable stake in this game.\u201d\n\u201cSplendid. But don\u2019t let Bob take any needless risks. I\u2019m counting on his\ndeveloping into one of my aces one of these days.\u201d\nBob\u2019s temperature rose about three degrees and he looked at the federal\nchief to see if he was joking, but Waldo Edgar was serious.\n\u201cLooks to me like you\u2019re making headway rapidly,\u201d said Lieutenant Gibbons\nas they left the Department of Justice building. \u201cYou carrying a gun?\u201d he\nasked.\nBob patted his coat pocket.\n\u201cI\u2019ve got a special .45 with an extra clip of cartridges. That ought to\nbe enough for a trip like this.\u201d\n\u201cLet\u2019s hope so,\u201d said the intelligence officer.\nWhen they reached Antacostia, a cabin plane, a navy ship, was out on the\nramp waiting for them. It was an amphibian and while they were paying the\ndriver of their cab, the pilot started the motor with a roar that shook\nthe ground.\nAn officer ran toward them.\n\u201cWhich one of you is Bob Houston?\u201d he asked.\nBob stepped forward.\n\u201cYou\u2019re wanted on the phone at once,\u201d he said.\n\u201cStep on it, Bob. We\u2019re ready to go,\u201d warned Lieutenant Gibbons.\nBob ran toward the administration building and a clerk there handed him a\ntelephone.\nBob recognized instantly the voice of the chief of the bureau of\ninvestigation. Waldo Edgar, usually so calm, was deeply moved.\n\u201cBob, get to Rubio with all possible speed. We\u2019ve just had reports that\nan unknown yet tremendously powerful radio station has just come on the\nair. The Department of Commerce has had radio direction finders on it for\nthe last ten minutes and they report that the station must be on the east\nshore of Maryland, probably near Rubio. They\u2019re throwing on extra power\non their experimental station here to gum up the sending from this\nunknown outfit. I\u2019m afraid they\u2019re trying to get the secret of the\nradio-controlled plane out of the country in this way.\u201d\n\u201cWe\u2019re all ready to go. The plane\u2019s on the ramp now with the motor on.\u201d\n\u201cThen hurry. Let me know the minute you land at Rubio and I can send more\ninformation. I\u2019m starting agents out of Baltimore by motor and I\u2019ll send\nanother plane with men within the hour. Good luck.\u201d\nBob turned and raced toward the waiting plane.\n\u201cWhat news?\u201d asked Lieutenant Gibbons.\n\u201cTell you when we\u2019re in the air,\u201d replied Bob.\nThey climbed into the cabin and were no sooner seated than the ship\nstarted rolling across the field.\nAlmost before they knew it the ground was dropping away and they were\nheaded for the east shore of Maryland.\nThe air that fall afternoon was clear and the entire panorama of the city\nof Washington spread out below them. But Bob\u2019s thoughts were not on the\nbeauties of the afternoon or of the flight. His mind was centered far\nahead on the east shore village of Rubio and what he might learn there.\nThe cabin was well insulated, so Bob and Lieutenant Gibbons could\nconverse in comparative ease.\n\u201cWhat did Edgar have to say?\u201d asked the intelligence officer.\n\u201cHe\u2019s afraid the gang is trying to get the secret radio information out\nof the country by using an unlicensed station which has just started\nbroadcasting from somewhere along the east shore of Maryland.\u201d\nLieutenant Gibbons whistled.\n\u201cWhat\u2019s he doing about it?\u201d\n\u201cFederal agents are being sent from Baltimore by motor and another plane\nis to follow us within a few minutes. The Department of Commerce believes\nthe station is near Rubio and they\u2019re trying to gum up the broadcast as\nmuch as possible. Oh, it all clicks beautifully. My uncle was taken down\nthe river in a fast boat and landed somewhere near Rubio. He had the\npaper they desired and now they are trying to send the information\nsomeplace in Europe by using this powerful but unlicensed radio.\u201d\n\u201cSounds logical,\u201d agreed the lieutenant. \u201cLooks like we\u2019re going to have\nsome busy hours ahead of us. Made any plans yet?\u201d\nBob shook his head.\n\u201cI haven\u2019t thought any beyond getting to Rubio as fast as we can and\ntrying to learn there whether a boat like the one which slipped out of\nthe tidal basin last night has been sighted there.\u201d\n\u201cThink we can swing it alone or are you going to wait for the other\nagents to catch up with us?\u201d\nThere was no hesitation in Bob\u2019s reply.\n\u201cWe\u2019re going on as rapidly as we can. Every minute counts now. We may run\nstraight into a whole kettle of trouble, but we\u2019ll have to handle it in\nsome fashion.\u201d\nThey lapsed into silence as the sturdy amphibian sped out over Chesapeake\nBay. Fishing boats could be seen below and several freighters, bound for\nBaltimore, churned up a white wake in the blue of the bay. It was indeed\na calm and peaceful afternoon but Bob\u2019s mind was anything but peaceful or\ncalm.\nThen they were over Maryland and a few minutes later the uneven line of\nthe east shore was visible.\nThe pilot, in his cockpit up ahead, was scanning the ground intently. The\nship veered a little to the right and they circled over a sprawling\nvillage before which a broad, sandy beach broke the gentle swell of the\nAtlantic. Half a mile from the village proper was a sheltered cove with a\nscore of small fishing wharfs. It was toward this that the pilot of the\namphibian nosed his craft.\nAs they swung over the cove Bob could see the upturned faces of fishermen\nas they stared at the unexpected visitor. Bob looked at the boats in the\ncove with extreme care, but none of them were unusual and none appeared\ncapable of great speed.\nThe amphibian smacked the water and spray flew out on both sides as they\nslowed down and taxied in toward the shore. The pilot cut the engine when\nthey were near a low wharf and dropped a light anchor.\nA friendly fisherman put out in a dory and pulled alongside the plane.\n\u201cAny trouble?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cNot yet,\u201d replied Lieutenant Gibbons, \u201cbut we\u2019re looking for a black\nspeed boat. It\u2019s been described as about 30 feet long and capable of 40\nmiles an hour. It\u2019s a cabin boat with an antennae above the cabin. Ever\nseen anything like it around here?\u201d\nBob, watching the fisherman closely, thought he detected a slight\nnarrowing of the other\u2019s eyes, but he knew that the men of the east shore\nwere by nature extremely cautious.\n\u201cDon\u2019t know as I\u2019ve seen just that boat,\u201d replied the fisherman, \u201cbut\nthere\u2019s a good many crafts slip around the coves here.\u201d\n\u201cThis boat would have come in this morning.\u201d\n\u201cBetter climb in. We\u2019ll ask some of the other boys.\u201d\nBob and the intelligence officer seated themselves in the dory and were\nquickly put ashore, where a little group gathered about them.\nThe man who had brought them ashore acted as spokesman.\n\u201cThese fellows are looking for a speedboat that might have come around\nhere this morning. Anybody seen anything of such a craft?\u201d\nThere was no immediate reply and Bob could see doubt as to the wisdom of\nanswering the question in the eyes of a number of the men. It was then\nthat he decided to tell them the importance of their visit.\nHe drew out his billfold and handed the nearest man his identification\ncard.\n\u201cWe\u2019re federal officers,\u201d he explained, \u201cand we\u2019re looking for a man who\nwas kidnaped last night in Washington in a speedboat and brought\nsomewhere near Rubio. If you can give us any information it may save a\nman\u2019s life.\u201d\nThe entire attitude of the group changed and a young man who had been in\nthe background stepped forward.\n\u201cI saw such a boat just about mid-forenoon,\u201d he said. \u201cIt was coming up\nfrom the south, and coming fast, maybe forty an hour, but I didn\u2019t see it\nput in any place.\u201d\nA radio in one of the fishing shacks screeched as though in agony and the\nowner of the set hurried away to tune it down.\n\u201cSomebody ought to break that thing up; it\u2019s been doing that all\nafternoon,\u201d grunted another fisherman.\n\u201cDid it work all right before?\u201d asked Bob.\n\u201cSure. But this afternoon something went wrong and we can\u2019t get\nanything.\u201d\nBob knew then that the end of the trail was nearing.\n\u201cTell me this: Are there any old estates near here which have been\nrecently occupied?\u201d\nThe owner of the radio, who had shut it off, rejoined the group in time\nto hear Bob\u2019s question, and it was he who replied.\n\u201cThere\u2019s the old Haskins place about five miles up the shore,\u201d he said.\n\u201cSomeone\u2019s been around there for the last month or so. I went up one day\nto try and sell some provisions, but they ordered me off.\u201d\n\u201cCould this speedboat have been bound for the Haskins place?\u201d asked Bob,\naiming his question at the young fisherman who had told him about the\nboat.\n\u201cSure, it was going up the shore. But I\u2019ve never seen that boat around\nhere before.\u201d\nBob turned to Lieutenant Gibbons.\n\u201cLooks to me like the Haskins place is our goal. Let\u2019s reconnoiter it in\nthe plane.\u201d\n\u201cThe sooner the better,\u201d agreed the intelligence officer.\nBob swung back to the fishermen.\n\u201cFederal agents are coming in here from Baltimore by car and from\nWashington by plane. If they arrive before we return, direct them to the\nHaskins place.\u201d\nWith its motor on full, the amphibian flashed across the cove and wheeled\ninto the air. Bob felt that they were on the last leg of their hunt and\nhe sensed a tenseness of his whole body that was unsettling. Lieutenant\nGibbons realized how Bob felt and he leaned over and spoke to the young\nfederal agent.\n\u201cLet your nerves loosen up a little and keep your head when we get on the\nground. If we get in a jam, use your gun only as a last resort. Remember\nthat help will be along soon.\u201d\nThe intelligence officer took out his own automatic and examined it,\nmaking sure that the firing mechanism was working perfectly. Bob did\nlikewise and shifted the gun into his right-hand coat pocket. He knew\nthat with the gun there he could shoot through his pocket if necessary.\nThe village of Rubio dropped behind them and a desolate stretch of shore\nunfolded before their eyes.\nLieutenant Gibbons was the first to sight the Haskins place, a rambling\nold structure well out on a neck of land that projected into the\nAtlantic. He signalled to the pilot that this was their destination and\nthe naval airman banked the amphibian gracefully.\nThe plane dropped low, flying not more than a hundred feet above the\nshore. The expansive old house, which had several long wings, was badly\nin need of paint, as were the outbuildings clustered to the rear. A long,\nlow boathouse was built as a part of the run-down pier and one door was\nclosed, but as the plane flashed by Bob caught a glimpse of a black\nmotorboat and his heart leaped. He seized Lieutenant Gibbons\u2019 arm.\n\u201cI saw a boat in the shed!\u201d cried Bob. \u201cLet\u2019s get down as soon as\npossible.\u201d\nBut already the flyer was dropping the amphibian low. They spattered down\non the water and their speed dropped off as they neared the old wharf.\nBob watched the house closely for some sign of life. The windows, many of\nthem broken, betrayed no movements. From all outward appearances the\nhouse had not been occupied in years.\nThe amphibian, now less than 50 yards from the beach, lost headway and\ndrifted.\n\u201cLooks like some bad rocks ahead,\u201d said the pilot. \u201cI don\u2019t dare get any\ncloser. You\u2019ll have to swim if you want to land here unless I taxi out\nand down a ways. It looked better further down.\u201d\nBut Bob had no intention of wasting any more time.\n\u201cI\u2019m going ashore,\u201d he told Lieutenant Gibbons. \u201cYou can stay here and\nsee if anything happens.\u201d\nBefore the intelligence officer could protest, Bob eased himself out of\nthe cabin and started swimming for shore. In a few yards he was able to\ntouch bottom, but just as he straightened up there was a sharp puff from\none of the lower windows of the old house and a bullet ricocheted along\nthe water.\nBob, acting by instinct, ducked and started swimming under water. He\nshould have been greatly alarmed, but instead he felt a strange\nexultation for the firing of that shot had told him what he wanted to\nknow\u2014he was at the end of the trail.\nThe young federal agent came up for air and as soon as his head appeared,\nthree shots sounded in rapid succession, each fired from different\nwindows in the house.\nTwo of the bullets went wide of their mark, but the third splashed water\nin Bob\u2019s eyes. Before he ducked again he heard Lieutenant Gibbons firing\nback and then another gun joined in the battle and Bob knew that the\nnaval flyer had taken a hand in the party.\nSwimming with a powerful stroke, Bob shot along under water. When he came\nup this time he was in the shelter of the boathouse. He was able to stand\nerect and he waved back to Lieutenant Gibbons. The firing from the house\nhad suddenly ceased and Bob made his way alongside the squat, powerful\nspeedboat.\nHe climbed into the craft and with several well aimed blows with the butt\nof his gun disabled the ignition apparatus. At least the kidnapers would\nnot escape in the boat.\nFrom some place behind the house the sound of an automobile exhaust\nroared out and Bob leaped to the door of the boathouse. A car wheeled\naround the far corner of the house and he saw three men inside, two in\nfront and one in the rear. It was the first time Bob had ever fired a gun\nwith a human being as a target, but he fired rapidly from the automatic\nand it seemed to him that a whole volley of bullets issued from the\nweapon in his hands. Then the gun was silent and before he could get the\nother clip from his pocket the car had disappeared.\nBob started running for the house, pausing only once when a cry from\nLieutenant Gibbons caused him to turn his head. The intelligence officer\nwas wading ashore and motioning for Bob to wait for him. But Bob had more\npressing duties.\nThe front door of the house was half open and Bob charged through. The\ninterior was dusty and unkempt, although there were some signs that an\neffort had been made to live in two of the front rooms.\nLieutenant Gibbons pounded up the front steps and burst into the hallway.\nHe joined Bob and together they resumed the frantic search of the house.\nThe first floor was combed, room for room and closet by closet, and it\nwas not until they reached a shed at the back of the house that they\nfound what they were seeking. There, laying on a roll of dirty bedding,\nwas Merritt Hughes, bound, gagged and with a red welt along one side of\nhis head.\nBob, a cry of joy at finding his uncle on his lips, bent down to untie\nthe gag while Lieutenant Gibbons slashed at the rope which fastened the\nfederal agent\u2019s wrists and ankles.\nTogether they helped Merritt Hughes to his feet. His tongue was badly\nswollen from the gag, but he managed to say a few words.\n\u201cDid they get away?\u201d he asked slowly.\n\u201cYes, but I don\u2019t think they\u2019ll get far. Agents are on their way from\nBaltimore and Washington,\u201d said Bob.\n\u201cHow about their radio?\u201d\n\u201cThe Department of Commerce heard them come on the air and gummed up\ntheir broadcasts,\u201d replied Bob.\nLieutenant Gibbons, who had gone in search of water, returned with a tin\ncup and Merritt Hughes drank it with relish, taking slow, deep draughts\nof the refreshing liquid.\nThen he bathed his face and hands and felt much refreshed. He looked\nquizzically at Bob and the lieutenant.\n\u201cYou fellows may catch pneumonia running around here in wet clothes,\u201d he\nwarned.\n\u201cWhat happened to your head?\u201d demanded the lieutenant.\n\u201cThey creased me with a bullet during the scrap back in Washington last\nnight,\u201d replied the federal agent grimly. \u201cI want you to see their\nradio.\u201d\nHe led them to the top floor of the old house where one room had been\nfitted up for broadcasting purposes. Bob knew little about radio, but he\ncould tell that a great deal of money had been expended here.\n\u201cWhere\u2019s the aerial?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cThey used an underground antennae,\u201d replied his uncle.\nLieutenant Gibbons picked up a heavy chair which was in the room and\ndeliberately smashed the delicate equipment.\n\u201cI guess that\u2019s the end of this station.\u201d\n\u201cBut we haven\u2019t recovered the radio document,\u201d groaned Bob.\n\u201cI rather think we have,\u201d replied the lieutenant, pointing from a window\nto a cavalcade of cars which was approaching through a clearing.\nThe scene that night in the office of the chief of the bureau of\ninvestigation was one that would remain stamped forever in Bob\u2019s memory.\nWaldo Edgar was there. So was Bob\u2019s uncle and on the other side of the\nroom were Tully Ross and Condon Adams and in the background Lieutenant\nGibbons chuckled occasionally.\nIt was a brief session with Waldo Edgar doing most of the talking in that\nclose, clipped manner of speech of his which inspired his own agents and\ninstilled fear in the hearts of the men he was pursuing.\n\u201cThe reports you have turned over to me tonight are highly gratifying,\u201d\nhe said, \u201cand I think we can call this case completed. While most of the\nhonor of the final catch goes to Bob Houston, Condon Adams and Tully Ross\ndeserve credit for uncovering that vital clue in the fireplace of Arthur\nJacobs\u2019 apartment.\u201d\nThe federal chief shuffled through some papers on his desk.\n\u201cAll of the men involved in the case have been apprehended, including\nFritz Jacobs, who appeared to be the ringleader. Their radio station has\nbeen destroyed and they were unable to make use of the information which\nthey had for nearly 24 hours. You may be sure that their punishment will\nbe swift and sure. As for Arthur Jacobs, I am inclined to feel sorry for\nhim for his record in the government service up to this time had been\nexcellent and I will do all that I can to help him.\u201d\nThen Waldo Edgar turned to Tully Ross.\n\u201cAs a result of your work on this case, I am pleased to be able to tell\nyou that you are now a full fledged federal agent.\u201d\nThe chief of the bureau of investigation then faced Bob and he smiled\nwarmly as he spoke.\n\u201cTo you, Bob, I extend my most sincere congratulations. You were under a\ngreat strain, yet you used your head every minute of the time and when\nthe showdown came, you were in there fighting. I don\u2019t know when anything\nhas pleased me more than to hand you your commission as a federal agent.\nYou\u2019re young, but I predict that as Agent Nine you are going a long ways\nin the federal service.\u201d\nIn spite of himself, tears welled into Bob\u2019s eyes for his heart was\noverflowing with happiness.\n\u201cI\u2019ll do my best to make good,\u201d he promised. \u201cWhen do I go on another\ncase?\u201d\nWaldo Edgar chuckled. \u201cYou\u2019d better rest a day or two from this one.\nThere will be plenty for you later.\u201d\nHe was, indeed, a wise prophet, for in less than 24 hours Bob was to get\nthe call that was to send him out on the famous Jewel Mystery, about\nwhich you will learn in \u201cAgent Nine and the Jewel Mystery.\u201d\n--Copyright notice provided as in the original\u2014this e-text is public\n  domain in the country of publication.\n--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and\n  dialect unchanged.\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Agent Nine Solves His First Case, by Graham M. Dean\n*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AGENT NINE SOLVES HIS FIRST CASE ***\n***** This file should be named 44351-0.txt or 44351-0.zip *****\nThis and all associated files of various formats will be found in:\nProduced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan\nand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nUpdated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions\nwill be renamed.\nCreating the works from public domain print editions means that no\none owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation\n(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without\npermission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,\nset forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to\ncopying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to\nprotect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project\nGutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you\ncharge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you\ndo not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the\nrules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose\nsuch as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and\nresearch.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do\npractically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is\nsubject to the trademark license, especially commercial\nredistribution.\n*** START: FULL LICENSE ***\nTHE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE\nPLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK\nTo protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free\ndistribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work\n(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase \"Project\nGutenberg\"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project\nGutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at\n  www.gutenberg.org/license.\nSection 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm\nelectronic works\n1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm\nelectronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to\nand accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property\n(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all\nthe terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy\nall copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.\nIf you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project\nGutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the\nterms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or\nentity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.\n1.B.  \"Project Gutenberg\" is a registered trademark.  It may only be\nused on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who\nagree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few\nthings that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works\neven without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See\nparagraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project\nGutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement\nand help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic\nworks.  See paragraph 1.E below.\n1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (\"the Foundation\"\nor PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project\nGutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the\ncollection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an\nindividual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are\nlocated in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from\ncopying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative\nworks based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg\nare removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project\nGutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by\nfreely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of\nthis agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with\nthe work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by\nkeeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project\nGutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.\n1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern\nwhat you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in\na constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check\nthe laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement\nbefore downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or\ncreating derivative works based on this work or any other Project\nGutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning\nthe copyright status of any work in any country outside the United\nStates.\n1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:\n1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate\naccess to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently\nwhenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the\nphrase \"Project Gutenberg\" appears, or with which the phrase \"Project\nGutenberg\" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,\ncopied or distributed:\nThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with\nalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or\nre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included\nwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org\n1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived\nfrom the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is\nposted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied\nand distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees\nor charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work\nwith the phrase \"Project Gutenberg\" associated with or appearing on the\nwork, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1\nthrough 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the\nProject Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or\n1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted\nwith the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution\nmust comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional\nterms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked\nto the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the\npermission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.\n1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm\nLicense terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this\nwork or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.\n1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this\nelectronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without\nprominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with\nactive links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project\nGutenberg-tm License.\n1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,\ncompressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any\nword processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or\ndistribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than\n\"Plain Vanilla ASCII\" or other format used in the official version\nposted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),\nyou must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a\ncopy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon\nrequest, of the work in its original \"Plain Vanilla ASCII\" or other\nform.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm\nLicense as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.\n1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,\nperforming, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works\nunless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.\n1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing\naccess to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided\nthat\n- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from\n     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method\n     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is\n     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he\n     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the\n     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments\n     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you\n     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax\n     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and\n     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the\n     address specified in Section 4, \"Information about donations to\n     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.\"\n- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies\n     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he\n     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm\n     License.  You must require such a user to return or\n     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium\n     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of\n     Project Gutenberg-tm works.\n- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any\n     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the\n     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days\n     of receipt of the work.\n- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free\n     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.\n1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm\nelectronic work or group of works on different terms than are set\nforth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from\nboth the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael\nHart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the\nFoundation as set forth in Section 3 below.\n1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable\neffort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread\npublic domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm\ncollection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic\nworks, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain\n\"Defects,\" such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or\ncorrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual\nproperty infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a\ncomputer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by\nyour equipment.\n1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the \"Right\nof Replacement or Refund\" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project\nGutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project\nGutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project\nGutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all\nliability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal\nfees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT\nLIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE\nPROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE\nTRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE\nLIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR\nINCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH\nDAMAGE.\n1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a\ndefect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can\nreceive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a\nwritten explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you\nreceived the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with\nyour written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with\nthe defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a\nrefund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity\nproviding it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to\nreceive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy\nis also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further\nopportunities to fix the problem.\n1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth\nin paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER\nWARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO\nWARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.\n1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied\nwarranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.\nIf any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the\nlaw of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be\ninterpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by\nthe applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any\nprovision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.\n1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the\ntrademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone\nproviding copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance\nwith this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,\npromotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,\nharmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,\nthat arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do\nor cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm\nwork, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any\nProject Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.\nSection  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm\nProject Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of\nelectronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers\nincluding obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists\nbecause of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from\npeople in all walks of life.\nVolunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the\nassistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's\ngoals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will\nremain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project\nGutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure\nand permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.\nTo learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation\nand how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4\nand the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org\nSection 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive\nFoundation\nThe Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit\n501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the\nstate of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal\nRevenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification\nnumber is 64-6221541.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg\nLiterary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent\npermitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.\nThe Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.\nFairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered\nthroughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at 809\nNorth 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887.  Email\ncontact links and up to date contact information can be found at the\nFoundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact\nFor additional contact information:\n     Dr. Gregory B. Newby\n     Chief Executive and Director\n     gbnewby@pglaf.org\nSection 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg\nLiterary Archive Foundation\nProject Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide\nspread public support and donations to carry out its mission of\nincreasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be\nfreely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest\narray of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations\n($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt\nstatus with the IRS.\nThe Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating\ncharities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United\nStates.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a\nconsiderable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up\nwith these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations\nwhere we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To\nSEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any\nparticular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate\nWhile we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we\nhave not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition\nagainst accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who\napproach us with offers to donate.\nInternational donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make\nany statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from\noutside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.\nPlease check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation\nmethods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other\nways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.\nTo donate, please visit:  www.gutenberg.org/donate\nSection 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic\nworks.\nProfessor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm\nconcept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared\nwith anyone.  For forty years, he produced and distributed Project\nGutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.\nProject Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed\neditions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.\nunless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily\nkeep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.\nMost people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:\n     www.gutenberg.org\nThis Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,\nincluding how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary\nArchive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to\nsubscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  Agent Nine Solves His First Case\n"},
{"language": "eng", "scanningcenter": "capitolhill", "sponsor": "The Library of Congress", "contributor": "The Library of Congress", "date": "1934", "subject": ["Oratory", "Public speaking"], "title": "The art of effective speaking,", "creator": "Gislason, Haldor B", "lccn": "34004964", "collection": ["library_of_congress", "fedlink", "americana"], "shiptracking": "ST011886", "partner_shiptracking": "171GR", "call_number": "6886730", "identifier_bib": "00137425440", "lc_call_number": "PN4121 .G5", "possible-copyright-status": "The Library of Congress is unaware of any copyright restrictions for this item.", "note": "If you have a question or comment about this digitized item from the collections of the Library of Congress, please use the Library of Congress \u201cAsk a Librarian\u201d form: <a href=\"https://www.loc.gov/rr/askalib/ask-internetarchive.html\">https://www.loc.gov/rr/askalib/ask-internetarchive.html</a>", "publisher": "Boston, New York [etc.] D.C. Heath and Company", "description": ["ix, 492 p. 20 cm", "Includes bibliographies"], "mediatype": "texts", "repub_state": "19", "page-progression": "lr", "publicdate": "2019-12-20 17:13:30", "updatedate": "2019-12-20 18:16:32", "updater": "associate-richard-greydanus@archive.org", "identifier": "artofeffectivesp00gisl", "uploader": "associate-richard-greydanus@archive.org", "addeddate": "2019-12-20 18:16:34", "operator": "associate-annie-coates@archive.org", "tts_version": "2.1-final-2-gcbbe5f4", "camera": "Sony Alpha-A6300 (Control)", "scanner": "scribe1.capitolhill.archive.org", "imagecount": "516", "scandate": "20200113153802", "ppi": "300", "republisher_operator": "associate-melanie-zapata@archive.org;associate-mae-mirafuentes@archive.org", "republisher_date": "20200115195038", "republisher_time": "1443", "foldoutcount": "0", "identifier-access": "http://archive.org/details/artofeffectivesp00gisl", "identifier-ark": "ark:/13960/t51g92c0g", "ocr": "ABBYY FineReader 11.0 (Extended OCR)", "scanfee": "300;12;240", "invoice": "36", "openlibrary_edition": "OL6301949M", "openlibrary_work": "OL7563644W", "external-identifier": "urn:oclc:record:1156009722", "backup_location": "ia907009_27", "ocr_module_version": "0.0.14", "ocr_converted": "abbyy-to-hocr 1.1.11", "page_number_confidence": "95.53", "oclc-id": "1913032", "creation_year": 1934, "content": "What boots it thy pleasure? What profit thy parts? If one thing thou lackest, The art of all arts? The only credentials, Passport to success, Opens castle and parlor, \u2014 Address, man, address. \u2014 Ralph Waldo Emerson Eloquence is a republican art, \u2014 as conversation is an aristocratic one. PREFACE\n\nEloquence, like every other art, rests on laws the most exact and determinate, says Emerson. Certainly much progress can be made in the art of effective speaking by studying these laws. This book is an attempt to present some of the fundamental principles of effective speaking, as they have been discovered and formulated by students of the art in various lands and in various ages.\n\nThe material in this book has been drawn from many sources. Some of it is taken from the works of the great masters of rhetoric, such as Aristotle, Cicero, Quintilian, and Demosthenes. Some of it is taken from the works of modern writers on the subject, such as Francis Bacon, John Locke, and Edward Bellamy. Some of it is taken from the speeches of great orators, such as Pericles, Demosthenes, Cicero, and Lincoln. Some of it is taken from the works of modern teachers of public speaking, such as John Murray, James Walker, and Ivy Lee.\n\nThe material has been arranged in a manner which, it is believed, will make it easy for the student to understand and apply. The first part of the book deals with the nature and importance of effective speaking, and with the qualities which are essential to the effective speaker. The second part deals with the principles of organization and arrangement, and with the methods of preparing and delivering a speech. The third part deals with the use of language, and with the techniques of persuasion and persuasive writing.\n\nIt is hoped that this book will be of value to all who are interested in the art of effective speaking, whether they are students in a school or college, orators in a legislative body, orators in a court of law, orators in a business office, orators in a pulpit, orators in a debating society, orators in a political campaign, orators in any other walk of life.\n\nThe material in this book is copyrighted by Haldor B. Gislason, and no part of it may be reproduced in any form without written permission of the publisher.\n\nPrinted in the United States of America.\n\nuiaR-2 WUl i\n\nBy Haldor B. Gislason\n\nWhat boots it thy pleasure? What profit thy parts? If one thing thou lackest, The art of all arts? The only credentials, Passport to success, Opens castle and parlor, \u2014 Address, man, address. \u2014 Ralph Waldo Emerson\n\nEloquence is a republican art, \u2014 as conversation is an aristocratic one. \u2014 George Santayana\nWhoever wishes to acquire skill in speaking may attack the problem in three ways: he may study theory, he may study models, he may practice. It is a great deal to ask which is the most important, similar to asking which is the most important leg of a three-legged stool. One of my aims in writing this text has been to give parallel treatment to all three. Many years of teaching experience have convinced me that the mere statement of a principle is of little value until it has been (1) thoroughly explained, (2) carefully illustrated, and (3) repeatedly exemplified in practice. Every principle here enunciated is concretely linked, up with the following.\nThe aim of this book is to provide effective speaking techniques as illustrated by our great speakers. This abundance of material is hoped to be welcome in classrooms, particularly where library facilities are limited. Another objective is to emphasize the importance of linking speaking to the interests of the audience. Modern psychology has shown that we are essentially creatures of desire, motivated by a never-ending quest for the satisfaction of human wants, material, intellectual, spiritual, and aesthetic. The goal of all persuasive speaking is presumably to promote a fairer distribution of life's satisfactions and to shape human environment closer to our heart's desire. This book provides fuller treatment than usual to several phases of effective speech, including various forms of support or kinds.\nThe significance of speech materials and their adaptation to various types of speeches has received full and specific treatment. The role of illustrations in speaking is stressed, as they largely enable the comparison of the new to the old and the identification of new behavior patterns with the old ones. Speaking style and suggestion have been given somewhat elaborate treatment, which I believe is warranted. An effort has been made to give the argumentative speech a balanced treatment, meaning that logical argument has been given only the place it merits. It is an important form of support in this type of speech, but it is only one form of support out of many. To give it virtual monopoly is not appropriate.\nThe field is to disregard the patent psychological fact that the real \"controls\" of human lives are lower than our heads. If, in 1863, when he pleaded the Northern cause in his five speeches in England, Henry Ward Beecher had followed, as a model, the traditional college argumentative forensic, one may imagine how disastrous would have been the consequences. Beecher\u2019s addresses in England and Lincoln's political addresses in America afford us as fine examples as we have of popular argumentative speeches. They are good models for study.\n\nA word in regard to the illustrative material used in the text. It has been selected in part from successful present-day speakers and in part from speakers of the last generation, who exemplified the conversational type of speaking, and who were acknowledged masters in the art of communicating ideas to the ordinary audience.\nNary run of audiences \u2014 the kind most persons have to deal with. If objection be made that some of these specimens show too much art for the ordinary person to follow, the answer is, it seems to me, that there is plenty of opportunity for everybody to read and hear the mediocre. We bathe in an ocean of mediocrity every day. These models, in which American oratorical literature is rich beyond others, should serve to inspire students to their best efforts by keeping constantly before them the highest ideals. When we study other forms of art \u2014 painting and sculpture \u2014 we use the best models available. Why not in speaking? The student who saturates himself with good models along with his practice is well on the way to becoming a good speaker. No one can work in this subject without feeling a large inspiration.\nMeasuring indebtedness to veterans in the field, such as James Winans, Arthur Edward Phillips, William Trufant Foster, Charles H. Woolbert, James Milton O\u2019Neill, and others. I may make special mention of Frank M. Rarig, head of the Department of Speech at the University of Minnesota, with whom I discussed most of the issues addressed here for many years, and whom I absolve from any responsibility for any heresies found within these pages. I also thank Franklin H. Knower of the same department for carefully reading the manuscript and offering constructive suggestions, and Joseph M. Thomas, Assistant Dean, Senior College, University of Minnesota, for good counsel in preparing the manuscript.\n\nCopyright Acknowledgments\nThank you to Jane Addams for permission to reprint her address, \u201cWashington\u2019s Birthday.\u201d\n[To D. Appleton-Century Company, permission to quote from Contemporary Speeches by James Milton O\u2019Neill and Floyd K. Riley; Public Speaking by James Winans; and Psychology of Suggestion by Boris Sidis.\nTo E.P. Dutton and Company, permission to quote from Selected Papers on Philosophy (Everyman\u2019s Library), by William James.\nTo Ina Firkins, permission to reprint the speech, \u201cThe Usurpations of Society,\u201d by Oscar W. Firkins.\nTo Funk and Wagnalls Company, permission to quote from William Jennings Bryan\u2019s \u201cCross of Gold Speech,\u201d as contained in Speeches of William Jennings Bryan.\nTo Harper and Brothers, permission to quote from Human Values by DeWitt H. Parker, Eloquence by Garrett P. Serviss, and Fundamentals of Speech by Charles H. Woolbert. Permission to reprint the speeches, \u201cSocial versus Biological Inheritance\u201d]\nance,\u201d  by  Clifford  Kirkpatrick,  from  Man  and  His  World,  and  \u201cAcres \nof  Diamonds,\u201d  by  Russell  H.  Con  well. \nTo  Henry  Holt  and  Company,  for  permission  to  quote  from  Talks \nto  Teachers,  by  William  James,  and  Psychology,  by  Robert  S.  Wood- \nworth. \nTo  Lothrop,  Lee  and  Shepard  Company,  for  permission  to  reprint \n\u201cThe  Calf  Path\u201d  from  Whiffs  from  Wild  Meadows  and  \u201cThe  House \nby  the  Side  of  the  Road\u201d  from  Dreams  in  Homespun,  by  Sam  Walter \nFoss;  and  \u201cLittle  Boy  Blue,\u201d  by  Eugene  Field. \nTo  the  Macmillan  Company,  for  permission  to  quote  from  Pur\u00ac \nposive  Speaking,  by  Robert  W.  West. \nTo  Edwin  Markham,  for  permission  to  reprint  his  poems,  \u201cLincoln, \nthe  Man  of  the  People,\u201d  and  \u201cThe  Man  with  the  Hoe,\u201d  copyright \nby  the  author. \nTo  A.  L.  Miller,  for  permission  to  reprint  the  poem  \u201cColumbus,\u201d \nby  Joaquin  Miller. \nTo  W.  W.  Norton  and  Company,  for  permission  to  quote  from \nI. The Value of Speech Training\nII. The Speech Situation\nIII. Choosing a Subject\nIV. Finding and Recording Speech Materials\nV. Speech Organization: The Outline\nVI. Preparation for Delivery\nVII. Forms of Support\nVIII. Forms of Support: Illustrations\nIX. Motivation: Want Appeal\nX. Motivation: Suggestion\nXI. The Speaking Style\nXII. Kinds of Speeches\nXIII. The Informative Speech\nXIV. The Impressive Speech\nXV. The Argumentative Speech\nXVI. The Entertainment Speech\nXVII. The Occasional Address\nXVIII. What Holds Attention\nXIX. Action: Gesture, Posture, Movement\nXX. Voice: Pronunciation, Enunciation\nAppendixes\nI. Suggestions for Criticism of Speeches\nII. Specimen Speeches\nIII. Selections for Practice. 445\nIV. Compilations of Speeches. 488\n\nChapter I\nTHE VALUE OF SPEECH TRAINING\n\nNothing so truly distinguishes one person from another in point of culture as his manner of speaking. There is much truth in the statement that a man is known by the character of his speech. This is perfectly natural when we reflect that speech is our most important means of communication and the chief instrumentality by which we become known to each other. \"Guard well thy tongue,\" said Thomas Carlyle, \"for out of it are the issues of life.\" It is primarily through speech that we give expression to our personality \u2013 interpreting speech in the broad sense, not only of words, but also of the accompanying action, posture, gesture, and facial expression.\n\nJohn Ruskin has put this effectively in the following paragraph:\n\n\"Speech is the representative of the man: it is the part of him which is continually flowing out from him, and which, in the case of most men, is continually flowing out in a manner which is not true to the man within. It is the man's voice, and the man's voice is the most important part of him; for the voice is the sound of the man's soul. The man himself, as a rule, is not heard; only his voice is heard. And the voice, as a rule, is not true to the man, but is a mere imitation of the man, a mere imitation of the man's thoughts and feelings, a mere imitation of the man's character. And this is the reason why, when we meet a man, we are so often disappointed in him; for we expect to hear the man, and we hear only his voice. And this is the reason why, when we read a book, we are so often disappointed in the author; for we expect to hear the author, and we hear only his voice. And this is the reason why, when we listen to a sermon, we are so often disappointed in the preacher; for we expect to hear the preacher, and we hear only his voice. And this is the reason why, when we listen to a lecture, we are so often disappointed in the lecturer; for we expect to hear the lecturer, and we hear only his voice. And this is the reason why, when we read a letter, we are so often disappointed in the correspondent; for we expect to hear the correspondent, and we hear only his voice. And this is the reason why, when we listen to a conversation, we are so often disappointed in the conversationalists; for we expect to hear the conversationalists, and we hear only their voices. And this is the reason why, when we read a poem, we are so often disappointed in the poet; for we expect to hear the poet, and we hear only his voice. And this is the reason why, when we listen to a song, we are so often disappointed in the singer; for we expect to hear the singer, and we hear only his voice. And this is the reason why, when we listen to a speech, we are so often disappointed in the speaker; for we expect to hear the speaker, and we hear only his voice. And this is the reason why, when we read a book of essays, we are so often disappointed in the essayist; for we expect to hear the essayist, and we hear only his voice. And this is the reason why, when we listen to a debate, we are so often disappointed in the debaters; for we expect to hear the debaters, and we hear only their voices. And this is the reason why, when we read a newspaper, we are so often disappointed in the journalist; for we expect to hear the journalist, and we hear only his voice. And this is the reason why, when we listen to a lecture on elocution, we are so often disappointed in the lecturer on elocution; for we expect to hear the lecturer on elocution, and we hear only his voice. And this is the reason why, when we listen to a lecture on rhetoric, we are so often disappointed in the lecturer on rhetoric; for we expect to hear the lecturer on rhetoric, and we hear only his voice. And this is the reason why, when we listen to a lecture on oratory, we are so often disappointed in the lecturer on oratory; for we expect to hear the lecturer on oratory, and we hear only his voice. And this is the reason why, when we listen to a lecture on public speaking, we are so often disappointed in the lecturer on public speaking; for we expect to hear the lecturer on public speaking, and we hear only his voice. And this is the reason why, when we listen to\nA well-educated gentleman may not know many languages or be able to speak any but his own, may have read few books. But whatever language he knows, he knows precisely; whatever words he pronounces, he pronounces correctly. An ordinary clever and sensible seaman can make his way ashore at most ports. Yet he has only to speak a sentence of any language to be known for an illiterate person. So also, the accent or turn of expression of a single sentence will at once mark a man a scholar. This is so strongly felt, so conclusively admitted by educated persons, that a false accent or a mistaken syllable is enough, in the parliament of any civilized nation, to assign to a man a certain degree of inferior standing forever.\n\nThe more fully we appreciate the extent to which speaking correctly:\n\n(Note: The final period at the end of the text seems out of place and may not belong to the original text. It has been omitted in the cleaned text.)\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\n\nAdvantages of Speech Training:\n1. Speech training provides the best kind of discipline in the art of thinking. Thorough thinking is necessary for effective speaking. The two processes cannot be separated, or at least should not be. A student making a speech in class is compelled to ensure that his thinking is clear. He knows that his performance will be critically evaluated by his peers and teacher. If his facts are inaccurate, reasoning processes flawed, authorities misquoted, or illustrations inappropriate, the searchlight of criticism will reveal these weaknesses.\nThe process of analyzing every well-prepared speech involves searching for materials in books, pamphlets, periodicals, interviews, and experience. One must sift essentials from unessentials, discover main ideas, select speech materials in support of these propositions, and prepare this material for oral presentation to an audience. This offers opportunities for sustained and discriminating thinking, limited only by individual capacity. The ability to think oneself into and through a subject, to master it.\nAnd a slave is not worthy of a man's best efforts. Speech training helps us form correct habits of speech and overcome incorrect and slovenly habits. To speak distinctly, enunciating every vowel and consonant sound properly; to speak audibly, making every word and syllable heard with the least possible effort; to speak correctly, pronouncing every word properly \u2014 this is no mean accomplishment. Unfortunately, it is not as easy to attain as one might think. Most people have a tendency to be careless and slovenly in their speech.\n\nThe value of speech training\nBeing within thirty feet of a student speaking from the platform and still being unable to hear or understand one-half of what is said.\nBeing said, voices fail to carry, and words sound as if they were being swallowed by the speaker. Vowel and consonant sounds are either slurred or incorrectly given. For society, we hear sagacity; for government, govement; for beauty, beaudy; for duty, doody; for spirit, spearit; for trusts, truss. Faults like these and many others need to be overcome only once in our lives, and then they will stay corrected. It matters not whether it be in conversation, in business, or on the platform, a clear, distinct, confident, and cultivated speech is one of the greatest accomplishments any man can acquire.\n\nThe skill in speaking which is acquired through speech training extends one's sphere of influence. A man may have native ability of a high order, but as long as he uses it only in his calling, very few have occasion to observe it. \u201cExtemporaneous speaking\u201d\n\"Ranting speaking,\" said Lincoln, \"should be practiced and cultivated. It is the lawyer's avenue to the public. However able and faithful he may be in other respects, people are slow to bring him business if he cannot make a speech. As long as a man hides his talents under a bushel, nobody will notice him much. But let him show his mettle in public, utter words of wise counsel, or blaze a trail of thought, and all the four winds of heaven will become willing messengers to spread the news of his advent into the community life. He will be singled out as \u2018a man who can make a speech.\u2019 Such a man is always in demand. He is wanted at clubs, luncheons, banquets, conventions, festivals, Fourth of July celebrations, political rallies, Old Settlers picnics, and all the rest of the community\u2019s festal and commemorative occasions.\"\nThe art of effective speaking is in constant demand in the church, schools, public assemblies, on the platform, and for various occasions. Those who cultivate this talent therefore have a good chance of being singled out for preference and distinction in the long run. Lincoln's power of speech lifted him into fame and launched him on a career of noble and conspicuous statesmanship, during which he was destined to sway the fortunes of the Republic. It is undeniable that it was Webster's power of speech that made his greatness, according to Gamaliel Bradford in a biographical sketch. Those who have heard Carrie Chapman Catt will understand how large a factor in her leadership this gift was.\nDistinctive charm of speech for forty years, prominent in forward-looking movements, has been speech. We are impressed with the fact that even moderate skill in speaking is the key to public preferment.\n\nSpeech training develops the ability to speak in public, which has become a business necessity. Business today is no longer the simple undertaking it used to be \u2013 or much of it, at least \u2013 as it is done on a large scale, with vast organizations involving personnel of thousands of people, and a hierarchy of officials from the president down to the shop foreman, each one responsible for the efficiency of those under his management. Ability to manage and address large groups has become one of the requisites of business leadership. Furthermore, our economic system is so ordered that the problem is no longer\nSo much emphasis on producing as on getting people to consume all the things we produce. This requires advertising and salesmanship of a high order, both grounded in the science and art of persuasion, which is the province of public speaking. For salesmen, at least, experience and skill in public address is of great value. It is not enough that they know principles; they must know how to apply them when face-to-face with prospective buyers, whether singularly or in groups. A salesman bulging with theories about salesmanship and without training in speaking is like a carpenter who knows all about tools but cannot drive a nail straight.\n\nWe have large business units these days, and businesses large and small organize themselves into state and national associations. The local hardware man may become a part of this.\n\n[VALUE OF SPEECH TRAINING]\npresident of the state association, the local elevator man, state president of his group. At their annual conventions, the members of these groups exchange ideas and discuss matters of mutual interest: prices, economies, new methods, needed legislation to protect their interests, and other things. These are large opportunities for leadership. Men who have ideas and can make them known are the trail-blazers in business progress.\n\nSpeech training is an aid to social adjustment. Speaking is a social performance and tends to develop those social qualities and personality traits that make us more desirable and efficient social beings. Among these may be mentioned tact, poise, ease, grace, self-confidence, and tolerance of other persons\u2019 views. We are beginning to realize that it may be quite as important for us to learn to \"get along with other people\" as\nIt is important to master the details of our work. Social adjustments in a complex society are not easy to make. Nowhere do maladjustments of personality come to the surface as they do in a classroom. Here they may be dealt with intelligently and with sympathy. To cultivate satisfactory social relationships, to adjust oneself easily and fully to one's social environment, is a vital thing. Speech or speech habits determine largely how we succeed in doing this.\n\nSpeech training makes for intelligent citizenship. The theory of our government is that all political power is lodged in the people, and that from the people must spring \u201cthe life-giving waters of good government.\u201d Movements for social amelioration cannot move faster than public sentiment. It may be said truthfully that the basis of all progress in a democracy is an informed, articulate citizenry.\nDemocratic government is an enlightened public opinion. Daniel Webster once said, \"We are living in an age when the accumulated common sense of the people outweighs the greatest statesman or the most influential individual.\" If this was true one hundred years ago, how much more is it true now. Woodrow Wilson expressed the same thought more picturesquely:\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\n\nAnd so with the making of public opinion; in the country, on the farms, in the shops, in the hamlets, in the homes of cities, in the schoolhouses, where men get together and are true with one another, there come trickling down the streams which are to make the mighty force of the river, the river which is to drive all enterprises of human life as it sweeps on into the common sea of humanity.\n\nHow important it is, then, that public opinion shall be truly formed.\nEnlightened! Too often our opinions are mere bundles of inherited or acquired prejudices. Many a man is a protectionist for no other reason than that his father was a Republican, and many a man is a free-trader for no better reason than that his grandfather was a Democrat. How few there are who come to conclusions on great public questions as a result of investigation and thought! We let our editors, preachers, and politicians do our thinking for us. One great value of public discussion is that it leads to independent thinking. He who, through speaking, comes in contact with live questions, learns something of their vital relation to our well-being, and forms opinions on them as a result of study and reflection, lays the foundation of a broad and intelligent citizenship. John Stuart Mill, in his Autobiography, says: \"I have always dated from\"\nIn conclusion, it is worthwhile for anyone to improve their speech habits and acquire some degree of skill in speaking. In terms of clear thinking, cultivated speech, business leadership, personality development, intelligent citizenship, speech training is a discipline of the first order. One cannot make their influence felt in a better way than through public address. He who can stand before his fellows, give adequate expression to his thoughts and feelings, and help to mold even in a small measure the opinions of his fellow men, is likely to be a power in his community, and perhaps in his state and nation.\n\nThe Value of Speech Training Exercises.\n1. Have you ever listened to a man speaking to a large audience who was incapable of being heard or understood by more than a small group? If so, what was the difficulty? Could he have overcome it with early training?\n2. Name some prominent men in your community in politics, business, and profession. To what extent, do you think, has proficiency in speaking been a factor in their success?\n3. Introduce yourself to the class by telling them about your interests, ambitions, likes and dislikes, why you are taking speech, your principal difficulties in speaking, and what you expect to do when you get out of college. Aim to show the same degree of frankness that you would like to see in others. (Approximately three minutes.)\n4. Commit to memory the stanzas by Emerson on page iii. Aim to memorize them.\nGive expression to them with conviction and fullness of meaning. Report orally or in writing on one of the speeches suggested for reading. Give your impressions of it as a speech.\n\nReadings:\nSpeeches\n\"Oratory,\" by Henry Ward Beecher (Beecher)\n\"The Value of an Ideal,\" by William Jennings Bryan (Bryan)\n\nMany of the speeches assigned for reading are to be found in Modern Eloquence (Third Edition, revised in 1929), our best compilation of lectures and addresses. For all such speeches, no reference is given except the volume number. Often these speeches may be found in earlier editions as well. In case of all other speeches, reference is made to the volume in which each appears by inserting in italic type, after the name of the author of the speech, the name of the author of the volume.\nWhen appearing on a platform for the first time to address your fellows, you face a situation that seems new and novel to you. However, upon reflection, there are not many new elements to be found in the situation. You are accustomed to speaking to a group of your friends. - Abraham Lincoln, Chapter II, The Speech Situation. Always keep in mind that your own resolution to succeed is more important than anything else. Work, work, work is the secret of success. (Reference: Appendix IV, page 488) A good speech illustrates several important principles of speech-making, such as good style and good selection of speech materials. The same speech may be read with profit several times.\n\nChapter II\nThe Speech Situation\n\nAlways bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed is more important than any other one thing. Work, work, work is the secret of success. - Abraham Lincoln\n\nWhen you appear on the platform for the first time to address your fellows, you face a situation which to you seems new and novel. But when you come to think about it, there are not many elements of newness to be found in the situation. You are accustomed to speaking to a group of your friends.\nYou have given recitations in school and spoken before your class, so you are accustomed to facing an audience. There is nothing new in the situation when you make your first speech in a speaking class, except that it may be a little more formal and require more careful preparation. If you can approach the situation by feeling that there is really nothing new about it except added responsibility, that is the best way to handle it. Act on the platform as you would anywhere else when on your dignity, and speak to your audience much as you would in ordinary conversation with a group of your friends.\nThis sounds very simple, but of course, it is not quite so. If we are to be perfectly frank, we have to admit that most of us face the situation with some uneasiness, with more or less uncertainty as to how we shall comport ourselves, and with a feeling of far heavier responsibility than we are accustomed to feel in ordinary conversation or classroom recitations.\n\nThe Speech Situation\n\nor, making the necessary adjustments, resolving the situation to our advantage, and mastering it.\n\nThe Communicative Attitude. The first thing to note is that a speech situation always involves two parties: the speaker and the persons spoken to. This is obvious, of course, and would not need to be mentioned were it not for the fact that there is an ever-present tendency for the first party to overlook this fundamental aspect of the situation.\nThe chief and only purpose of speaking is to get certain responses from the audience, to influence their behavior. Henry Ward Beecher defines oratory or persuasive speaking as \"the art of influencing conduct with the truth sent home by all the resources of the living man.\" A speaker's aim is not merely to unload what is on his mind; it is to present it in such a way that it will stir up thoughts and feelings in the hearers. To do this, he must have an alert consciousness of an observing and listening audience. Note that an audience not only listens to a speaker, but also observes or watches him. A speech appeals both to the ear and to the eye. Both voice and action carry meaning.\n\nThe communicative attitude means: (continued from previous page)\n\nThe speaker must be fully aware of the audience's reactions and respond accordingly. He must be able to read their expressions, body language, and tone of voice to gauge their level of interest, agreement, or disagreement. He must be able to adjust his tone, pace, and volume to keep their attention and maintain their interest.\n\nMoreover, the speaker must be able to connect with the audience on an emotional level. He must be able to evoke emotions such as joy, sadness, anger, or fear to make his message more memorable and impactful. He must be able to use stories, anecdotes, and metaphors to illustrate his points and make them relatable to the audience.\n\nIn summary, the communicative attitude requires the speaker to be fully present and engaged with the audience, to be responsive to their reactions, and to connect with them on an emotional level. It is not enough to simply deliver a well-prepared speech; the speaker must also be able to adapt to the audience and engage them in a meaningful way.\nI had recently attended an international gathering of scientists, specifically chemists. During an informal discussion in the presence of approximately eight hundred people, the first speaker spoke slowly. He frequently referred to notes and looked down at his chair or feet, giving the impression of a man meditating aloud. If he was aware that eight hundred people were trying to hear and understand him, he gave no indication. His speaking manner suggested he was completely oblivious to the presence of more than a dozen people nearby. Seated among them was The Art of Effective Speaking.\nI was near the door and could only make out one word in three. It is safe to say that not half the audience heard him with any degree of comfort, and many did not at all. In several places in the room, men were talking amongst themselves, showing that the speaker had completely lost their attention. His difficulty consisted in overlooking the fact that there were two parties in the speech situation, the speaker and the audience. He forgot about the audience, or at least failed almost completely to take it into consideration. Speaking that does not reach the hearers is wasted breath, no matter how distinguished the speaker. How often it happens that prominent men speak to large audiences and cannot be heard or understood beyond the seventh row!\n\nAfter two or three others had spoken more or less indifferently.\nA man arose, who opened his mouth and the whole assemblage pricked up their ears, eagerly alert to catch every word that fell from his lips. He had a good voice and knew how to use it, carrying easily to the whole assembly. Conscious of having a large number of people listening, he was intent upon conveying his message. He surrendered himself completely to the task, looking his listeners in the face and talking to them, not at them. In brief, he had the communicative attitude.\n\nThis matter of speaking to an audience presents one of the challenges.\nThe greatest problems in speech training. I recently listened to a state declamation contest, as I often do, where several young contestants, more able than ordinary, although not necessarily well-trained, participated. The oratorical contestants had many merits, but two major weaknesses. They lacked directness, resulting in a lack of modulation in their voices. Without exception, these youthful aspirants spoke directly to the audience, but an individual in the audience could hardly feel that the message was meant for him. In fact, he wondered for whom it was really meant and could not but conclude that it was meant for nobody. A speaker would start out well and impressively, but before the ten minutes were up, the deadly monotony of voice and emotion set in.\nThe mood and aimlessness in speaking, along with the failure to sense a perceiving audience, greatly detracted from the effectiveness of the speech. The conversational mode is the best way to develop the communicative attitude. This refers to the type of speaking exemplified in conversation at its best - polite, orderly, and dignified. Students sometimes have the notion that speaking from the platform is a \"showing off\" process, and they must therefore appear in \"grand style,\" using sonorous tones and assuming a pompous attitude. No concept of platform speaking could be more disastrous than that. The frail bark of a speaker in this mode can be shattered by such an approach.\nMany a young man's ambition has foundered on that rock. If ever humility serves a man well, it is when he faces an audience for the first time or the first few times. He is likely to feel humble anyway, before he gets very far; so he might as well start right.\n\nWhen we say that a man should speak in public much as he speaks in conversation, we should understand what that means and what it does not mean. We do not mean, of course, that he should carry to the platform the faults of ordinary conversation. Quite the contrary. We expect thought more carefully organized, diction more dignified though equally simple, enunciation that is more distinct, and a somewhat more formal manner.\n\nWhat we refer to particularly, in speaking of the conversational style, is the use of the voice and its modulations generally.\nWith respect to vocal quality, pitch variety, force, and rate of utterance, these should be much the same on the platform as in ordinary conversation. The voice should not be pitched in a high monotone with unvarying emphasis, as is so often true of speakers. Instead, it should have the easy, informal swing of conversation, with a variety of inflection and emphasis, which is absolutely necessary to express meaning and hold attention.\n\nWe should understand clearly that there is much variety in the so-called conversational style of speaking. We do not speak exactly the same way to one or two persons as we do to a group of ten or twelve; nor do we speak to ten or twelve as we speak to one hundred, even if they are all personal friends and the occasion the most informal one.\nIf we should raise the group to five hundred, there would be a corresponding change in the character of the speaking, which anyone may realize in imagination. Considerably more voice would be used, and the rate of speaking would probably be slowed down, if the speaker wished to be easily heard and understood. It is not a question of how much voice we use, but rather of how we modulate the voice or change it in point of quality, pitch, rate, emphasis. We may shout at the top of our voice, express the most violent emotions, as we occasionally do, and still be conversational.\n\nIt is very much the same with platform speaking. We do not speak to five or ten as we do to one hundred; nor do we speak to one hundred as we do to five hundred or a thousand.\nIt is possible to speak to a thousand people or even several thousand and be conversational. Bryan could speak to ten thousand people and only use the conversational mode. In fact, he never used any other. Clarence Darrow never speaks except in a conversational tone. One should adapt one's voice to the audience and the hall, being careful to be comfortably heard by all present. Do not confuse volume of voice with loudness. Volume refers to the amount of breath passing through the larynx; loudness measures the intensity of vocalization. One may use so much volume of voice in a whisper that five thousand people can hear. One may talk so loud that he cannot be understood thirty feet away. This may sound paradoxical, but it is true. The problem is to use the right amount of voice in the right way, remembering\nThe requirements of cultivated conversation should always guide platform speaking. Wendell Phillips is described as a \"gentleman conversing.\" No better concept of platform speaking can be formed than that of Phillips, which is on record.\n\nA good way to discover how far a speaker has departed from the conversational mode is to stop him in his speech and ask him a question. He will likely answer the question in a conversational tone. Of course, the answer will be given to an individual, and we do not speak to a single person exactly as we speak to a crowd. No man does, no matter how conversational he may be in his public address. Roughly speaking, the contrast between the mode of answering the question and the mode of speaking will reveal the speaker's departure from the conversational style.\nYou will hear much about being \"natural\" in a course in speech training. The term is used by all of us, yet it is of rather vague and indefinite meaning. \"Be natural,\" in the sense of \"Be unaffected,\" is good advice, but do not mistake being natural for being effective.\n\nI recently observed two young women in a play. One spoke rapidly and indistinctly, blurting out her words, clipping some and mispronouncing others, having very little sense of emphasis, and even being slovenly in dress and personal appearance. The other was much the opposite; her utterance was very distinct, every word crisp as a newly minted coin, pronunciation studiously correct, voice firm and finely modulated, and personal appearance attractive. Both were natural; only, it was natural for one to be effective, and for the other to be ineffective.\nThe purpose of training is to make it natural for one to be effective. Every advance you make in perfecting your speech should register progress in personality development. The correct pronunciation of a word instead of an incorrect one; distinct enunciation instead of a slovenly one; the right tone, color-adapted to the thought and feeling content of a sentence, instead of an improper one; a soft, well-modulated voice instead of a harsh, monotonous one; a graceful gesture or movement instead of an awkward one \u2014 all these mark unmistakably the growth of a more commanding personality, as well as progress in purposeful speaking.\n\nNervousness. It has been said that no man ever makes a speech unless he has to. Strange as it may seem, the feeling of uneasiness that persons experience when they face an audience contributes greatly to their ineffectiveness. Overcoming nervousness is essential for successful speaking.\n\nTo be effective, one must first understand the nature of nervousness and how it affects speech. Nervousness is a state of mental and physical tension, often accompanied by feelings of fear, anxiety, and self-consciousness. These feelings can manifest in various ways, such as trembling, stuttering, or a rapid heartbeat.\n\nThe causes of nervousness are numerous and complex. Some people are naturally shy or introverted, while others may have had traumatic experiences that have left them with a fear of public speaking. Still, others may be anxious about the content of their speech or the reaction of their audience.\n\nRegardless of the cause, there are several strategies for overcoming nervousness and improving one's speaking abilities. One effective approach is to prepare thoroughly for the speech. This means rehearsing the content and practicing delivery techniques, such as deep breathing and visualization.\n\nAnother important strategy is to focus on the audience and their needs rather than on oneself. By shifting attention away from one's own anxieties and onto the people who will benefit from the speech, one can often feel more confident and effective.\n\nFinally, it is essential to remember that nervousness is a normal and natural part of the speaking process. Even experienced speakers feel nervous before a presentation, but they have learned to channel that energy into their delivery and use it to connect with their audience. By following these strategies and continuing to practice, one can overcome nervousness and become an effective and confident speaker.\nEvery speaker encounters the problem of stage fright to some degree. Wendell Phillips, who dedicated his life to lecturing for fifty years, expressed a desire for the platform to disappear beneath him before addressing an audience. Bryan, who elevated public speaking to an art, admitted to having a \"hollow\" feeling in his stomach before speaking.\n\nThere is no cure for stage fright. Controlling it is part of mastering the speech situation. The following suggestions may be helpful:\n\n1. Accept the situation and make the best of it. If you don't feel a certain amount of nervous tension when you begin to speak, the chances are that you won't perform well. People who lack this feeling may be overconfident or underprepared.\n\n2. Prepare thoroughly. Know your material inside and out. Rehearse your delivery. Visualize yourself giving a successful performance.\n\n3. Use positive self-talk. Remind yourself of your strengths and accomplishments. Focus on the benefits of speaking, such as sharing knowledge or inspiring others.\n\n4. Practice relaxation techniques. Deep breathing, progressive muscle relaxation, and visualization can help reduce anxiety.\n\n5. Engage with the audience. Make eye contact, smile, and use gestures to connect with them. Remember that they want you to succeed.\n\n6. Use humor to lighten the mood. A well-timed joke can help put both you and the audience at ease.\n\n7. Learn from past experiences. Reflect on what worked and what didn't in previous speaking engagements. Use this knowledge to improve your future performances.\n\n8. Seek support from others. Share your concerns with trusted friends, colleagues, or mentors. They can offer advice, encouragement, and perspective.\n\n9. Take care of yourself. Get enough rest, eat well, and exercise regularly. A healthy body and mind will help you perform at your best.\n\n10. Remember that mistakes are a natural part of the learning process. Don't be too hard on yourself if things don't go perfectly. Learn from your mistakes and move on.\nCold or phlegmatic temperaments do not make good speakers. Speaking in public requires much mental concentration and the expenditure of considerable nervous energy. The newness of the speech situation wears away, and the tenseness will gradually wear off, except in so far as it is needed to stimulate effective effort. Here is a testimony from an experienced teacher: \"In a period extending over several years, the writer has known but one absolute failure among five or six hundred girls from embarrassment in speaking before a class.\" (1)\n\nPractice relaxation. The chief difficulty in stage fright is over tenseness of the muscles. We have so steeled ourselves to meet the situation that ease and naturalness have left us. Charles H. Woolbert, a searching student of the psychology of public address, offers this advice:\nRelax muscles not needed for the thing you are trying to do. Use enough energy in the legs to stand, and no more. Those muscles which, by their opposition, cause trembling at the knees must be relaxed; legs must be content to stand and not run. Reduce extra muscular tension in the back and hips; so also the tension of the arms, hands, and especially of the neck and face. Study what is involved in Strength and Ease. The cure for those speakers whose fright is genuine and extreme and seemingly hopeless is in beginning to speak while limp all over, except for the vocal apparatus. Start freed of any possible excess of muscular tension. Then gradually add a stiff back, legs strong enough to hold the body, arms falling just in place, but nothing more. Do the same with the rest of the muscle systems \u2014 hands, neck.\nand face. Practice this sort of thing until you have achieved control over each of these systems and can throw each into or out of gear as you please. Such control is the essence of intellectuality, mental strength, self-possession. It is the opposite extreme from the baby\u2019s general explosion; for he lives in a constant state of stage fright, unless when totally at ease \u2014 especially asleep. This is the case when he howls, for one of the surest manifestations of fright in some green speakers is a disposition to roar. The cure is far from easy, either for the baby or for the student; but except for psychopaths, it is entirely possible always.\n\n1 Cornelia C. Ward: Oral Composition (1914), Preface.\n2 Fundamentals of Speech (Revised Edition, 1927), p. 86.\n\nThe art of effective speaking\n\n1. Get a grip on yourself. The cultivation of the will is supreme in the art of effective speaking.\nTo cultivate willpower is to develop habits conducive to personal growth and healthy living. We know little about the possibilities in this field. A number of modern cults are based on this theory, such as Coueism. The following quotation on this subject is from a recent magazine article by a scientist:\n\nFull scientific attention has not been given to the power of will in controlling all bodily functions. Few have realized how great the power of will becomes when intensified by practice and concentration. There can be no doubt of the predisposition that can be conferred on the nerve by the internal power of will in facilitating or inhibiting the nervous impulse.1\n\nRobert West, in his Purposive Speaking, has explained this in plain English:\n\n\"The power of will in controlling bodily functions is not fully understood. Its potential is vast, and can be greatly enhanced through practice and concentration. The will has the ability to influence the nervous impulse, either facilitating or inhibiting it.\"1\nIf you want A's qualities someday, you must pretend to have them today. Yes, pretend. What does that word mean? It means to tend in advance. What you pretend to have today, you will tend to have tomorrow, and you will actually possess it the day after. Proper tensions, then, are caused by proper pretensions. Pretend to be confident; react as though you are, and you will be.\n\nThere is good opportunity for practicing will power in preparation for platform work. The following cheerful advice from Frank Channing Haddock may be taken for what it's worth: Resolutely appropriate the occasion as your own and willfully use it as such. If the right word fails you, throw in another as nearly right as may be, or as meaningless as printers' pie. If anyone looks weary, ignore that person as an imbecile. Cling to the friendly advice.\nPrepare your speech carefully. Careful preparation is one of the greatest safeguards against overtense nerves on the floor. To be well prepared is to be sure of yourself, and to be sure of yourself makes one feel at ease. If you have carefully arranged your materials and gone over them often enough to be thoroughly familiar with the ground to be covered, the chances are that you will not have much trouble. The more completely you can surrender yourself to the subject in hand, the less likely you are to think about yourself, and the better you will perform.\n\nSir J. C. Bose: Century Magazine, February, 1929, p. 385. (This line can be removed if not relevant to the main text)\nMen with reputation and experience can also experience stage fright. A recent announcement from one of the two largest broadcasting chains in the country reveals that a reception room has been transformed into an English beamed-ceiling library studio \"for the exclusive use of speakers who might be affected by micro fright.\" Previously, some timid radio speakers have hesitated before the majestic microphone, suffering from attacks of nerves. Realizing that surroundings had much to do with this, we have arranged the library studio as a means to end this idiosyncrasy.\n\nMany students come into speech classes to overcome nervousness and adjust themselves properly to speech situations.\nMost students can meet the adjustment without serious difficulty and with practice become habituated to facing audiences without any more emotional disturbance than is proper for effective work. Occasionally, cases arise that are stubborn and present real problems. For such individuals, speech clinics have been established in many departments, with a specialist in charge, who is usually well-grounded in psychology, especially in abnormal mental traits. If, after giving speaking a fair trial, you experience abnormal fear and find it difficult to develop confidence and self-assurance in facing an audience, you should confer with your instructor frankly and fully, and try to discover where the trouble is. It may date back to early childhood. The important thing is to get at the root of the issue.\nThe difficulty and understanding the cause of the trouble. Where the cause is understood, much can be done to correct the maladjustment. Much depends on the attitude with which you approach and do your work. Aim to make it cheerful and optimistic. Look for and dwell on the pleasant situations rather than the unpleasant ones. A class in speech should have an atmosphere of informality where everybody should feel free to say what he wants to say, and to talk about his own and other students\u2019 difficulties fully and freely. A class so conducted will carry with it some of the pleasantest memories of your school career, and you will look back upon it as the source of some of the best discipline you ever had.\n\nEXERCISES\n1. Discuss frankly with your teacher and other class members the merits and demerits of certain speakers fairly well.\nConsider the following points to understand the good and weak points of each speaker:\n\na. Do they use conversational mode?\nb. Do they speak clearly and loudly enough to be heard?\nc. Do they rant, using excessive voice and energy?\nd. Do they speak distinctly, sounding final in words like ghosts, mists, lists?\ne. Do they give the impression of conversing with you or talking at you?\n\nReport orally or in writing on one of the suggested speeches as to whether it exemplifies directness and informality of conversation. Characterize the style of the one you read, regarding diction, simplicity, and other qualities of good style.\nRead several speeches if you can. The Speech Situation 3. Share personal experiences with something thrilling or unusual, making it direct and conversational (approximately three minutes).\n\nReadings Speeches \"Masters of the Situation,\" by James T. Fields {Mod. El.: I, Vol. V). \"The New South,\" by Henry W. Grady (Vol. II). \"Public Opinion,\" by Wendell Phillips {Phillips, Vol. I). \"The Reign of the Common People,\" by Henry Ward Beecher (Vol. XIII). \"Liberty of Man, Woman, and Child,\" by Robert Ingersoll {Ingersoll, Vol. I}. \"Which Knew Not Joseph,\" by Bruce Barton {Lindgren}.\n\nReferences Charles Henry Woolbert: Fundamentals of Speech (Revised Edition, James Milton O\u2019Neill and Andrew Thomas Weaver: The Elements of Speech, 1926), Chap. II. Arleigh Boyd Williamson: Speaking in Public (1929), Chap. II.\n\nChapter III\nThe cause of truth advances, in the long run, by allowing all to express their prejudices and advocate their errors. \u2013 Wendell Phillips\n\nWhat should I talk about? This is a question that must be answered by anyone who undertakes to make a speech. At times, especially in early practice, choosing a subject is almost as puzzling as making the speech once the subject is chosen. Finding subjects suitable for different audiences and occasions is not easy, whether in school or out of it.\n\nOne way to answer the question is to say that choosing a subject is a part of the speech problem. You cannot make a speech without having something to talk about, and there is really no good reason why anyone should help you choose your subject any more than there is a reason why anyone should help you make the speech itself.\nHelp you make your speech. It is all one project, and an individual one at that. Your instructor may give you some suggestions at first while you are getting started. But after all, the final choice must rest with you, for you alone know, or at least you know best, where your interests lie and in what field you are likely to do the most effective speaking. If you have to scratch your head to find a suitable subject, that is a part of the game.\n\nThe problem of finding interesting and suitable subjects to talk about will remain with you in mature life, and in some measure as long as you continue to make speeches. Even a man of so wide experience as Senator Borah frankly confessed to an audience of university students that he was always puzzled to know what to talk about to an audience of college men and women.\n\nChoosing a Subject\nWhen asked to speak at reunions, commencement addresses, or Decoration Day addresses in the future, no one will provide you with a subject. They believe they are doing you a favor by letting you choose the topic. Even if someone suggests a subject, the chances are you wouldn't speak on it unless it was almost demanded by the occasion. As a rule, you would want to choose your own subject, as you alone know what would be best suited to you and the time and place. The choice might give you some thought, but you would be the only one to make it.\nA student in class suggested that the instructor should select subjects for all speeches due to his difficulty in finding something to talk about. However, a moment's reflection reveals the futility of such an arrangement. An instructor cannot know about the interests and prejudices of every class member and select the best suited subjects based on their knowledge and tastes. One student may be interested in sports, another in economic reforms, a third in agriculture, and a fourth in travel. Each should find topics for speeches in their field of interest. If the instructor were to make subject assignments, he would likely get most of them wrong, although he might occasionally hit upon the right one.\nFor the benefit of the inexperienced, a few suggestions for choosing subjects for speeches are offered.\n\ni. Find subjects in your own experiences. Sir Philip Sidney advised, \"Look within thy heart and write.\" The same sage counsel holds good for a speaker, \"Look within thy heart and speak.\" For within you, in the storehouse of your memory, are countless experiences and reactions to your environment, accumulated throughout the years. We live in a complex society, presenting numberless opportunities for new experiences and activities of all kinds. To this many-sided environment, you are at all hours of the day constantly reacting.\nSome of your reactions are favorable, some unfavorable. Some things about your environment you like; others you do not. You may live in the city and feel the lure of the simple life in the country. You may be a conservative and fear that the radicals are planning to overthrow our social order; or you may be a radical and think that the conservatives are planning another world war. Here is your opportunity to give your views on all the burning questions of the day. You may not be right, but you have a right to your opinions, even the right to be wrong. The utmost freedom of expression should prevail in a class in speaking. A good slogan for such a class is the sentiment uttered by Wendell Phillips and given at the head of this chapter: \"Educate every man who is willing to learn, and never cease to teach.\"\n\nFor your first speeches, at any rate, it will be well to take preparation seriously.\nSubjects that are at hand and of which you have some first-hand knowledge. Your college environment is full of problems, some of which you have likely encountered. You may not think that campus politics move on as high a plane as they should. Give your views and help to set such matters right. There are many questions touching college life on which you should have intelligent opinions. Do you approve of the honor system in examinations? Do you think a student who observes cheating in examinations should report it? Is football occupying too much attention of undergraduates to the detriment of scholarship? Should the faculty censor student publications? Should your Alma Mater foster debating or discussion clubs on the order of the Oxford Union, England? Do too many classes and recitations hinder the earnest student's progress in choosing a subject?\nIs a liberal arts education worthwhile for a man pursuing a business career? What subjects get you into disputes with friends and associates? Good speeches can be made on simple subjects. What are you interested in? The different studies you pursue in college should provide interesting subjects for speeches. You have likely selected, or are considering the selection of, your major and minor groups of study. That is one clue to where your interests lie. We are apt to overlook opportunities that are right before us and seek them in the far distance. For instance, the subject of psychology is one of them.\nThe most popular of all sciences, which impacts almost every aspect of life. In its approach to studying human behavior, it has significantly changed perspective in the last fifteen to twenty years. It is increasingly objective - a science of experimentation, tests, measurements, and technical terminology. What, in plain English, is the meaning of terms such as mental conflict, complex, compensation, rationalization? What role do physical characteristics play in intelligence? What has become of the theory of localization of brain functions? What have intelligence tests added to our concept of mental abilities? What is the ability of adults to learn? How does it compare to that of college students? Is there compensation in psychological traits? These are merely suggestions of the many interesting topics.\nA study of psychology provides the speaker with several concepts. Explaining these in simple, concrete language to an unfamiliar audience is good speaking practice. Take anthropology as another example. It reveals many interesting facts about the early life of the human race. Excavations are being made in all parts of the globe, yielding interesting relics and information about how other peoples and races lived and moved and had their being thousands of years ago. To most persons, Neanderthal Man and Pithecanthropus Erectus are just names. The lives and customs of primitive man are of absorbing interest and throw much light on the arts, institutions, and general behavior of more advanced races today. I recently read a volume in this field which contained some startling statements. One was to the effect that:\nOur study of races does not allow us to claim that so-called savage races have a lower mentality than civilized ones. The differences in culture are mainly due to the means they have to work with. An African \u201csavage\u201d recently toured America and turned out to be an excellent speaker! Sociology, history, economics, political science, business administration, agriculture, engineering, astronomy \u2014 all provide a variety of interesting subjects for speeches, given one has done special work in one of these fields. It is assumed that a speaker who undertakes to talk about these subjects knows something about them.\nA speaker must have sufficient interest in his topics to imprint his personality on his speech materials. One cannot make an interesting speech without assimilating and making one's own the ideas to be presented. Choose subjects you know something about. This aligns with what has preceded and means that as a speaker, you should possess a greater knowledge than your audience. It is a significant advantage in speaking \u2013 indeed, an essential one \u2013 to have a deep knowledge of your subject. It lends a certain prestige and authority to your statements. We are all willing to listen to the man who can impart new information on an old subject or expand the boundaries of knowledge on any topic of interest.\n\nChoosing a Subject\nThe world surrenders to the man who knows. \"In any knot of men,\" says Emerson, \"conversing on any subject, the person who knows most about it will have the ear of the company if he wishes it, and lead the conversation \u2014 no matter what genius or distinction other men there present may have; and in public assembly, him who has the facts and can and will state them, people will listen to, though he is otherwise ignorant, though he is hoarse and ungraceful, though he stutters and screams.\"\n\nIt is not intended, of course, and cannot be expected, that a person will make himself a specialist in every subject that he undertakes to talk about. But a student of speech-making might as well understand early in his career that making speeches is serious business, and that if he wishes to excel, it will mean much hard work and application. One of the misfortunes of a public speaker is to be called upon to speak without preparation upon a subject concerning which he is not well informed.\nStudents who leave subject selection for the last minute often wonder why they don't perform better in their speeches. A subject for a ten-minute speech should be chosen at least two weeks before the speech is to be made. A speech doesn't just happen; ideas need time to germinate. If you have eight hours to prepare a speech, it's better to spend two hours at a time, twice a week, for two weeks, rather than cramming the last day or so. This gives you an opportunity to think about the subject while walking to classes or riding on a streetcar. It also allows you to discuss it with friends, enabling you to consider the topic from various angles and potentially change your perspective several times, ultimately evolving something worth presenting.\nDo not make the aim of your speech too broad. Many speeches are spoiled by covering too much ground. A five-minute speech on disarmament or the League of Nations is foredoomed to failure. It is impossible in a few minutes to give adequate support to any vital propositions on questions of such magnitude. If you must take a big subject, be sure to limit it in some way and deal with one or two aspects of it. Suppose you want to speak on the American protective tariff policy for five or ten minutes. You will not get very far in an argument for or against it. Consider the following propositions: Is it needed to protect American industry? To what extent does our tariff policy protect American labor? What is the probable cost to the consumer? To what extent are such tariffs the cause of unemployment?\nWhat are some propositions for addressing international conflicts? Any one of these is suitable for an hour-long speech. How does our protective tariff policy affect agriculture in the Northwest? This is a somewhat limited proposition. What protection does the American tariff provide for the American wheat grower? Narrowing the subject down to its limits, this could be the focus of a good ten- or fifteen-minute speech. With every broad subject, aim to limit it and find a purpose sentence that can be adequately supported in the time you have. Spreading efforts over too much ground is fatal. The River Platte in Nebraska has been described as being a mile wide, a foot deep, and five hundred miles long. If this is an accurate description, we may know that it serves no good purpose and is mostly a nuisance.\nA hundred or two hundred feet wide, confine it, and it becomes a mighty stream, capable of developing great power. It is much the same way with a speech. Spread it over broad ground, and it accomplishes nothing. It has neither depth nor momentum. Confine it within narrow limits, get cumulative support for your propositions, and you may have a dynamic message that will move an audience to resolute action.\n\nA good subject grips. A subject for a speech is well chosen if it grips both speaker and audience. To do well, a speaker must be dominated by his purpose. An orator, Emerson defines, is a man \"drunk with an idea.\" The speaker should feel that he would really like to say something on the subject, and when he gets through, the audience should feel that something has been said that needed to be said. Avoid making a subject:\n\nChoosing a Subject\n\nA subject grips if it engages both speaker and audience. For a speaker to excel, he must be fully invested in his purpose. Emerson describes an orator as a man \"possessed by an idea.\" The speaker should feel compelled to speak on the subject, and the audience should leave feeling that a necessary point has been made.\nA speech should be more than just an \"elaboration of the obvious.\" If you're explaining something, ensure it requires explanation. To convince an audience, make sure they're not already convinced. To evoke deep emotion, choose a subject with which they're indifferent. Experience, training, and practice will guide you toward gripping subjects and away from uninteresting ones.\n\nA subject grips an audience when it addresses fundamental wants and desires (see Chapter IX). It grips a speaker when it compels him to put forth his best efforts in preparation and delivery.\n\nThe importance of your own experiences. Learn to appreciate them, as you'll find in the long run that:\nYour experiences will suggest the best subjects to you and will also prove to be among the very best speech materials you can get. It takes practice to realize this fully and to select those experiences that have the greatest interest values. Lincoln helped a pig out of a tight place in a fence, and the world has been talking about it ever since. You may have done something just as startling, only the world does not know about it. The problem is to learn to value and interpret experiences properly. Charles H. Woolbert, in his Fundamentals of Speech, speaks to the point in the following:\n\nNever confess that you cannot think of anything to talk about; it is a confession either of fear or of poverty of life. That boys and girls can arrive at upper-school and college age and not have countless good things to discuss is inconceivable. You have all done remarkable things.\n\"enough and been through enough to have more than enough to say that will be interesting to others \u2014 providing you have learned the art of saying it well. Likely the thing you talk about most interestingly is the very thing that looks so commonplace to you that you cannot imagine anybody\u2019s being interested in it. Yet if it is genuinely yourself and out of your own experience, and if it is told well, you will never have to send out a town crier to get a hearing. Half the time the stuff people like best is the very stuff the speaker thinks is too simple to be mentioned. No more interesting matter for writing or speech exists than commonplace experiences well told. Learn to have opinions of your own, but do not have many convictions unless you are sure of your ground. Convictions\"\n\nThis text appears to be in good shape and does not require extensive cleaning. Therefore, I will not output any prefix/suffix or caveats. The text is already clean and readable.\nWithout proper understanding and evidential support are dangerous. Large portions of the earth have been drenched in blood in support of convictions that have proved unsound. Several good speeches could be made on the theme, \"The Tragedy of Uninformed Opinion.\"\n\nIn conclusion, choose a subject that comes well within your own personal experiences; that you know something about, or are willing to gather authoritative information for; that is not too broad, but will enable you to give it adequate support in the time at your disposal; that will grip your audience and yourself as well, and so impel you to put forth your very best efforts. Remember Emerson\u2019s definition of a good speaker \u2014 one who is drunk with an idea. Do not forget that it is not enough to have a good subject and good speech materials. You must also be prepared and confident in your delivery.\nYour reaction is required towards speaking materials. Make them yours, assimilate them, and not just act as a conduit for passing them on. A chemical reaction is necessary between your speech materials and your personality. Your individuality must dominate the situation and leave an impression on all your utterances.\n\nDuring class work in speaking, you will discover that the speeches given by your class members will propose various subjects to you. Some of the things said will provoke opposition, and you will not agree with them, prompting you to make a reply. Additionally, while preparing your own speeches, you will encounter trains of thought that you may wish to explore further. In this manner, a new world of speaking opportunities will unfold before you.\nPrepare a three- to five-minute speech for class on a subject on which you have settled convictions, aiming to express these candidly and showing it is to the advantage of your audience to think as you do. Hand in five subjects suitable for class speeches, justifying your choice based on criteria given in this chapter. Criticize the following speeches from the point of view of message choice: \"The Gettysburg Address\" by Abraham Lincoln, \"Progress of the American Negro\" by Booker T. Washington, \"Liberty under the Law\" by George W. Curtis, \"George Washington\" by Jane Addams.\n4.  Make  a  list  of  three  subjects  that  you  have  recently  heard  dis\u00ac \ncussed,  either  in  church  or  elsewhere,  and  that  have  appealed  to \nyou  as  being  good.  Why  did  they  appeal  to  you? \n5.  What  speeches  have  you  read  that  exemplify  a  wise  choice  of \nmessage? \nREADINGS \nSpeeches \n\u201cThe  Battle  of  Life,\u201d  by  Mary  Livermore  {Mod.  El.:  I,  Vol.  V). \n\u201cThe  Reign  of  the  Common  People,\u201d  by  Henry  Ward  Beecher \n(Vol.  XIII). \n\u201cLiberty  under  the  Law,\u201d  by  George  W.  Curtis  (Vol.  I). \n\u201cProgress  of  the  American  Negro,\u201d  by  Booker  T.  Washington \n(Vol.  VIII). \n\u201cThe  Gettysburg  Address,\u201d  by  Abraham  Lincoln  (Vol.  XI). \nFor  a  variety  of  short  speeches  on  many  themes,  see  James  Milton \nO\u2019Neill:  Modern  Short  Speeches. \nTHE  ART  OF  EFFECTIVE  SPEAKING \nReferences \nJames  Winans:  Public  Speaking  (Revised  Edition,  1917),  Chap.  XIV. \nWilliam  Phillips  Sandford  and  Willard  Hayes  Yeager:  Principles  of \nCHAPTER IV\nFinding and Recording Speech Materials\n\nWhen you have chosen a topic and formulated a proposition to express your purpose, broad enough to include all you want to say on the subject, the next step is to find something to say. If you are talking about a subject that will enable you to draw heavily on your personal experiences - as, for instance, a travel talk or an account of some unusual and thrilling adventure - all you may have to do is draw on your memory and simply tell about things you have actually seen and heard. If the subject is more involved, and requires careful analysis and research, you will need to gather information from various sources.\n\nTo find material for a speech, begin by making a list of all the points you want to cover. Then, gather information from books, magazines, newspapers, and other sources. Be sure to note the sources of your information, as you will need to give credit to the original authors when you use their ideas in your speech.\n\nAs you gather information, make notes on index cards or in a notebook. Be sure to record the source of each piece of information, as well as the main idea and any supporting details. This will make it easier for you to organize your speech and to refer back to your sources when necessary.\n\nOnce you have gathered all the information you need, review it carefully to identify the most important points and to determine the best way to present them in your speech. Then, begin writing your speech, using the notes you have made as a guide. Be sure to include all the key points you want to cover, and to organize them in a logical and coherent way.\n\nAs you write, be sure to use clear and concise language, and to avoid jargon and technical terms that may be unfamiliar to your audience. Use examples and anecdotes to illustrate your points, and to make your speech more interesting and engaging.\n\nWhen you have finished writing your speech, practice delivering it several times to ensure that you are comfortable with the material and that you can present it effectively to your audience. Remember, the key to a successful speech is to be well-prepared, to speak clearly and confidently, and to engage your audience with interesting and relevant information.\nThe use of facts, figures, and authorities may require you to look for all available sources of material. These sources include interviews, current periodicals, books, and reports of various kinds.\n\nSources of Speech Materials. Let us look at a few of these sources in order.\n\ni. Your Own Knowledge of the Subject. The first and most important source of information on many subjects will be your own mind and memory. If, as has been suggested, you choose subjects at first that come largely within your own observation and experience, you may not have to go beyond this primary source. If you are going to talk about a fishing trip, a day in the woods, or travel abroad, you will not need to consult any books or magazines. All you will need to do is set down in orderly fashion all the important points you can think of.\nAnd then proceed with whatever other preparation you wish to make for your speech. Sometimes you will talk on subjects that do not actually come within the range of your own observation, but may give you an opportunity to observe things directly. For instance, if you should decide to explain a telephone exchange in a big city, through which one may get any one of half a million families in a few minutes, you could easily observe an exchange in action and so get your information direct. There is nothing like first-hand information whenever you can get it. If you want to explain how highways are built these days, the best way to get information is to watch a road crew at work. Much of the time, in making speeches, you will find that you can only in part draw on your own knowledge and observation.\n1. Take an inventory of your knowledge about the subject. Write down in plain words what you know, organizing your ideas in an orderly fashion using cards, as suggested later in this chapter. This exercise will help you distinguish what you know from what you don't know, and indicate the kind of information and evidential support you will need from other sources.\n2. Engage in conversations and interviews. Speak about the subject with your friends and acquaintances, particularly those who have knowledge about it. For mail-order houses, farmers who purchase from such businesses and merchants who compete with them are valuable sources.\nIf the subject is a proper diet for building up healthy teeth, your dentist should have information on that question. If your subject is vitamins, a dietitian or doctor might supply useful information. When you get interesting information on any subject, it's good practice to impart it to members of your family or friends. You can do so without pretending to make a speech, and their reaction will give you some idea of the interest value of your materials. You might consider forming the habit of imparting to your family or associates every day some interesting bit of experience that you have had, either in school or out of school. Let the telling of it be in the course of conversation and without any particular formality.\nIf you put in effort, you may wake up one day to find yourself an interesting conversationalist. This is worthwhile in itself and also a great aid to speaking.\n\n1. Current Magazines: All students of speaking should be informed on current events. Some of this information you may get from newspapers, but most of it you will get from current magazines. Your library will likely have many of them, and perhaps all the leading ones. Valuable information on current topics can be found in magazines such as:\n\nMonthly Magazines:\nForum\nHarper\u2019s\nAtlantic Monthly\nScribner\u2019s\nAmerican Mercury\nNew Outlook\nWorld\u2019s Work\nNorth American Review\nCurrent History\nReview of Reviews\nNew Statesman (English)\n\nWeekly Periodicals:\nLiterary Digest\nDearborn Independent\nJournals of Liberal Opinion\nNew Republic\nWorld Tomorrow\nNation, Christian Century (1900-present)\nThese and other sources will provide information on a large number of current questions. The index includes leading articles from magazines, arranged alphabetically by subjects. For those with access to good libraries, these will be your greatest source of information.\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\nFive sources for information: 1. Periodicals: leading articles in magazines from 1900 to present, arranged alphabetically by subjects. 2. Other Printed Materials: Congressional Record (on current economic and political subjects), the United States Daily, trade journals, and reports of commissions. Your librarian can provide information about these. Gradually learn to utilize all sources within your reach.\n\nOn many subjects, you will of course have to do a large amount of reading. Aim to distribute your reading to gain as broad a view as possible of the subject under discussion.\nOn public questions, get all points of view - conservative, liberal, radical. Assume that all persons have reasons for the opinions they hold, and try to understand them. Cultivate tolerance of opinion. Broad reading is the best way.\n\n Six. Be a good observer. Learn to see things clearly and in detail. One difference between Darwin and the ordinary man was that Darwin could look at an object and see things that other people could not see. Henry Ward Beecher, the famed preacher of Plymouth Church, was a great observer. Often he would spend hours in Tiffany\u2019s jewelry store in New York City, observing beautiful objects worked in silver and gold and other metals. Sometimes he would take extended walks along the piers of New York City, watching the freighters and ocean liners take on and empty their cargoes.\nHe was a great lover of nature, and to him nature was full of beauty and object lessons. On Sundays, we find his sermons filled with illustrations based on these observations and experiences that everyone was familiar with and could understand.\n\nWendell Phillips once noticed that the figure on a quarter looked backward. He used this fact in an impressive simile in one of his most powerful speeches, \"The Scholar in a Republic.\" \"Sit not like the figure on our silver coin, looking ever backward,\" he said to his audience of Harvard graduates. Phillips spent the summers in the country. One day he noticed that the geese bent their necks going through a barn door, even though they never came within several feet of the top of the door. He got an effective illustration from this observation.\nAny subject can be illuminated and enlivened through personal experiences and illustrations based on them. You will be surprised to observe how extensively this form of support is used by our best speakers. Speeches on home, school, church, community, sports, vacations, and outings readily lend themselves to such forms of support.\n\nRecording Materials. It is important to have a very definite system of taking notes as you proceed with the preparation of your speech, especially for longer speeches and debates where notes can be voluminous.\nThe use of notebooks is not a good system for several reasons. First, when notes become numerous, it is very difficult to find the particular piece of material one may want, and this difficulty grows as the notes pile up. In the second place, it will be found that even with the greatest care as to what is taken down, many notes will prove useless for the speech or debate in its final form and should be discarded as soon as that fact is discovered. It is not easy to do this if notes are taken in a notebook. Lastly, in giving the speech or debate from the platform, notebooks are clumsy for reference purposes. To use notebooks first and then copy from them the main points.\nPoints needed for the occasion is a waste of time. Use cards instead. The use of cards is a much better way of note-taking. Indicate at the top of the card what point the material bears on and, in a general way, the source of it. Keep together the cards that bear on the same point. This allows you to get a survey of all the material you have on any one phase of your speech at any time with the least possible effort. If materials on some cards prove useless, throw those cards out. When you need to refer to facts, authorities, or other forms of support, they are ready for you in the best possible form. Ruled cards, three by five inches, are most serviceable.\n1. On any particular card, put materials bearing only on one point. There is no harm in using both sides of the card, provided materials all bear on the same point.\n2. If you mean to quote a writer or speaker exactly, put the words in quotation marks to indicate that they are those of another. Indicate omissions as ellipsis (. . .).\n3. At the top of the card, indicate the main heading or subheading on which the material bears on the left, and the author quoted on the right.\n4. At the bottom of the card, make a definite reference to the source: name of book, magazine, report, etc., with number of volume, year of publication, and page.\n\nIf you follow these directions consistently, you can, by looking at a card, see at a glance what point it bears on.\nSort the cards to group those covering the same point in your speech. In the final speech or debate, use these cards as needed and wisely. Be careful to make references definite for looking up later.\n\nUsing Cards During a Speech or Debate: It's easy to misuse the practice of using cards while giving a speech or debate. On such occasions, cards are crutches and should be used sparingly. An audience does not like seeing a speaker constantly refer to notes.\n\nFinding and Recording Materials\n\nCards have their places, particularly as aids for the inexperienced speaker. It's proper to read exact quotations from them when desired.\nIn conclusion, cultivate the habit of drawing on your own personal experiences for speech-making purposes. If well-selected and suitable for the accomplishment of your aim, personal experiences seldom fail to hold the attention of an audience. They are frequently more illuminating and more convincing than other speech materials. Do not overlook, as a source of information, conversation and interviews with persons who really have something to contribute on the subject. On many questions, current magazines are invaluable.\n\nHowever, it is also proper to refer to notes occasionally for sequence of points or arguments. But do not forget that the less you depend on cards to aid the memory, the better. The ideal to be reached is to be able to stand before an audience and deliver your message without any notes except for reading of quotations.\nOur magazines now provide valuable information on various topics, including economics, politics, social problems, science, and philosophy. For complex issues requiring extensive research, consult your librarian for additional and unconventional sources. Take notes on index cards, not in notebooks, and use them sparingly on the floor. Quotations may be read from cards during any type of speech. Beyond that, cards are crutches and should only be used in emergencies.\n\nEXERCISES\ni. Select a subject for a ten-minute speech to be delivered in class and compile a comprehensive bibliography of resources, including magazines, books, and newspapers. Ensure references are specific and use cards.\n2. Read and criticize in writing Edward Bok's lecture, \"Keys to Success\" (I, Vol. IV).\na. Note the informal and personal style.\nb. Observe the striking effect Mr. Bok gets from relating a personal experience with President Hayes.\nc. Do you think he gains by withholding until the last who the reporter was? Why?\nd. What is the dominant feeling aroused by the speech?\n\n3. \"Be a good observer.\"\na. Tell about some interesting incident or phenomenon you have observed lately, either on the streetcar, in the classroom, or elsewhere. Give as many details as possible. Suggest how this might be used in a speech.\nb. \"The law of the pendulum is a law of life.\" Give an example of this from your own observations.\n\n4. Read Lincoln's \"Cooper Union Speech\" and observe how he goes to original sources for his evidence for the first half of the speech.\nStudy critically the lecture \"Masters of the Situation,\" by James T. Fields. Note how much the author draws on personal experiences. Make a list of them.\n\nReadings:\n- \"Cooper Union Speech,\" by Abraham Lincoln (Vol. XI)\n- \"The Farmer and the Cities,\" by Henry W. Grady\n- \"Masters of the Situation,\" by James T. Fields (Mod. El.: I, Vol. V)\n- \"Get Facts: Look Far: Think Through,\" by William C. Redfield\n\nReferences:\n- William Phillips Sandford and Willard Hayes Yeager: Principles of Effective Speaking (Revised Edition, 1930), Chap. XVI\n- James Winans: Public Speaking (Revised Edition, 1917), Chap. XV\n- James Milton O\u2019Neill and Andrew Thomas Weaver: The Elements of Speech (1926), Chap. XIII\n\nChapter V\nSpeech Organization: The Outline\nWe develop a speech in much the same way that we do any other project.\nIn a speech, our ideas must be clearly connected, unlike an essay where we can reflect on the relationships between ideas. The audience needs to understand the connection as the speech is being delivered. A speech is the most exacting form of composition in terms of structure. Careful speech organization is essential for a good speech, and a speaker who neglects it does so at their own risk. The ordinary mind is not overly analytical, and there is so much aimless talking in conversation that we often carry this lack of order into our speech-making.\nMany speeches remind one of the title of a once popular song, \"I don't know where I'm going, but I'm on my way.\" No matter what kind of speech one is going to make\u2014unless, perhaps, it be one for pure entertainment\u2014a precise purpose or aim must always be sought. In informative speeches, this is usually a simple matter; in persuasive speeches, it may be a very difficult matter. If one wants to explain the operation of a telephone exchange in a big city, the speech problem is clear and unmistakable: it is to make the audience understand the process involved. If one wishes to explain how a radio tube manages, in effect, to hear and talk, the problem is already defined. It may be a very difficult one, but the aim of the speech is fairly well fixed. If one chooses to talk about the art of effective speaking.\nI. Discussing Specific Aspects of the Eighteenth Amendment, League of Nations, or Disarmament:\n\nIt's crucial to determine the exact phase of these topics one intends to discuss, as each question encompasses several aspects. For instance, the Eighteenth Amendment, League of Nations, or disarmament, all present numerous facets that could be debated. Therefore, it's essential to clarify the specific issue at hand.\n\nRecollection of a Speech on the Eighteenth Amendment:\n\nI remember a student of above-average intelligence delivering a speech on the Eighteenth Amendment, which might have lasted ten to fifteen minutes. The speech was well-prepared, and it was evident that the student spoke from both conviction and extensive knowledge of the subject. However, upon being asked to identify the purpose or aim of the speech, no one could do so. It took five to ten minutes to decipher the student's intentions, and once we had, we formulated a response.\nThe proposition was that the Eighteenth Amendment discouraged or caused havoc with temperance among young people. The idea was that, since the passing of the amendment, temperance as an ideal among young people - a movement which had gained great momentum in the pre-amendment period - was no longer present. Young people no longer felt the inhibitions of former days. It was an excellent idea, with much evidence to support it, but no one caught the real aim with any degree of definiteness. The trouble was that the message was not clear enough in the speaker's mind when he prepared the speech to serve properly as a guide in the choice and organization of his materials. Another student spoke on the subject of forest fires.\nHe began speaking aimlessly about forest fires, continuing until he had what passed as a speech. The speech was disjointed from start to finish, revealing only vaguely the speaker's intentions. He had a few interesting facts about the accidental causes of forest fires, such as cigarettes setting fire to dry grass in seventeen out of nineteen cases. When asked about the type of speech he was making and his purpose, he was unable to answer. Neither could anyone else. Several ideas emerged from the speech, though they were vague. One was that forest fires were difficult to fight due to inadequate equipment. Another was that there was much carelessness on the part of tourists and campers regarding forest fires.\nAnd while lightning may occasionally cause a fire, most are the result of some form of carelessness. A few statements were made about the annual devastation of forest fires, but no facts were given, and the idea was not developed.\n\nIf we should put these propositions in proper order and give them appropriate statements, we would have a speech plan as follows:\n\nType of Speech: Impressive.\nPurpose: We should work to prevent forest fires.\nSub-idea I: Forest fires cause great devastation every year.\nSub-idea II: Forest fires are caused largely by carelessness.\nSub-idea III: Once started, they are extremely difficult to control.\nThe first step in planning a speech is to determine as definitively and precisely as possible just what you wish to accomplish, or what your purpose is. What definite response do you wish from the audience? This can always be expressed in a sentence, which we may call a statement of aim or purpose sentence. This must be broad enough to include all the speaker's wishes to say on the subject, and it must be so limited in scope that the speaker can give it adequate support in the time at his disposal. Once formulated, such a statement - always a complete sentence - will furnish you an exact guide for choosing your materials and rejecting those that do not serve your aim. Good speaking is frequently best served by drastic rejection.\n\nImpressively stating the importance of having a definite purpose in planning a speech. The first task is to determine exactly and specifically what you aim to accomplish or what your purpose is. What definite response do you wish from the audience? This can be expressed in a sentence, which we call the statement of aim or purpose sentence. It must be broad enough to cover all the speaker's intentions regarding the subject and narrow enough for adequate support within the given time frame. Once formulated, this statement, always a complete sentence, will serve as a precise guide for selecting and discarding materials. Effective speaking often benefits from drastic material rejection.\nSpeech materials. There is always a temptation to use materials one has gathered. But unless they further the end of the speech, they should be rigidly excluded.\n\nMain Divisions of a Speech: Having determined a precise purpose and presumably gathered effective speech materials in support of that purpose, the next step is the organization of your materials or grouping related ideas under a few appropriate headings or propositions. These are the main divisions of the speech, and are variously known as sub-ideas, or main ideas, or supporting ideas. Arthur Edward Phillips in his Effective Speaking calls them sub-ideas, and perhaps that is as good a name as any for them, for they are subordinate to the purpose or aim. In argumentative speeches or in debates when put in the form of questions, they are known as the main issues.\nThese propositions cannot be arbitrarily selected. They inhere in the question and require thorough analysis of the subject. The sub-ideas or main divisions of a speech should have the following earmarks:\n\n1. They are relatively broad propositions, capable of support, amplification, and development.\n2. They read as supports of the statement of aim or purpose sentence, or of the central idea if one is used.\n3. They should be comprehensive enough to establish or make sufficiently vivid and impressive the aim of the speaker when properly substantiated.\n4. In all persuasive speeches, they should be linked up with vital interests of the audience.\nThe outline should not include too many sub-ideas. Three to five is a good number. To be distinguished from introduction, body, and conclusion. (Refer to page 50. Cf. Chapter IX, page 118.)\n\nThe speech on forest fires will comply with these requirements if the sub-ideas I, II, and III are all broad propositions, capable of development and support, but not overly broad. They should read as supports of the statement of aim or purpose sentence. They should be comprehensive or inclusive enough for the speaker to accomplish their purpose if they carefully select materials and bring them vividly to their listeners.\n\nFormulated in such a way to make them vital.\nThe second and third sub-ideas borrow interest from the first. You will note that there are only three sub-ideas. In working out support for each of the sub-ideas, we go through much the same process of analysis. Referring again to the speech on forest fires, we can take any one of the sub-ideas and find supporting ideas for it, just as we did for the proposition expressing the aim of the speech. Let us consider the third one.\n\nIII. Forest fires, when once started, are extremely hard to control, for:\nA. They often cover large areas.\nB. They are often far from centers of population.\nC. It is difficult to get adequate equipment to the scene of the fire.\nD. The available water-supply is often insufficient.\n\nThe process of analysis and development suggested here is much the same as in any other well-organized composition.\nAll ideas take the form of propositions in a speech. We cannot express an idea or thought without propositions or complete statements. \"Going to college\" is a phrase and does not say anything. \"You should go to college\" is an idea, a proposition, and says something definite. Such a proposition may serve to express either the speaker's command or recommendation, or the statement of a fact or opinion.\n\nThe development of any theme or subject consists essentially in the discovery of related propositions and the giving of them adequate support. All forms of support, all speech materials, no matter what they are \u2014 whether facts, examples, testimony, illustrations, analogies, hypothetical cases \u2014 are always used in support of some proposition expressed or implied.\n\nPropositions in a Speech. It is important to note here that all ideas take the form of propositions. We cannot express an idea or a thought except in the form of a proposition or complete statement.\nA speech's purpose and its supporting ideas consist of a series of propositions and their respective supports. This principle is crucial in speechmaking. If a speaker is unsure of the proposition he is advocating for during a speech, he does not truly understand the subject matter. The same applies to the audience. If they are unaware of the proposition the speaker is advocating for, they are equally clueless about the topic.\n\nThe Outline:\nThe most effective tool for consistent thinking we have discovered is the outline. It functions as a standard against which to assess our thought processes and ascertain to what:\n\n1. A speech's purpose and its supporting ideas consist of a series of propositions and their respective supports.\n2. This principle is crucial in speechmaking.\n3. If a speaker is unsure of the proposition he is advocating for during a speech, he does not truly understand the subject matter.\n4. The same applies to the audience.\n5. If they are unaware of the proposition the speaker is advocating for, they are equally clueless about the topic.\n6. The outline serves as a standard against which to assess our thought processes and ascertain the main points of our speech.\nOur analysis of the question is correct. Form the habit of making an outline for every speech. It has many advantages, among them:\n\n1. It guides us to consistent thinking.\n2. It gives the speech definite movement.\n3. It helps to make the speech clear to the audience.\n4. It is an aid to the memory.\n5. If rightly used, it will help to hold attention.\n6. It encourages the extempore style of speaking and discourages word-for-word memorizing.\n\nKinds of Outlines: There are two methods of outlining a speech, or two kinds of outlines. One is the topical outline, in which single words and phrases may be used. The other is the logical or sentence outline, in which only complete declarative sentences are used.\n\nBoth kinds have their place. For informative or expository speaking, the topical outline is often the best choice. For persuasive speaking, the logical outline may be more effective.\nI. The Topical Outline: An Example of a Topical Outline for an Account of a Trip to the Icelandic Millennial Celebration\n\nI. Purpose: To entertain with an account of the trip\n\nI. I. Ocean Journey\nA. The interesting people we met on the boat\nB. The activities we enjoyed\n\nII. Reykjavik, the capital\nA. The people\nB. The dwellings\nC. The schools\nD. The hotels\nA. The Althing: place where parliament was founded in 930 AD.\nB. World representatives.\nC. Important meetings and speeches.\n\nIV. Impressions of the people\nA. Their hospitality.\nB. Their industry.\nC. Their literary attainments.\n\nEvery speech should have a definite plan, and the topical outline indicates the order of ideas to be treated, and the main headings under each.\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\n\nGrouping of ideas may be as desirable in an informative speech as in the other types. After all, a large part of explanation or exposition consists in showing the relationship of parts or of ideas. If, for example, you are going to talk about radio tubes, you will not get the best results by just starting somewhere and then going on more or less blindly and aimlessly until you have made a speech. When you come to study and prepare for your speech, group your ideas effectively.\nOrganize your ideas on the subject to find their natural form of grouping. There may be several ways to group the ideas, and one may be as good as another, but some form of grouping is necessary. The best one, of course, is the one that makes the subject clearest to the audience with the least mental effort. You might begin with a brief history of radio tube technology. However, be careful not to tire the audience with a long historical narrative unless it is carefully done and facts and incidents are selected with real interest value. History for the sake of history may be easily overdone. Ask yourself, \"What do my hearers want to know about this?\" Do they want primarily to know who made contributions to the technological development?\nThe ment of the tube, or do they want to know how it works - what part it plays in reproducing the human voice? Seize upon some point of interest for your audience, and once you have satisfied their curiosity in that, you may go into details which before might not have had any interest at all. The important thing is to have a definite plan, a definite order or arrangement of ideas. That order must be determined upon with a view to interesting your audience and bringing home to them with as much clarity as possible whatever ideas or processes you wish to explain.\n\nThe logical outline, for persuasive speeches. It is only when we come to make persuasive speeches, especially of the argumentative type, that the sentence or logical outline becomes important. Here the work of analysis is much more difficult, and straight thinking correspondingly harder.\nThe rules for creating a sentence or logical outline are few and easily understood. The challenge is to discover the correct relationships between ideas. once this relationship is found, it is not difficult to arrange the ideas or propositions in outline form.\n\nSuppose some of your best high school friends have decided not to go to college, and you are attending college and want them to do so as well. You believe in the value of a college education as a preparation for living a purposeful life. You have a problem of persuasion. Your purpose would be expressed in the proposition addressed to your high school friends: \"You should go to college.\"\n\nNow your problem is to present ideas that will stir up in them a desire to go to college. What those ideas should be\nYou might aim at your friends through their pocketbooks, first, and say to them, \"It will increase your earning power.\" This is a broad proposition and needs support. Research has been done to show the earnings of persons at different levels of education. These show that the lifetime earnings of a person with an eighth-grade schooling are on average $60,000; of a high school graduate, $88,000; and of a university graduate, $160,000. You could refer to many other things on this subject, such as college graduates you know who are drawing good salaries. What else could you say to create a desire in your friends to go to college? Well, you could say, \"College education will give you personality development.\" This is also a broad proposition.\nArgumentative speech: A college education is beneficial. You will be a better-informed man. Your social nature will be developed. Your power of speech will be improved. A college education will develop your artistic tastes. It is fun to go to college because it is fun to know things, engage in or attend big athletic events, and enjoy a social life.\nI. The choice of a career is important. II. Our education determines largely what our career will be.\n\nI. College education will increase your earning power:\nA. Statistics on average lifetime earnings show this:\n1. Average lifetime earnings of persons with grade schooling: $88,000.\n2. Average lifetime earnings of persons with high school training: $88,000.\n3. Average lifetime earnings of college graduates: [Unknown]\nB. These figures were found by an extensive survey.\n\nII. College education will give you personality development:\nA. It will give you much interesting information.\nB. It will develop your social nature.\nC. It will develop your artistic tastes.\nD. It will help you develop cultivated speech.\n\nIII. Going to college is fun:\nA. It is fun to know things.\nI. College education increases earning power.\nII. Provides personality development.\nIII. Is enjoyable.\n\nRules for Outlining a Speech:\n1. Every outline is divided into three parts: introduction, body, and conclusion.\n2. Symbols show idea relationship: ^ for main ideas, = for supporting ideas, and < for subordinate ideas.\n3. All statements are complete sentences.\nEvery speech has a certain number of main divisions or sub-ideas: I, II, and III. The number three is not arbitrary, although it is most often used. Propositions I, II, III, or sub-ideas, always read as supports of the proposition expressing the purpose or central idea.\n\nGeneral Rule: Every proposition in a logical outline should read as support for the proposition to which it is subordinate.\n\nThe proper connecting word between a proposition in an outline and its subordinate is \"for\" or \"because.\" If you have occasion to use \"hence\" or \"therefore,\" it simply means inverted order.\n\nThe conclusion in an outline merely states the main divisions or sub-ideas of the speech.\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\nExamples of How Great Speakers Have Planned Their Speeches\nSpeeches. Let us take as our first example Wendell Phillips' argumentative speech on capital punishment delivered before a committee of the Massachusetts legislature. The broad outline of the speech can be stated as follows:\n\nPurpose: Capital punishment should be abolished in Massachusetts for all offenses.\nSub-idea I: The state does not have the right to take life.\nSub-idea II: The Bible does not impose an obligation on the state to take life.\nSub-idea III: It is not necessary for our protection to take life.\n\nAll propositions embodying the main divisions or sub-ideas of the speech read as supports of the purpose. If these propositions are adequately supported.\nThe speaker establishes a central idea to give a definite direction and unified effect to the whole speech. The central idea supports the speech's purpose and is supported by sub-ideas. Chosen with reference to the audience, it must be of a nature that, if accepted, attains the purpose. William Jennings Bryan, after observing conditions in leading countries around the world, delivered this speech.\nIn Chicago and other centers, a speaker delivered a speech on world progress, intended as a tonic for reformers. He structured his topic as follows, drawing upon a wealth of illustrative material to reinforce his points.\n\nPurpose: Reformers should take heart.\nCentral Idea: The world is making progress.\nSub-idea I: The world is progressing intellectually.\nSub-idea II: The world is progressing morally.\nSub-idea III: The world is progressing politically.\n\nObserve that all the main divisions support the central idea, and if these propositions are established, it is very likely that the central idea will be achieved and the purpose attained.\n\nSuppose you were to make a speech on automobile accidents. You might define your purpose and make the scope of your speech as follows:\n\nPurpose: We should work to prevent automobile accidents.\nCentral Idea: Automobile accidents can be greatly reduced.\nSub-idea 1: Speeding can be largely reduced by more strict law enforcement.\nSub-idea 2: Incompetent and careless drivers can be largely eliminated by licensing.\nSub-idea 3: Dangerous grade crossings can be abolished.\nSub-idea 4: Country-wide \u201csafety\u201d propaganda would be effective.\n\nIf you could support these propositions adequately, your central idea would be accepted. Your purpose would reasonably well be attained.\n\nNumber of Sub-ideas: Both Phillips and Bryan used three main divisions or sub-ideas in their speeches. We used four. There is no law, except a psychological one, as to the number of supporting ideas to use in a speech. The ancient writers on this subject had it settled two thousand years ago that from three to five is a good number of main ideas.\nIdeas to develop in a speech. We have not discovered any good reason for changing that rule. It may sound more or less arbitrary, but developing too many separate ideas in the course of a single speech leads to confusion and an overtaxing of the memory. It is possible to group ideas on almost all subjects in such a way as to observe this time-honored rule of the ancients. It is just as good today as it was in the time of Pericles, and it was pretty good then.\n\nRelation between Outline and Speech. Finished outlines may well be used until the process of making an outline is thoroughly mastered and the structure of a speech thoroughly understood. When that goal is once attained, it is not necessary to make a finished outline to make a good speech, although it may be well enough to make an outline of every speech as long as it is not overly complex.\nAn outline is a guide to clear and orderly presentation of ideas. It is the framework of a speech's structure, but it is a great mistake to think that the structure should bear much resemblance to the framework once completed. It is a mistake, for example, to think that the order of ideas in an outline is necessarily the order they should be presented in the speech. The leading ideas in an outline - the main divisions of the speech or sub-ideas - are in the form of conclusions; and conclusions, as a rule, should not be stated in a speech until the evidence has been presented in support of them. This is especially true of beliefs or propositions that are unwelcome to the audience. To state such propositions boldly at the outset is to arouse contrary ideas in their minds.\nIt is a rule of persuasion never to draw an unwelcome conclusion until the evidence in support of it has been presented \u2013 until, in fact, it is no longer unwelcome. A much better way is simply to point the direction in which you are planning to move by means of direct or indirect questions.\n\nLincoln, in his \"Springfield Speech,\" does not say, \"I am going to prove to you that the leaders of the Democratic Party are in a conspiracy to nationalize slavery.\" He gives it as his opinion that the slavery question will not be settled until the country is either all free or all slave. Then he asks, \"Have we not a tendency to the latter condition?\" Thereupon, he presents his evidence and finally draws his conclusion. In the brief, the proposition would be stated as:\n\nThe slavery question will not be settled until the country is either all free or all slave. Have we not a tendency to the latter condition?\nA conclusion sets out in a speech, with the proposition not stated until all supporting arguments have been presented. An outline is merely a tool to achieve an end, not an end in itself. Once you understand a speech's underlying structure and can logically arrange its materials, whether or not you create an outline becomes insignificant. Few speakers in practice make extensive use of logical outlines, as evidenced by the lack of records for Lincoln's speeches or Burke's \"Conciliation Speech.\" However, many public speeches could benefit from more thoughtful outlines.\n\nRecently, I have listened to three distinguished speakers.\nA president of a great endowed university, a man of letters and author of one popular novel, and a Congresswoman of more than ordinary speaking ability and charm were among the speakers. If any speech contained a clearly conceived and logically carried out plan, it wasn't apparent. Any listener, if asked to state the message of any speech, would likely have scratched their head and admitted it wasn't clear. The lack of any definite plan or outline seemed to undermine the effectiveness of these speeches. Aside from that, all speeches had power and charm. There is much aimless speaking these days, and the best way to give any speech a definite objective is to throw it into outline form and so check up on one's thought processes.\n\nIn Conclusion: Learn to make good outlines and learn to make speeches effective.\nUnderstand the relation of outline to speech. This subject should command your earnest attention. It's possible to spoil a good speech with a too-minute outline or by following it too closely. On the other hand, it's difficult to make a good speech without going through the analytical process that underlies all good outlining. Careful analysis spells clear progress \u2013 a great merit in a speech. To present a clear analysis of a subject, giving speech an orderly movement, yet not be the slave of the outline expressing the analysis, is an art. Here, as elsewhere, it's true that the mastery of outlining lies in finding the right balance.\nThe greatest art conceals itself. To understand the relationship of an outline to a speech, outline a good speech and observe how it falls short. Try making a speech from the outline and compare it to the original. This discipline will impress upon you the usefulness and limitations of an outline. An outline helps us move clearly and in a straight line, but it does not help us move forcefully, interestingly, concretely, or with originality and charm. Learn to use it and realize its limitations. Do not follow it slavely.\n\nExercises:\ni. Using the sentence outline in this chapter as a guide, outline\nFor a speech on one of the following subjects, choose a side:\n\na. There should be faculty censorship of student publications.\nb. College athletics interfere unduly with scholarship.\nc. Installment buying should be discouraged.\nd. The jury system should be abolished.\ne. Any other subject that appeals to you.\n\nUse this outline for your talk in class, making it a point to add those elements not indicated by the outline \u2013 rhetorical questions, examples, illustrations, effective repetition, etc. Have your outline on the board before the class, if convenient, so that the class, too, can recognize these elements. Let the entire class outline the talks given by its members.\n1. and report on the material that must necessarily escape the outline.\n2. Outline Lincoln\u2019s \"Cooper Union Speech.\" Observe how far your outline falls short of suggesting what is in the speech. Make a thorough study of Lincoln\u2019s \"Springfield Speech\" and the outline of it.\n3. Speeches\n- \"Capital Punishment,\" by Wendell Phillips (Phillips, Vol. II)\n- \"Cooper Union Speech,\" by Abraham Lincoln (Vol. XI)\n- \"The Wastes and Burdens of Society,\" by Henry Ward Beecher (Beecher: I)\n- \"Boyhood, the Greatest Asset of Any Nation,\" by John R. Mott (. Lindgren )\n- \"Why Men Strike,\" by Edward A. Filene (Vol. IV)\n4. References\n- Arthur Edward Phillips: Effective Speaking (1908), Chaps. XVII, XVIII, XIX.\n- James Milton O\u2019Neill and Andrew Thomas Weaver: The Elements of Speech (1926), Chap. XV.\n- William Phillips Sandford and Willard Hayes Yeager: The Principles of Speech.\nChapter XVI, Effective Speaking (Revised Edition, 1930):\n\nChapter VI, Preparation for Delivery\n\nSuppose you have chosen your subject, carefully formulated a proposition broad enough to include all you want to say, which will roughly express your purpose; gathered your speech materials through interviews and readings, after taking an inventory of your own thoughts on the question; and finally organized and arranged your materials in orderly and logical form on cards as suggested and in outline form \u2014 then what? Are you prepared to go before your class or any other audience and make your speech?\n\nIf you think so, you make a very great mistake \u2014 a mistake which many students and speakers make to their sorrow. You should realize that the most important part of the preparation is yet to come.\nMethods of Preparing a Speech for Delivery. There are several methods of preparing a speech for presentation. One may write out and memorize the entire speech. One may use a carefully prepared outline as a basis for rehearsal and go over the speech again and again before an imaginary audience, and in this way prepare it for delivery. One may combine these two methods and write out the most important parts and extemporize the rest. One may write out the speech and read it from manuscript. Finally, one may dispense with any preparation whatsoever and give the speech impromptu. This method, as a rule, is not expected to be used in class, but the unexpected sometimes happens.\n\nAs to which method is the best, or whether any one method is superior, is a matter of debate.\nPreparation for delivery is best, it is advisable not to be too dogmatic. The more experience one has in preparing speeches and observing others at work, the more one realizes that perhaps no one method is best for everyone, but each must work out a method best suited to his type of mind and the results he wishes to accomplish. There are so many and such pronounced individual differences among persons in this respect that no rigid rules can be laid down. Henry Ward Beecher, in his lectures to Yale students, set it down emphatically that a preacher must use either one method or the other. He must either extemporize all of his sermon or he must write out all of it. He cannot extemporize parts of it and read the rest from manuscript. For many years, I took him at his word.\nThe advice to my students. In recent years, I have listened regularly to a minister who does what Beecher said couldn't be done. He writes out his manuscript, keeps it on his desk every Sunday morning, reads from it when it suits him and extemporizes when that suits him better. He does this so smoothly that a stranger entering the church would probably not know he had a manuscript at all. Yet it is there, and perhaps half the sermon is read from it. These discourses occupy a whole hour every Sunday morning, and about a thousand people come to hear them. They are packed with solid matter \u2013 are in fact lectures rather than sermons. The minister, with this method, is an exceptionally engaging speaker. The style of speaking is distinctly conversational, simple, direct, and impressive.\nIt was said of former president Grover Cleveland that he could write out a speech and give it from memory with little preparation. Many of his speeches suggest the written manuscript and exemplify a style that is ponderous and unwieldy. Beecher, on the other hand, told us that he did not begin to put his Plymouth Church sermons into definite form until after breakfast on Sunday morning. While this statement may be true, broadly speaking, we also know it to be true that Beecher's fertile and imaginative mind was not slumbering during the week, but active and alert at all times. Beecher was a great observer and gathered information and illustrations for his sermons in his daily haunts, visiting Tiffany's, walking along the piers and watching the longshoremen.\nat work, traveling through the country on his lecture tours; so that when Sunday came around, he had but to draw upon his vast resources for the substance of his sermon. There is no doubt that he used the extempore method consistently in his pulpit, and by it produced discourses both finished and powerful. Many volumes of them have been published and are available to the student.\n\nThese are the methods of mature men, and while they are interesting, they are not necessarily suited to the beginner or the immature speaker. We shall now consider in some detail the several methods that may be used in preparing a speech for presentation, noting the advantages and disadvantages of each. First and foremost, we shall deal with the extempore method, because we wish to hold it forth as fundamental to the most efficient speech training, and as furnishing the best foundation.\nThe Extempore Method: Derived from the Latin ex, meaning \"from\" or \"out of,\" and tempus, meaning \"time,\" the literal meaning is \"at the time\" or \"out of the moment.\" This refers to speaking or giving language to thoughts in the moment. In other words, the extempore style of speaking contemplates producing language in the moment. However, we do not interpret the term strictly in this way. Making language wholly the product of the moment may be sufficient for seasoned speakers, but not for amateurs.\n\nPreparation for Delivery:\nIt is a goal to work for, an ideal to be held in mind.\nOne seldom attains the method of preparing a speech that is not more loosely indicated as extempore. We use the term to denote almost any method of preparing a speech other than the impromptu, which contemplates no preparation at all, and the memoriter, that is, writing out a speech and memorizing it verbatim.\n\nLet us now try to understand what we really mean by the extempore method of preparing a speech, using the term somewhat broadly as suggested.\n\nThe best way to do this is to imagine yourself before the audience you are expecting to address and to proceed to make the speech as you would if you were before them. Express your ideas, not vaguely but in definite words and sentences. Begin with the introduction and go through whatever explanatory remarks you think are necessary and appropriate.\n\nIf some words in the statement of your subject need defining, do so clearly and succinctly. Proceed with the body of your speech, developing your ideas logically and coherently. Conclude with a strong and memorable finish.\n\nIn essence, the extempore method requires you to think on your feet, to be well-prepared mentally, and to communicate effectively and persuasively with your audience. It is a skill that takes practice and preparation, but the rewards can be great.\nHere is the place to define the subjects. If a brief history is needed, give it. Arouse an interest in the subject you are talking about. Proceed with your first point and say all you can on it. Pause once in a while and refer to your outline or cards to refresh your memory. Express your ideas as simply and clearly as possible, using at least ninety percent one and two syllable words. Be informal and confidential in your attitude toward your audience. Talk to them much as you would to a group of your friends. Do not be afraid to use the personal pronouns \"I\" and \"you.\" It will help you get into close rapport with your listeners. Pay attention to the best arrangement of ideas. Let the order be logical and clear.\nThe Art of Effective Speaking: A speech should be natural and climactic. After completing each main point or division in the speech, make it clear to the audience that you have finished and are moving on to the next one. While a three-minute speech may not have many divisions or transitions, an eight- or ten-minute speech may have several. Transitions between points should be clear and definite. A speech should have clear and orderly movement from one point to another. Just as we move by steps when walking, we should move by definite steps in speaking. The clearer you have in mind what you are trying to accomplish, the clearer the progress of your speech will be and the more definite its movement.\nProceed with the speech in this way until you reach the end. It may require considerable effort, but the effort will be worthwhile. Rehearse your speech not only once but several times - as many times as necessary to ensure fluency when you come to make the speech. The amount of practice required will depend on how your mind works and how easy or difficult it is for you to speak. Some people find words come more easily than others. Some have better memories than others. Therefore, some will require less and others more of this kind of practice. All will be benefited greatly by a considerable amount of it, for it is the best method of developing fluency in speaking.\n\nThis kind of speaking will develop what is generally called fluency.\nThe extempore or extemporaneous style of speaking is the most serviceable and practicable method for making speeches. It requires thorough preparation in advance, a careful selection and arrangement of ideas, and much practice in giving effective expression to those ideas. If one goes over the ground carefully several times using definite language, some things will become more or less fixed in memory. The sequence of the more important ideas will become fixed, and to some extent, words and sentences, or phraseology, will have taken definite form. However, whatever memorizing is done by this method is in terms of ideas rather than in terms of words. If, in the course of practice, well-selected words and effective phrases have become part of the ideas, they will be used without effort. Preparation for Delivery\nSet in speech pattern, there is no harm. Important is delivering speech with confidence and spontaneity. Give impression of grappling audience instead of reciting memorized words. As confidence grows and fluency develops, safely leave more to occasion. It is one thing to write out speech and learn word for word. Quite another to rehearse speech, phrases and sentences taking definite form. First method may develop woodenness unless carefully managed. Second will develop fluency and flexibility.\nPreparing for a speech is a high-order thinking process that requires sustained mental concentration. The brain functions best under the stimulation of a lively blood circulation. It is a common experience to struggle with ideas in your study, only to find them crowding your brain after a walk. This is because increased blood circulation vitalizes our thought processes. Try it out for yourself: once you've set the thinking process in motion, you can return to your work.\nWhen Wendell Phillips had an important speech to make, he would go out for a walk and then shut himself up in his study for hours at a time. Gladstone prepared some of his great parliamentary speeches while cutting down trees. Some would have it that Lincoln prepared some of his best speeches while splitting rails. This would have been correct, but for the fact that Lincoln had quit splitting rails long before he made any speeches of consequence. It is not unlikely, however, that he prepared many of his legal arguments while walking the judicial circuit over the Illinois prairies in early days. At any rate, any activity that speeds up the circulation will do the work, even walking briskly in one\u2019s room.\n\nM. Sarcey, distinguished French lecturer, gives this advice:\nA lecture is never prepared except in walking. The movement of the body lashes the blood and aids the movement of the mind. You have possessed your memory of the themes from which the lecture must be formed; pick one out of the pile, the first at hand, or the one you have most at heart, which for the moment attracts you most, and act as if before the public; improvise upon it. Yes, force yourself to improvise. Do not trouble yourself about badly constructed phrases or inappropriate words \u2014 go your way. Push on to the end of the development, and the end once reached, recommence the same exercise; recommence it three times, four times, ten times, without tiring. You will have some trouble at first. The development will be short and meager; but, little by little, around the principal theme, there will group themselves accessories.\nIdeas or anecdotes that will extend and enrich this work. Do not stop in this work until you notice that in taking up the same theme, you fall into the same development, and this development, with its turns of language and order of phrases, fixes itself in your memory. Language was primarily invented for speaking, not for writing; and since it embodies thought, there is no reason why it should not keep step with thought. The inability to express oneself freely is largely due to the habit of thinking without simultaneously shaping the thought in words. A thought remains nebulous even in the mind of the thinker as long as he does not concentrate it in words and form it into sentences. Accustom yourself, therefore, to verbal thinking. The habit of thinking in words, of always trying to put your thought in a communicable form, will unconsciously improve your thinking and expression.\nCultivate the power of extemporization, which is the distinguishing mark of a good speaker.\n\nPreparation for Delivery: Writing Out Speeches. It is good practice to write out your speeches, especially in the early stages of preparation. We never know exactly what we can say on any subject until we have put it down in writing. As John Stuart Mill observes, \"If you want to know whether you are thinking rightly, put your thought into words. It forces us to think clearly even when it cannot make us think correctly.\" If you write out what you are going to say, ensure that you write as you would speak. Have your audience in mind at all times and simply set down what you would say to them. Then, when you are through, you will have your speech in writing.\nAnd it is not an ordinary written manuscript. Make the distinction, for young speakers have a tendency to speak as they write, rather than to write as they speak. Observe the simple, informal, personal style in all your writing for speech preparation.\n\nDo not memorize the speech when you have written it out. This warning should hardly be necessary after the suggestions that have been made. You might possibly make a better speech that way the first few times. However, this is not primarily the kind of practice you want to cultivate, and it is more important to develop correct methods than to make good speeches to begin with. Use the writing process simply as a part of the practice in preparing your speech for presentation.\n\nIf you have said something well in writing, you might use that.\nYou can't prepare your subject too thoroughly, but it's easy to overprepare your words. Divide your subject into two or three sections. For each section, prepare \"an island\" - by this I mean a carefully prepared sentence to clinch your argument. Make this the conclusion of the section, and trust yourself to swim to the next island. Keep the best island for the peroration of the speech, and then sit down. To write speeches and then commit them to memory.\n\nJohn Bright, an experienced English parliamentarian and statesman, gave this advice to a friend.\nThe act of committing speeches to memory is, as you assert, a form of double slavery I couldn't endure. Speaking without preparation, particularly on weighty and solemn matters, is reckless and not advisable. When I plan to address anything I deem significant, I ponder what message I wish to convey to my audience. I do not pen down my facts or arguments but jot down the argument line and relevant facts on two, three, or four note slips, allowing words to come to me as I speak. Occasionally, for accuracy, I may write down short passages, and almost invariably, the concluding words or sentences.\n\nMemorizing and Extempore Speaking:\nThere is a considerable amount of memorizing involved in preparing a speech, and it is not:\n\n(Note: The text appears to be written in clear and readable English, with no significant OCR errors or unreadable content. No cleaning is necessary.)\nThe order of ideas must be well-fixed in memory for correct speech. Some language may have taken definite form if speech is carefully prepared. It is important for a speaker to know how to best enlist memory and get the greatest service from it. For speech purposes, things may become fixed in memory through the muscles, eyes, and ears, or muscular, visual, and auditory memory. Try, for example, to recall a selection learned as a child for school, one you can still repeat from memory. How does it happen that you can repeat it? There are:\n\n1. The order of ideas must be well-fixed in memory for correct speech.\n2. Some language may have taken definite form if speech is carefully prepared.\n3. It is important for a speaker to know how to best enlist memory and get the greatest service from it.\n4. For speech purposes, things may become fixed in memory through the muscles, eyes, and ears.\n5. This is also known as muscular, visual, and auditory memory.\n6. Try to recall a selection learned as a child for school, one you can still repeat from memory.\n7. The ability to do so happens because:\nYour speech organs may have gone through the process of saying it so often that the order of muscular movements has become fixed, causing the words to flow easily once started. There are three possible explanations. It is possible that you have visual images of the printed page where the selection appeared or have visual or auditory memories of the selection. If you have no such images or auditory memories, then the selection is stored in the memory of your speech organs. Once you initiate the first set of muscle movements, the rest will follow with ease, as long as you remember the selection well. It is a good deal. (Quoted in Serviss: Eloquence, p. 108.)\nIn preparing speeches, we should take advantage of the memory to get maximum results. We may practice silently in our room or study, or on a street car, harnessing only the muscular memory of our speech organs. Or we might have a good friend who is willing to listen to us rehearse, in which case we should get the benefit of the auditory memory as well. Then we might have an outline of our speech before us, either on a sheet of paper or on cards, to form visual images of the order of ideas in the speech. The kind of practice that would be the most effective is a combination of all three types: muscular, auditory, and visual.\nThe most valuable practice for memorization is one that harnesses all forms of memory. The closer the practice resembles the actual performance, including voice, gestures, and other bodily movements, the more valuable it is. Our muscle memory resides not only in the speech organs - tongue, throat, lips - but also in our arms, legs, head, and torso - in our whole body, in fact.\n\nThe value of pictures for extemporizing. The more one talks in terms of the concrete, the less one has to depend on word-for-word memorizing, and the easier it is to extemporize. In telling a story, relating a personal experience, describing a situation, or giving an example or a hypothetical case, one does not care to have the language absolutely set.\nThe following comment from Alfred Flude, a lecturer who has traveled all over the world and won more than ordinary success as a speaker before schools and colleges, is interesting. Its emphasis on pictures. I never committed more than two talks to memory and I shall never do it again. It is a great mistake \u2013 for me at least. I remember, years ago, when I gave \"The Baby Days,\" listening to myself to see where I was. The work becomes too automatic. It is only as one creates while one works that one may secure the best results. At least, that is true of myself. Dr. Sadler and other scientists tell us that we have a \"subconscious mind\" that will do much for us without any effort on our part.\nI call my subconscious mind \"George.\" I let \"George\" do it. It is all very simple. Fill your mind full of a subject - not with words, but with mental pictures. The words will take care of themselves. If you want a piece of pie, you don't rehearse and commit to memory your request. You say: \"Give me some pie,\" and the pie comes. In the same way, if I am to speak on Chinese poetry, I do not worry. I open the door into my Chinese poetry shop and \"George\" does the rest.\n\nUse of the Extempore Method by Great Speakers. The method here presented is one that has been used by many great speakers. We have already seen how Beecher extemporized all his sermons in his famous Brooklyn church and probably produced the finest and most finished products ever wrought by that method. His five speeches in England, delivered in 1863 to\nEnglish support for the Lincoln administration was evident in Winfield Scott's impromptu speeches, resulting in one of the greatest oratorical triumphs in history. Winfield Scott rehearsed his speeches while fishing. The well-known passage from his Bunker Hill oration he addressed to the more doughty fish as he pulled them in. \"You have come down to us from a former generation. Heaven has bounteously lengthened out your lives that you might behold this glorious day,\" etc. Wendell Phillips arranged the chairs in his father's library in a semicircle and then proceeded to address them. One day his mother said to him, \"Wendell, don't you get tired of talking to those chairs?\" \"No, I don't get tired,\" came the reply, \"but I guess it must be hard on them.\"\nChairs. Lincoln rehearsed his speeches with great care, some of them almost to the point of memorizing. He never studied psychology, yet he soon discovered it was a great advantage to practice aloud. Many more examples could be given, but these will do for our purpose. Not only have virtually all great speakers used this method, but they have all excelled in the extemporaneous style of speaking. Lincoln was a great extemporizer. In his seven debates with Douglas, each one lasting three solid hours, there is hardly any repetition. When the same ground is covered in the different debates, as it is more or less, the language used is different on each occasion. There may be found a few instances where the order of ideas is much the same and the sentences somewhat alike; but not many. This is the more remarkable.\nBoth Lincoln and Douglas delivered over sixty speeches each during their memorable campaign. Douglas was a more fluent extemporizer than Lincoln and a consummate debate master. Webster was likely one of the greatest extemporizers of all time. His \"Reply to Hayne\" was given under circumstances that made it impossible for him to prepare it in advance. He was, of course, familiar with his ground, and in one sense, as he remarked, had been preparing that speech for twenty years. The language must have been almost wholly the product of the moment. Wendell Phillips, Henry Ward Beecher, Robert Ingersoll all excelled in this type of speaking. They practiced it all their lives, although at times both Phillips and Ingersoll used the memorized method.\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking.\nIt should be said that the speeches handed down to us by these men are not necessarily the speeches as they were delivered. Speakers revise their utterances for publication, and sometimes it is hard to recognize the original in the copy. Some day you may take occasion to look over the original copy of Webster\u2019s \u201cReply to Hayne\u201d as it was taken down when he gave it and as you will find it in the Boston Public Library. You may be astonished to find how different is the original from the speech as it was printed. This is not to say that the effect produced may not have been just as great. The whole speech was carefully revised and written out for publication.\nPractice makes perfect. Nowhere is it more true than in extemporaneous speaking. If you have an ambition to become an accomplished speaker, make up your mind that it will require much diligent study and practice. Think of the young musician who spends from one to three hours a day at the piano for ten or fifteen years before he becomes an accomplished pianist. Consider what one-tenth of such practice would do for you in speaking. Any one with talent who would so apply himself to improve his speech would become an accomplished speaker, and hardly a day would pass when he could not use this skill to great advantage.\n\nThe following bit of advice should be heeded by the ambitious:\n\nThink. Think much. Think very much.\n\nPractice. Practice much. Practice very much.\n\nSpeak. Speak much. Speak very much.\nThe Memoriter method involves writing out a speech and memorizing the manuscript. Widely used in speaking classes, it permits more finished form and greater precision. However, it places a heavy tax on memory, making it a danger as no memory can meet its demands without occasional breakdown. Students, for instance, may seem to deliver a speech smoothly and fluently, only to suddenly falter.\nMinds were blank, and they could not think of a single word. They were \"off the track\" and helpless until they could get back on it somewhere. The ensuing pauses under such circumstances are embarrassing to speaker and listeners alike. In class speeches, of course, they should not be so regarded, as the aim is practice and the perfection of methods. In public, these lapses are embarrassing and weigh heavily against this method as a general one.\n\nAnother obvious disadvantage of the memoriter method is that it fosters an attitude of aloofness from the audience and militates against spontaneity and close contact, which the extempore method invites. It is possible, of course, to learn a speech so well and express it so effectively as to make the language seem spontaneous and out of the moment, but that is not the norm with this method.\nThe speaker who extemporizes rarely occurs and when it does, it requires greater time and effort than the extemporized method. The extemporizing speaker is not bound by any set language, allowing them to vary and adapt it to the needs of the occasion. However, it is difficult to break away from a memorized manuscript and even more difficult to get back to the right place.\n\nDespite this, the fact remains that this method has its place, and some practice in it is proper for class work. When short speeches are to be made on formal occasions, the best method may be to write them out and memorize them. Speeches of introduction, presentation, welcome, farewell, are examples, as are traditional school valedictory and salutatory addresses. This method is almost universally used in speaking.\nWendell Phillips, during the antislavery crusade, wrote out and committed to memory several speeches on occasions where it was proper for him to do so. In the preface to the First Series of his speeches, he states, \"Four or five of them were delivered in such circumstances that it was necessary for me to set down beforehand substantially what I had to say.\" He knew that every sentence he uttered would be closely scrutinized by a hostile public sentiment and press, and twisted and turned against him if he left any opening. Public lecturers, particularly those who possess the gift of originality and whose lectures display literary form, write out their discourses and memorize them.\nThis was true of many of Ingersoll\u2019s public lectures, which are works of art. No one need suppose that the marvelous word painting which we find in his lectures, the lavish imagery and picturesque style, were the product of the moment. They show the careful work of the artist. Some of Bryan\u2019s speeches show workmanship of a high order, revealing power and beauty wrought with painstaking care and genuine art. Many public lectures, of course, were delivered before hundreds of audiences and doubtless went through a sort of evolutionary process. They have been handed down to us, presumably, in their most finished form rather than as originally given.\n\nThis method, then, has its place, and has its advantages, especially for certain occasions. Some practice in it may therefore properly be given. It will have a tendency to correct some errors.\nThe more obvious faults of the extempore method include a lack of finish and precision. However, for every speech prepared in advance, several should be delivered extemporaneously. The latter method offers the best mental training; it fosters the kind of speaking people are commonly required to do. It develops proficiency in thinking on one's feet and a command of language and ideas to serve specific ends. Its merits include promoting an informal, personal, spontaneous, flexible, conversational style of speaking, which is effective for ordinary purposes and an ideal all speakers may strive to achieve.\n\nReading from a Manuscript:\nMany speeches are written out and read from manuscript. This method is also suitable for certain occasions. Men who hold responsible public positions often use this method.\nFrequently, individuals who are expected to speak with authority use a written method to communicate important matters. This includes the President of the United States and governors of states. They do this for their own protection to avoid misconstruction of statements and to save time. At the inauguration of a university president, most addresses are likely to be in manuscript form. Some who are accustomed to extemporizing will use that method. Scientific men frequently \"read papers\" at conventions, where thought is primary, and accuracy of statement is imperative. In less formal talks, the extempore method is also used. Some preachers, who emphasize matter rather than manner, use the manuscript method, and, be it said, with good effect. Where content is paramount.\nThe importance of thought and accuracy in statement are paramount. The manuscript method is proper. Many persons have an inveterate prejudice against speeches read from manuscript. Personally, I do not share that prejudice, and I would much rather hear a good speech well read from manuscript than a poor one extemporized. Much depends on how the speeches are read. Of pulpit speakers that I have been particularly interested in, I recall four who have used the manuscript method, either wholly or in large part. All of them spoke longer than is customary in churches. Three of them were exceedingly stimulating, and I was not conscious of any distraction of attention because they read from manuscript. We must admit that, while the extempore method should be the one method most extensively cultivated by young speakers, the manuscript method has its merits when used effectively.\nSpeakers because it is the method most often used, it has some decided limitations. One is that it is impossible to say as much with that method in an hour as with the manuscript method. Consummate geniuses like Henry Ward Beecher and Wendell Phillips can extemporize for an hour and say good things all the time, but very few men can. The extemporized speech is often a very thin product, like Douglas\u2019 doctrine of popular rights, which Lincoln likened to soup made from boiling the shadow of a starved chicken. Everything depends on the speech situation. If the audience is educated and capable of assimilating solid discourses, there is much to be said for the manuscript method. If they prefer their mental and spiritual diet in more diluted form, the extemporaneous method will serve. I recently heard a preacher who is\nThe preacher draws large crowds every Sunday morning to his church. He is a pleasing and entertaining speaker, and at times there is the roar of a lion in his voice. All he said in an hour could be comfortably put into ten minutes without doing violence to a single second. It is plain that the people who go to hear him want a large measure of entertainment and are willing to accept a small measure of instruction.\n\nThis method is not used in public speaking classes, so far as I know. Occasionally, manuscripts of speeches are required but they are seldom read in class. The method has some things to recommend it from the point of view of training. If used, it is imperative that a student learn to write as he speaks, and so get away from the written style, which as a rule is much heavier and more unwieldy than the speaking style.\nIn working for definite effects, this method lends itself to specific and detailed criticism. Reading from manuscript occasionally would be excellent practice for students. It may be that teachers of speaking do not cultivate this method as much as it deserves.\n\nPreparation for Delivery\n\nThe Impromptu Speech. There remains the impromptu speech. We understand by this a speech without any special preparation. It goes without saying that not much time can be taken up in class work with unprepared speeches. It is excellent drill for a student to get up on his feet and speak to a definite point for five minutes or so, but he must expect to get that practice largely outside of class. It may be that occasionally, once a semester or so, a class may be organized into an assembly for the discussion of some pressing issue.\nIf this is a question of the day and may engage in a running debate according to parliamentary rules, drill in conducting a meeting and parliamentary practice is valuable, as would be the practice in speaking. It is a question of how much time to give to it.\n\nIf you are ambitious to become an influential speaker, you can do no better than to take advantage of every occasion that presents itself for speaking. These occasions are constantly arising in class meetings, public assemblies, church affairs, political rallies, and other gatherings. The person who takes advantage of these opportunities and is even willing to make a fool of himself on occasion is the one that in the long run will be heard from. If you are unexpectedly called upon to make a speech or give your opinion on a current question, it is a misfortune if you are unprepared.\nTake the time to prepare for speaking. The audience understands the situation and does not expect too much. It is good practice in such a situation to try to guide your thoughts into familiar channels. What you say must obviously have some bearing on the subject at hand. Remarks made by other speakers frequently provide a good starting point and may suggest a train of thought to develop. Use a personal experience or give concrete examples if possible. When you speak, aim to say something meaningful. Mere glibness of tongue is not enough. Some of the best speeches on record have been made impromptu. For instance, Wendell Phillips' famous \"Lovejoy\" speech.\nSpeech in Faneuil Hall, 1837: Phillips' maturity at age twenty-six. Strange but true, this speech reveals a maturity of style and method Phillips never excelled in his fifty years on the platform. Ingersoll's \"Oration at a Child's Grave\" was impromptu, though it bears all the earmarks of careful preparation.\n\nIn conclusion, do not neglect this important step of preparing speeches for delivery, and do not go about it aimlessly. The correct method will greatly promote your success as a speaker. That method is not necessarily the best for making the best speeches with the least possible effort from the start. No one method is best for all occasions, and no one method is best, perhaps, for all speakers. Give the extempore method careful thought and a fair trial. It will promote your success.\nPractice with this method means careful selection and organization of speech materials in advance, and going over these materials repeatedly using definite language and imagining yourself before the audience that you are to address. Remember that the kind of practice which most resembles the actual speech situation will be the most effective. Aim to enlist all the forms of memory \u2014 the muscular, auditory, visual. This means practicing aloud with appropriate action. As you progress in your speaking, more and more may be left to the occasion, but it will be a safe rule to follow that few speeches are made without careful preparation both of materials and of presentation.\n\nEXERCISES\n1. Prepare a five- or ten-minute speech, aiming to use mostly personal experiences.\n1. Make a simple outline for your speech materials. Arrange them in the best order. Go over the ground a few times, but avoid memorizing any part of it word for word. Be as conversational as possible in presenting the speech.\n2. Choose three to five subjects and prepare thoughts on each for the class. Speak for three minutes on the subject selected by your instructor using the extempore method.\n3. Pair up with a classmate. Choose a disputed proposition and prepare to argue one side for four minutes in a constructive argument and two minutes in rebuttal using the extempore method.\n4. Without preparation, tell in two or three minutes what you plan to do when you graduate and your reasons for choosing that course.\n[Speeches:\n\"Love and Joy Speech\" by Wendell Phillips (Phillips, Vol. I),\n\"Eulogy on Wendell Phillips\" by Henry Ward Beecher (Beecher: I),\n\"Tribute to William Lloyd Garrison\" by Wendell Phillips (Phillips, Vol. II),\n\"Oration at a Child's Grave\" by Robert Ingersoll (Ingersoll, Vol. XII).\n\nReferences:\nCharles Henry Woolbert: Fundamentals of Speech (Revised Edition,\nWilliam Phillips Sandford and Willard Hayes Yeager: Principles of Effective Speaking (Revised Edition, 1930), Chap. XVII.\n\nCONCLUSION OF WEBSTER'S \u201cREPLY TO HAYNE\u201d\nThis is the conclusion of Webster's \u201cReply to Hayne\u201d as it was copied from the stenographer's notes and before it was revised by Webster for publication. The manuscript is in the]\nSir, I am sorry for detaining the senate for so long. I was drawn into this debate without the least premeditation. But I do not wish to leave it without stating that the question upon which I have been addressing the senate is one of deep and vital importance to the people of the United States. I profess, throughout my entire professional career, to have had mainly in view the prosperity and glory of the country, and the union of the states. I have felt that I have no wish to look beyond the union to see what might lie hidden in the dark recesses behind. I have not made the inquiry whether Liberty herself would survive the rupture of its bonds. I believe that all that we have in prosperity and safety at home, and all our hopes and fears, are connected with the continuance of the Union.\nI consider and revere the unity of the states as the source of our national, social, and personal happiness. While the union endures, we have a great prospect of prosperity. If it breaks up, there is nothing before me but what I regard with horror and despair. God forbid that I should live to see this cord broken, to behold a state of disunion, calamity, and civil war! When my eyes are turned for the last time on the meridian sun, I hope I may see him shining bright upon my united, free, and happy country. I hope I shall not live to see his beams falling upon the dispersed fragments of the union.\nI hope I may not see my country's flag with its stars separated or obliterated, torn by commotion, smoking with the blood of civil war. I hope I may not see the standard raised of separate state rights, state against state, stripe against stripe. But that the flag of the union may keep its stars and stripes corded and bound together in indissoluble ties. I hope I shall not see written as its motto, \"First liberty, and then union.\" I hope I shall see spread all over it, blazing in letters of light, and proudly floating over land and sea, the other sentiment dear to my heart, Union and liberty, now and forever, one and inseparable.\n\nConclusion of \"Reply to Hayne\" as revised for publication.\nMr. President, I have stated the reasons for my dissent to the doctrines advanced and maintained. I am conscious of having detained you and the Senate too long. I was drawn into the debate with no previous deliberation such as is suited to the discussion of so grave and important a subject. But it is a subject of which my heart is full, and I have not been willing to suppress the utterance of its spontaneous sentiments. I cannot, even now, persuade myself to relinquish it without expressing once more my deep conviction that since it respects nothing less than the Union of the States, it is of most vital and essential importance to public happiness. I profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the prosperity and honor of the whole.\nIt is to the Union we owe our safety at home and consideration abroad. We are chiefly indebted to this Union for whatever makes us most proud of our country. We reached it only through the discipline of our virtues in the severe school of adversity. Its origin was in the necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign influence, these great interests immediately awakened us as from the dead and sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its blessings. Although our territory has stretched out wider and wider, and our population spread further and further, they have not outrun its protection or its benefits. It has been to us all a copious fountain.\nI have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the Union to see what might lie hidden in the dark recesses behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty when the bonds that unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss below. Nor could I regard him as a safe counselor in the affairs of this Government whose thoughts should be mainly bent on considering not how the Union should be best preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the people when it shall be broken up and destroyed. While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread out before us, for us and our children.\nBeyond that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant that in my day, at least, that curtain may not rise. God grant that on my vision, never may be opened what lies behind. When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union; on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood! Let their last feeble and lingering glance rather behold the gorgeous ensign of the Republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original luster, not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured, bearing for its motto no such miserable interrogatory.\nWhat is all this worth, aside from those other delusive and foolish words, \"Liberty first and union afterwards\"; but everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the land and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every American heart \u2014 Liberty and Union, now and forever one and inseparable!\n\nCHAPTER VII\nFORMS OF SUPPORT\n\nSet it down as the first principle of speech composition that any effort to make a speech out of nothing as raw material will result in failure. No one can make a good speech out of wind. It has been tried hundreds of times, and always with the same disastrous results.\n\nNature of Good Speech Materials. In order to make good speeches, you must have specific and concrete speech materials.\nYou cannot deal in generalities, abstractions, or long reasoning processes. If you do, nobody will listen to you for any length of time. The reason is that mental processes of that order are usually hard to follow, and soon tire the minds of listeners, causing them to lose attention. If you want to hold the attention of your audience and to accomplish something with them, you must deal with facts, figures, statistics, examples, experiences, persons, incidents, quotations, illustrations, figures of speech, anecdotes, fables, parables \u2014 in short, you must speak in terms of things that can be seen and heard, and otherwise sensed.\n\nIt is not easy to give a classification of speech materials or forms of support without having some overlapping, but even an imperfect one is helpful, and will serve, at least, to center your attention on some definite things.\nYou must have vital ideas for your speech that grip the audience and generate moral earnestness in yourself. You need a definite purpose and definite propositions to support that purpose. Some examples have already been given. When you come to support or \"drive home\" the main ideas of your speech, you will need definite forms of support. Broadly speaking, we mean this by speech materials.\n\nPropositions and Their Support. In your effort to master the art of speaking, you will soon discover that your chief problem is in giving propositions, or assertions, adequate support. Not all statements in a speech need to be supported; many of them will be taken for granted and accepted by your audience on your own say-so. Statements that involve matters of common knowledge or belief do not require extensive proof. However, statements that are controversial or not generally accepted require strong evidence to persuade your audience. Effective speakers know how to provide persuasive evidence to support their propositions.\nKnowledge doesn't require support. Some statements you may want to make on your own authority and let them stand for what they're worth. They will be rated according to the value of your opinion on that question. It may be worth something, or it may not be worth anything, depending on your knowledge and fairness of attitude on the subject. No one can tell you what statements will or will not be accepted by any particular audience. It is for you to use your judgment.\n\nTo determine what statements will pass without support, what statements will not, what kind of support to give each, and how much, is certainly one of the major problems in speaking. The careful speaker will be constantly on the alert about this and will ask himself the following questions accordingly: You may state an actual fact, for example, that the prison population of\nYour state is larger today than it ever was before, but your audience may not accept this without satisfactory authority. Nothing is a fact to an audience but what they choose to accept; everything else is opinion, and as such must be established in a manner satisfactory to them. The question is always: What will satisfy my audience on this? What is needed to make them understand, believe, feel, act, as the case may be?\n\nClassification of Forms of Support. Phillips, in his Effective Speaking, gives four forms of support: Restatement, General Illustration, Specific Instance, Testimony. These are good so far as they go, and worth remembering. We shall use a somewhat different classification.\n\nForms of Support\ni. Facts, Figures, Statistics. Not all figures are statistics, nor do we necessarily use either when we give facts, although we often use statistics as a type of figure.\nI we frequently do. When we say that the price of wheat is now the lowest in twenty years, assuming it is, we state a fact. If we follow that up and say that the price of wheat is fifty-two cents a bushel, or whatever it may be, we state a fact and give some figures. If we offer a table on the price of wheat on the Chicago Board of Trade for the last twenty years, we are giving statistics.\n\nBy statistics we usually mean a compilation of figures in some field of knowledge relating to human welfare, such as health, politics, economics, education. These are often valuable materials in a speech, and important forms of support. In using them, be on your guard against making them too involved for your audience to understand. Present them in as simple a form as possible. Aim to have them up-to-date and accurate.\nWhen dealing with facts and figures, be as specific as necessary for best effect. Instead of saying we spend millions in chewing gum annually, say one hundred million or whatever the figure is in round numbers. Thousands of people are not effectively killed by automobiles every year compared to over 35,000 annually. Corruption in a certain city government means little without showing what it consists of, its extent, and providing concrete examples of proven corruption. In reading large numbers, give only larger units. For instance, the farm income in the United States for a certain year was $9,942,000.\nIt is a mistake to read more than three or four figures in a row. If dealing in billions, we disregard thousands. If dealing in millions, we are not interested in hundreds, and only mildly in thousands.\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\n\nGive enough figures to make the reading reasonably accurate, and that is sufficient. If you read the small ones, we forget about the big ones in the meantime.\n\nTwo. Restatement, Repetition. By restatement, we mean expressing the same thought in somewhat different language. By repetition, we mean expressing the same thought in identical language. Restatement may be used for clarity, or for emphasis, or for any other end of speech. A dictionary restates the meaning of a word in simple language to make it clearer. We often do the same for an idea and for the same effect.\nI think I would like to say a few words about the progress of our country during this long period. Special incidents are not of so much consequence. They all pass and as we look back at them, they all seek a level. But the important thing, the all-important thing, is the tendency. In what direction have we been going? Not whether the country was right or wrong on this question or that question, not so much whether our legislative bodies are doing their work as they ought to now, not so much whether our laws are being executed as well as they ought to be, but which way is the country going? What is the trend?\nThe aggregate effect on the maintenance, development, and progress of free self-government for the purpose of maintaining liberty and justice? Are we advancing or regressing? Is the experiment gaining ground or losing it? Have all the services, sacrifices, and good and brave things done been built into an enduring structure, or have they been wasted?\n\nIn transitioning from one point to another, we often refer to what has been said and reinforce our idea through repetition or different language. Summaries at the end of speeches or important divisions of them typically involve repeating the topic sentences or propositions we started out to discuss.\nThis is not the best method of summarizing. In fact, it is a much abused one, especially in debates. Be on your guard against too many repetitions of statements in identical language. It is usually better to search for freshness of phrase and a greater forcefulness of language than was originally used. Work for variety of statement and climax in emphasis.\n\nThe general example occupies a sort of middle ground between the statement, or assertion, and the concrete example. It includes members of a class.\n\nStatement: Our world today has many fine artists.\n\nGeneral Examples: We have many fine singers, violinists, orchestra leaders.\n\nConcrete Examples: We have such artists as John McCormack, Lawrence Tibbett, Fritz Kreisler, Jascha Heifetz, Eugene Ormandy.\nAs men have been their own worst enemies, so women have been a potent power to retard the advancement of their own sex. It was women, as well as men, who were scandalized at the idea of taxing the public to maintain public schools for the education of \"She\u2019s.\" It was women who regarded the high school, the college, and the university education as indelicate for women. It was women who refused to speak to Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell, the first woman physician. It was women who cried shame at Susan B. Anthony when she arose to address a teacher's convention in the state of New York. It was women who cried \"served them right\" when several of the leading newspapers of the country editorially stigmatized them. Carrie Chapman Catt gets a good effect by the use of the general example in the following paragraph, which is also a good example of cumulation.\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\nThe first women who attempted to speak in public were labeled \"she-hyenas.\" Wives, when the first petition for property rights for women was circulated, refused to sign it on the grounds that the control of property was the just privilege of husbands (1).\n\nThe Specific Example\nThis term implies little explanation. It refers to a real-life instance of the general idea being presented. It may involve just mentioning a name, or it may require a lengthy narration or description. We may say that the United States has had many great senators, and name as examples Charles Sumner and Daniel Webster. We say that many automobile accidents can be prevented, and then proceed to describe...\nJ.B. Gordon took several pages in his lecture \"The Last Days of the Confederacy\" to describe an incident from the Civil War. We may sometimes describe a situation at length and then draw inferences from it. Russell H. Conwell, in \"Acres of Diamonds,\" tries to impress on his audience the idea that one way to be successful in business is to take a genuine interest in your customers and study their wants with the intention of satisfying them. Conwell uses an example:\n\nWhen I was young, my father kept a country store, and he occasionally left me in charge. Unfortunately for him, this wasn't a frequent occurrence. {Laughter.} When I had it in my charge, a man came in.\n\"The man at the store asked, \"Do you keep jack-knives?\" I replied, \"No, we don't.\" Another man asked the same question, and I answered him in the same way. A third man asked, \"Do you carry on your business like that? Do you ask what the difficulty is? The difficulty was that I had not yet learned that the foundational principles of business success and Christianity are one and the same.\"\"\nEvery man's life should be dedicated to helping his fellow men. The man who can help his fellow men the most is entitled to the greatest reward himself. God's holy book and common sense both agree. If I had run my father's store on a Christian or successful plan, I would have had a jack-knife for the third man when he asked for it. For speaking purposes, a specific example is the most important form of support. It is a good rule to never make a general statement without giving an example. For informative purposes, offering a specific example in support of an obscure statement frequently illuminates it. A good specific example is like a skyrocket that explodes in the air and illuminates the whole scene.\nFor appealing to feelings, a single well-chosen example does more than a long string of generalities and abstractions. It is a valuable form of support, though it has limitations that should be recognized. If, for example, you are trying to show that liquor legislation cannot be enforced, a few examples of violation mean very little as evidential support. It should be said, however, that a few examples usually produce a psychological effect on your audience that is out of proportion to their real evidential value.\n\nNext to being able to say something well ourselves is the ability to quote someone who has said it well.\n\nThere is hardly a field of human thought these days that has not been explored; hardly an idea that some one else has not expressed.\n[1] Testimony, expressed better than we can, is valuable if we can find appropriate forms of it. We can distinguish roughly three kinds: [1] Testimony as to facts, [2] testimony of authorities or expert testimony, and [3] the literary quotation.\n\n[1] Testimony as to facts. The opportunity for any individual to gather first-hand information on various questions through observation and experience is necessarily limited. As Walter Lippmann has so well put it, \"Man is no Aristotelian God, contemplating all existence at a glance.\" Consequently, we depend largely on information we receive from others. Most of our information comes from reading, some from letters or interviews. When a man tells us about an event or situation, this constitutes testimony as to facts.\nWhen we refer to facts through personal experiences, or consult census reports or newspapers, we obtain testimony. The first is oral, the other two are written.\n\n(2) Authority or expert opinion. When we quote Professor Manley Hudson on the World Court, or a soil expert on what crops to plant, we are quoting the opinion of an authority.\n\nIn quoting authorities, keep in mind two things at least. First, ensure that the person quoted has a right to speak on the question \u2014 is in fact an authority on it. Satisfy yourself that they have had unusual opportunity to study the question and are a man of recognized standing. Not all writers are authorities on the questions they write about. Much less are all speakers authorities on the questions they talk about. The fact that a person is a writer or speaker does not automatically make them an authority.\nA man in the public eye does not make him an authority on all subjects. Only special study and recognized ability make a man an authority. Ensure your authorities meet these requirements.\n\nThe second point to note about an authority is that he shall be unprejudiced. Almost everybody has some slant or bias on most questions, and it is likely to creep out in his utterances and writings. Sometimes this bias is very pronounced and may render an opinion almost worthless. It is very often difficult to distinguish the propagandist from the seeker after truth. The testimony of a salesman as to the merits of his goods has usually to be discounted. The testimony of the representatives of a manufacturing corporation as to the need of a higher tariff must be scrutinized carefully.\nThe testimony of an expert in crops, serving only their own interests, is unlikely to be fair and unbiased. On the contrary, a crop expert's testimony is likely to be truthful as they have no personal stake in the matter. A man's testimony on such questions holds little value if he has a personal interest in maintaining certain views and opinions. Remember, your authority is no better than you succeed in making your audience believe you are one. Quoting an unknown writer to an audience without impressing them with your knowledge of the subject and your right to speak on it has next to no effect. If your writer is well-known and likely to be accepted, however, quoting them can be effective.\nIf not quoting an authority, make sure they are acceptable before use. In terms of getting results in speaking, no authority is superior to what the audience believes.\n\n(3) The literary quotation refers to a quotation from literature rather than writers on public questions. It could be a single line or a few stanzas of poetry. James T. Fields, in his lecture \"Masters of the Situation,\" suggests that a true American can practice a valuable lesson expressed by Wordsworth:\n\nTHE ART OF EFFECTIVE SPEECH\nNever to blend our pleasure or our pride,\nWith sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.\n\nThe literary quotation serves as both support and embellishment for your speech. The main challenge is finding the appropriate quotation. You will find it commendable.\nPractice accustoming yourself to making use of your literature knowledge and ground your speaking in the best thoughts of the ages. An occasional quotation in a speech adds spice and variety. It's possible to overdo this, making speaking pedantic. You will probably be in no danger of that for the present. George W. Curtis, Wendell Phillips, Charles Sumner, Abraham Lincoln, and others of our best speakers used quotations of this kind in their speeches. Lincoln did not use quotations lavishly by any means, but on occasion he quoted the Bible and Shakespeare with excellent effect. It's only a slight extravagance of language to say that a Biblical quotation \u2013 \u201cA house divided against itself cannot stand\u201d \u2013 used in his \"Springfield Speech\" sent Lincoln to the White House.\n\nReasoning from Facts and Authorities. Another form of reasoning is to establish a truth by stating facts and citing authorities. This method is especially effective when the facts are well known and the authorities are respected. It is a sound method of argumentation and is often used in legal proceedings and academic writing. By presenting facts and authorities, one can build a strong case and persuade an audience or a judge to accept a particular point of view. This method is also known as inductive reasoning, as it moves from specific facts to a general conclusion.\nsupport  much  used  in  argumentative  speeches,  and  more  or \nless  in  all  types,  is  reasoning  \u2014  inferences  from  facts  and  opin\u00ac \nions.  To  say  that  the  study  of  Latin  will  give  one  a  command \nof  English  not  otherwise  to  be  had  is  to  reason  from  cause  to \neffect.  If  we  cite  examples  of  several  Latin  students  who  later \nshowed  a  ready  knowledge  of  English  and  infer  from  these \nexamples  that  all  students  of  Latin  have  a  better  command  of \nEnglish  than  those  who  do  not  know  Latin,  we  reason  by  means \nof  a  generalization.  If  we  find  minnows  in  the  milk  and \ninfer  that  the  milk  has  been  mixed  with  water,  we  reason  from \neffect  to  cause.  If  we  compare  two  things  and  find  them  resem\u00ac \nbling  each  other  in  certain  essential  particulars,  and  infer  from \nthis  that  they  will  resemble  each  other  in  certain  other  unknown \nparticulars,  we  reason  by  analogy.  If,  for  example,  we  infer  that \nA labor party in the United States will be successful because the English Labor Party has been successful. This inference is drawn from analogy. The different forms of argument based on reasoning are dealt with more fully in Chapter XV, \"The Argumentative Speech.\"\n\nThe hypothetical case is an imagined example or situation suggested to explain facts and draw conclusions vividly. We use it in conversation almost every day of our lives, and speakers find it equally advantageous to use it in public address. For example, \"Suppose a man forms the habit of driving his car recklessly; the chances are good that some day he will break his neck.\" This is the simplest form. Like other examples, the hypothetical case may have a string of attendant circumstances to suit the purpose of the speaker.\nFollowing from Wendell Phillips\u2019 \u201cTribute to Lincoln\u201d:\n\nHe caught the first notes of the coming jubilee and heard his own name in every one. Who among living men may not envy him? I suppose that when a boy, as he floated on the slow current of the Mississippi, idly gazing at the slave on its banks, some angel had lifted the curtain and shown him that in the prime of his manhood he should see this proud empire rocked to its foundations in the effort to break those chains; should himself marshal the hosts of the Almighty in the grandest and holiest war that Christendom ever knew, and deal with half-reluctant hand that thunderbolt of justice which would smite the foul system to the dust, then die, leaving a name immortal in the sturdy pride of our race, and the undying gratitude of another.\nThe following from Thomas Carlyle will be regarded as THE ART OF EFFECTIVE SPEAKING:\n\nWhat is the net purport and upshot of war, speaking in quite unofficial language? To my knowledge, for example, there are usually five hundred souls in the British village of Dumdrudge. From these, thirty able-bodied men are successively selected during the French war. Dumdrudge, at her own expense, has suckled and sent them to the battlefield.\nAnd she nursed and fed them, raising them to manhood and teaching them crafts such as weaving, building, and hammering. The weakest could stand under thirty stone avoirdupois. Despite much weeping and swearing, they were selected, dressed in red, and shipped away at public expense, two thousand miles south of Spain. There, thirty similar French artisans were also gathered, traveling from a French dumdrudge. Eventually, after great effort, the two parties came into direct opposition. Thirty faced Thirty, each with a gun in hand.\n\nThe command \"Fire!\" was given, and they extinguished each other's souls, leaving behind sixty once-brisk and useful craftsmen.\nThe world has sixty dead bodies to bury, and soon will shed tears for. Had these men quarreled? Busy as the devil, not the smallest! They lived far enough apart; were the strangest strangers; in so wide a universe, there was even, unconsciously, some mutual helpfulness between them. How then?\n\nSimpleton! Their governors had fallen out; instead of shooting one another, they had the cunning to make these poor blockheads shoot.\n\nPhillips, in his Effective Speaking, stresses the effectiveness of cumulative support for assertions or propositions in a speech. There is no doubt that this is good psychology, if used with discretion. Robert Ingersoll is the one conspicuous master in the use of this speaking device. He uses it freely, more or less in every lecture.\n\n[1] Sartor Resartus.\nFORMS  OF  SUPPORT \nCumulation  is  not  merely  a  series  of  statements  in  support  of \na  proposition;  it  is  a  series  of  statements  usually  of  the  same \nclass.  The  forms  of  support  most  often  used  for  cumulative \neffect  are  the  general  and  specific  example.  Testimony  may \nalso  be  used,  but  is  not  used  nearly  so  often.  The  best  effect \nseems  to  be  had  by  using  the  same  form  of  support  throughout \n\u2014  as,  for  instance,  the  general  example  or  the  specific  example. \nIt  is  possible  to  use  effectively  first  one  and  then  the  other  in \nsupport  of  the  same  proposition,  but  more  often  it  will  be \nfound  that  sticking  to  the  same  one  will  give  the  best  effect. \nTo  get  cumulative  effect,  it  is  necessary  that  the  statements \nbe  not  too  long,  or  the  cumulative  effect  will  be  lost.  Cumu\u00ac \nlative  support  should  move  rapidly.  Note  the  effect  of  the \nThe old way of farming was a great mistake. It was all labor and weariness and vexation of spirit. Crops were destroyed by wandering herds, planted too late or too early, blown down, caught by frost, devoured by bugs, stung by flies, eaten by worms, carried away by birds, dug up by gophers, washed away by floods, or dried up by the sun, or rotted in the stack, or heated in the crib, or all ran to vines, tops, straw, smut, or cobs. Despite these accidents that lay between the plow and the reaper, if they succeeded in raising a good crop, a high price was offered. But when the roads were good, prices went down. Everything worked together for evil.\nHenry W. Grady gets a cumulative effect with specific instances in the following extract from his lecture, \u201cThe Farmer and the Cities.\u201d\n\nCharacter, like corn, is dug from the soil. A contented rural population is not only the measure of our strength, and an assurance of its peace when there should be peace, and a resource of courage when peace would be cowardice \u2014 but it is the nursery of the great leaders who have made this country what it is.\n\nWashington was born and lived in the country. Jefferson was a farmer. Henry Clay rode his horse to the mill in the slashes. Webster dreamed amid the solitude of Marshfield. Lincoln was a rail splitter. Our own Hill walked between the handles of the plow. Brown peddled barefoot the product of his patch. Stephens found immortality under the same.\nTrees of his country home. Toombs, Cobb, and Calhoun were country gentlemen, establishing the greatness that is the heritage of their people, far from the cities' maddening strife. The cities produce few leaders. Almost every man in our history formed his character in the leisure and deliberation of village or country life, and drew his strength from the earth as a child draws from his mother's breast.\n\nFor impressive or emotional effect, the general example is probably the most effective form of cumulative support. Ingalls uses this method extensively and gets with it some of his most eloquent effects. His \"Vision of War\" is a cumulation made up of general examples. The conclusion to his lecture on Shakespeare is also an impressive cumulation made up largely of general examples. The word painting, rhythm, and alliteration in Ingalls' writing.\nHe lived the life of all in Athens during Pericles' days. He listened to the eager eloquence of great orators and sat upon the cliffs, hearing the multitudinous laughter of the sea. He saw Socrates thrust a spear of questioning through falsehood's shield and heart. He was present when the great man drank hemlock and met the tranquil night of death. He listened to the peripatetic philosophers and was unpuzzled by the sophists. He watched Phidias chisel shapeless stone into forms of love and awe. He lived amid the mysterious Nile and its vast, monstrous expanse. He knew the very thought that wrought the form and features of the Sphinx. He heard Memnon's morning song when marble awakened.\nlips were smitten by the sun. He laid him down with the embalmed and waiting dead, and felt within their dust the expectation of another life, mingled with cold and suffocating doubts \u2014 the children of long delay.\n\nHe walked the ways of mighty Rome, and saw great Caesar with his legions in the field. He stood with vast and motley throngs and watched the triumphs given to victorious men, followed by uncrowned kings, the captured hosts, and all the spoils of ruthless war. He heard the shout that shook the Coliseum\u2019s roofless walls, when from the reeling gladiator's hand the short sword fell, while from his bosom gushed the stream of wasted life.\n\nIn conclusion, good speeches need good speech materials, just as well-constructed buildings need good building materials. You cannot build a home out of blue sky; you cannot make a well-constructed argument without solid evidence and logical reasoning.\nA speech is a series of propositions and their support. A good speech consists of vital ideas and adequate support for those ideas. The determination of what constitutes vital ideas in any subject is the speaker's invention and judgment. In this context, we focus primarily on providing ideas with proper support. Unsupported assertions are the vice of most speeches. Ideas in a speech must not only be clearly conceived and formulated; they must be adequately supported. The forms of support must be specific and concrete. The primary forms are discussed in this chapter and the next. A good speech will include facts, figures, general and specific examples, testimony, considerable repetition or restatement, likely some hypothetical cases, logical argument or reasoning, occasional cumulation, and a wealth of illustrations. The importance of these elements in speechmaking cannot be overstated.\nThe Art of Effective Speaking Exercises:1. Prepare a ten-minute speech with specific and concrete speech materials. Avoid broad statements and generalities. Stay grounded and deal with human experiences.2. Study critically the speech of James T. Field, \"Masters of the Situation,\" or another speech of interest.a. List all forms of support found in the speech.\nClassification provided in this chapter:\n\n1. Which forms predominate?\n2. Which, in your opinion, are the most effective?\n3. How would you characterize the style of the lecture? Is it abstract or concrete? Simple or involved? Etc.\n4. Does the lecture grip? Why or why not?\n\n1. Support the following ideas by the use of facts, statistics, and authorities:\na. Crime is increasing.\nb. The purchasing power of the farmer is too low.\nc. Prohibition decreased drunkenness.\nd. The national income should be more fairly distributed.\ne. The birth rate is decreasing.\n\n2. Support the following propositions by examples and illustrations:\na. Courtesy pays.\nb. Selfishness is an ugly trait.\nc. Many men have achieved great things in old age.\nd. We learn through experience.\n\nSpeeches and Readings\n\"Masters of the Situation,\" by James T. Fields (Mod. El.: I, Vol. V)\n\"The Reign of the Common People\" by Henry Ward Beecher (Vol. XIII).\n\"Substance and Show\" by Thomas Starr King {Mod. El.: I, Vol. V}.\n\"Social Responsibilities\" by John B. Gough (Vol. XIII).\n\"Commencement Address\" by William Lyon Phelps {Lindgren}.\n\"Get Facts: Look Far: Think Through\" by William C. Redfield.\n\nForms of Support\n\nReferences\nArthur Edward Phillips: Effective Speaking (1908), Chapters VIII-XVI.\nWilliam Phillips Sandford and Willard Hayes Yeager: Principles of Effective Speaking (Revised Edition, 1930), Chapter X.\nJames Milton O\u2019Neill and Andrew Thomas Weaver: The Elements of Speech (1926), Chapter XIII.\nArleigh Boyd Williamson: Speaking in Public (1929), Chapters XII-XIII.\n\nChapter VIII\n\nForms of Support: Illustrations\nOne picture is worth ten thousand words. \u2014 Chinese Proverb.\nAll of us use the word \"illustration\" freely, and if someone were to ask us to define it or tell what it includes, it might bother us to do so. The word is derived from the Latin verb illustrare and means \"to light up,\" \"to brighten.\" So Beecher defines an illustration as \"a window that lets in light.\" That is a very good definition, so far as it goes; an illustration frequently lets in heat as well as light \u2014 that is, it may appeal to the feelings as well as to the intellect. A speech without illustrations is like a house without windows \u2014 mentally stifling and smothering.\n\nIllustrations and Reference to Experience. When you come to study the literature of public address, especially popular oratory as distinguished from parliamentary or congressional oratory, you will be surprised to find how extensively illustrations are used.\nThe use of illustrations is common in speeches. Many speeches have sufficient logic framework to hold the illustrations and examples together. An illustration embodies a vivid experience that is familiar to all, making it the best means of conveying truth. All great speakers have been masters in using illustrations.\n\nIn his lectures to Yale students, Henry Ward Beecher provided the following explanation of the value of illustrations:\n\nWe learn a new thing by it being likened to something we already know. This is the principle underlying all true illustrations. They are a kind of covert analogy or likening of one thing to another, making obscure things representable pictorially or otherwise by things that are not obscure.\nThe groundwork of all illustration is the audience's familiarity with the subject. The speaker should explain the fact underlying an illustration to ensure the audience understands it before using the subject as an illustration. For instance, the speaker might explain isochronism in a watch and then use the watch as an illustration. Generally, the subject-matter of an illustration should be familiar to the audience. An illustration should not be a mere ornament, but its ornamental quality is not an objection. A man's sermon should not be like a boiled sermon.\nThe ham and its illustrations are like cloves or celery, added for cosmetic enhancement. However, if an illustration has a genuine and direct connection to the intended message, it can be ornamental without fault.\n\nForms of Illustrations:\nThe nature of an illustration may vary, and we may propose the following types, which can be effectively employed in crafting speeches: the simile, the metaphor, the analogy, the anecdote or story, the fable, and the parable. All illustrations entail comparisons.\n\n1. The Simile: This figure of speech, as you are aware from your study of rhetoric, is an explicit comparison, employing the words \"like\" or \"as,\" in one or more aspects.\nRespects exist between objects or ideas that are essentially unlike. It is one of the most familiar figures in literature, although in speaking, it is not used nearly as much as the metaphor. The reason is that it does not possess the compressed and driving force of the metaphor and is therefore not so well adapted to trenchant and vigorous expression such as speaking requires. It is a very useful form of illustration, however, and more or less freely used by many good speakers. Edmund Burke was known for his picturesque similes. Beecher was a master in driving home truth by means of this figure of speech. Ingersoll makes free use of the simile, often with striking beauty of effect. You will find a dozen or a score in many of Phillips\u2019 speeches. Some of Lincoln's homely illustrations are in the form of similes.\nThe simile is effective for illustrative purposes when it embodies well-known and familiar objects of thought. The degree of effectiveness will depend on the immediate perception of likeness between the ideas or things compared. The simile is usually a figure of adornment and gives charm to style. We use the simile in conversation occasionally and should cultivate its use in public address, which is merely a somewhat more formal and dignified type of speech.\n\nWhen Edward Everett wanted to bring vividly before a certain Indian chief the influence of Washington, he said of the great Virginian: \"He is gone to the world of spirits, but his words have made a very deep print in our hearts, like the steps of a great buffalo on the soft clay of the prairie.\"\n\nStudents of speech may well ponder the following simile from Aristotle: \"It is improper to warp the judgment of a judge like a malleable clay in the hands of a potter.\"\njuror by exciting him to anger or jealousy, or compassion, is making the rule crooked. Lincoln, in a letter to General Hooker, advised against having his army cross a river at a certain time \"lest it might be caught in the position of an ox half jumped over a fence, liable to be attacked both front and rear and with no fair chance to gore in one direction or kick in the other. Beecher said in the opening of his \"Glasgow Speech,\" \"I came to this land, though small, as full of memories as the heaven is of stars.\"\n\nThe metaphor is the staple figure of oratory, more extensively used than any other. It is an implied comparison between two objects or ideas, and the likeness observed is between things that are essentially forms of support: illustrations.\nYou will find up to one hundred metaphorical expressions in some of Ingersoll, Starr King, Phillips, and Beecher's speeches. There is nothing mysterious about a metaphor. We use it in conversation every hour of the day. When you refer to a girl friend as a \"peach,\" a bright pupil as a \"shark,\" a course of study as a \"snap,\" a bad defeat of your football team as their \"Waterloo,\" you are talking in metaphorical language. A metaphor is a kind of short cut in giving information and expressing feeling. \"It is with words as with sunbeams: the more they are condensed, the brighter they burn.\" You use the word \"peach\" to describe certain likable qualities in your girl friend that could not be described so simply and effectively in any other way. A \"shark\" has great capacity for devouring things.\nA pupil with the capacity for devouring knowledge is referred to as such. When you speak of a football team encountering their \"Waterloo,\" you convey the idea of a crushing defeat, as Napoleon experienced on the famous battlefield. In no other way can it be done so simply and effectively. Fisher Ames, one of our Revolutionary period statesmen, used the following metaphor to contrast monarchy and democracy as forms of government:\n\nA monarchy is a man of war, stanch, iron-ribbed, and resistless when under full sail; yet a single hidden rock sends her to the bottom.\nOur republic is a raft hard to steer, and your feet are always wet, but nothing can sink her.\n\nGreece flashes today the torch that guides yet the mountain peaks of the old world. \u2014 Wendell Phillips.\nFor other men, we walk backward and throw over their memory the mantle of charity and excuse, saying, \"Remember the temptation and the age.\" But Vane's ermine has no stain.\n\nFor him, Shakespeare knew the thrills and ecstasies of love, the savage joys of hatred and revenge. He heard the hiss of envy's snakes and watched the eagles of ambition soar. There was no hope that did not put its star above his head, no fear he had not felt, no joy that had not shed its sunshine on his face.\n\nAn unsold surplus is the blood clot in the heart of business.\n\nSometimes the metaphor may be sustained like the following:\n\nTo them [men of former ages], life was an Alpine country; it had its great mountains towering skyward, its dark and bottomless valleys.\nThe country, with its abysses haunted by unknown horrors, mighty glaciers, and awful precipices, was a chaos of sublimity and horror, of grandeur and desolation. Now what have we done? We have leveled, smoothed, and graded this wild and barbarous country. We have torn down every mountain, filled up every chasm, reduced it to a perfectly even lawn, an admirably trimmed and exquisitely decorated park, infinitely more comfortable and infinitely less grand. Life has lost its heights and depths; its summits and abysses; all its grandeurs and all its horrors; all its sublimity and all its barbarity. \u2014 Oscar W. Firkins\n\nShakespeare was an intellectual ocean, whose waves touched all the shores of thought; within which were all the tides and waves of destiny and will; over which swept all the storms of fate, ambition, and passion.\nAnd revenge; upon which fell the gloom of darkness and despair and death and all the sunlight of content and love, and within which was the inverted sky, lit with the eternal stars \u2014 an intellectual ocean \u2014 toward which all rivers ran, and from which now the isles and continents of thought received their dew and rain. \u2014 Robert Ingersoll\n\nThe analogy. This is an example that involves comparison. It is used most frequently in argumentative speeches, although it may be used to advantage in any speech. An analogy proceeds on the theory that because two things are alike in several known particulars essential to the comparison, they are probably alike in certain other unknown particulars.\n\nWe reason that, because the several states in our Union can get along together most of the time without fighting each other, a harmonious relationship exists between them. Similarly, if two people can live in peace and cooperation despite their differences, a successful marriage is possible.\nThe union of European states might be able to work out some sort of satisfactory plan of cooperation. The states that originally made up the American union were independent and sovereign, and gave up a part of their sovereignty for safety when they organized the United States of America. From these points of known resemblance, we infer that the two cases might be alike in one particular unknown: namely, the success of the venture. The problem of race feelings and race hatreds would enter to make the situation somewhat different, but the analogy is suggestive.\n\nMary Livermore, in her lecture \u201cThe Battle of Life,\u201d where she pleads for making the struggle less severe, uses the following analogy effectively:\n\nWhen you travel in Switzerland, in the neighborhood of the high Alps, you see valleys lying in the shadow of those mighty mountains, which seem to be in perpetual twilight, and where the sun seldom penetrates. The people who live in these valleys are poor and ignorant, and their lives are spent in toil and struggle. But when you ascend the mountains, and look down upon these valleys from their lofty heights, you see them bathed in sunlight, and you realize that the very conditions which seemed to be so depressing and hopeless, are the very conditions which make possible the grandest and most beautiful scenes in nature. So it is with the struggles and trials of life. The very conditions which seem to be so dark and hopeless, are often the very conditions which, if we but rise above them, will lead us to the grandest and most beautiful achievements.\nYou will encounter a group of people in the valley intently observing an object through a powerful glass. On inquiry, you will learn that a company of tourists, with guides, are ascending Mount Blanc. Take your place among the sight-seers. As you watch the group making their perilous way along the dizzy heights, a few lose their footing and disappear out of sight. Your heart stops; you are sure they have fallen to a horrible death, down the steep, jagged rocks, into the inaccessible depths below. Look again. No, they are not lost; one is restored to his place in the long line of climbers, and the others struggle up into view, resuming their upward march cautiously. What is the explanation?\nBefore they came to the dangerous places, both tourists and guides tied themselves together with strong ropes and braced themselves at every step with their steel-pointed alpenstocks, planted firmly in the frozen snow and ice. Those who dropped down behind treacherous ridges were held by the strength of their companions on either side, who, firmly braced, arrested their descent into the horrors below and drew them back into line, in safety. So it is in life. Many a one is saved from ruin by the wise and strong love of the friends who retain their hold upon him, and halt him in his downward plunge.\n\nYou should always be on your guard against superficial resemblances. You may know the story of De Lesseps who built the Suez Canal, and thought that because he could build the canal, he could also govern the country.\nSuez Canal profits allowed him to attempt building a Panama Canal profitably. He failed after investing heavily. The anecdote is a valuable form of support in a speech. Cultivate its use. An anecdote is a personal incident, sometimes biography, often amusing. Appropriate in lighter forms of address, but can be used in all types. Find one to half a dozen in Wendell Phillips' speeches. Bryan used it effectively. Easiest way to add humor in a speech, though not most distinctive. As a means of holding attention, the anecdote is an important speech device.\nIn choosing anecdotes for speeches, ensure they are appropriate. You are not obliged to use the barber-shop and pool-hall variety. Plenty of good anecdotes can be found in literature, especially oratory literature. Modern Eloquence is a storehouse of good anecdotes. Biographies will yield many interesting anecdotes, and so will your own personal experiences. Lincoln was a great storyteller although he did not use many stories in his speeches, largely because his speeches dealt mostly with serious subjects.\n\nAll good things may be abused, and many are, including the anecdote. This is nothing against the anecdote. The story is not an end in itself. When it is so used, it is usually bad. When used as a means to an end, to drive home truth, it is a very effective instrument.\nDavid Lloyd George used an anecdote to bring vividly home the idea that we are always willing to take credit for ourselves when things go well, but not so ready to assume responsibility when things go wrong. He applied this to the nations in regard to the victory won in the war and the troubled times that followed.\n\nWho smashed Germany? Who destroyed Austria? Who created this impotence which makes it difficult to execute treaties? Well, if you had asked it on Armistice Day, we all would have gently hinted that it was really done by us.\n\nThere was an old preacher in our country who, going on the Saturday night to his preaching engagement, saw on the roadside a haystack, very neat, very well put together; it looked very firm. And he saw a farmer standing alongside it, and he said, \"Who made that?\" The farmer replied, \"It was not I that made it, but it was God.\"\nthat excellent haystack? \"Oh,\" he said, \"I did it; I did it.\" The following day there was a great storm, and on Monday morning, when the old preacher was returning that way, the haystack had been scattered all over the field in hopeless confusion. And he saw the same farmer standing there, and he said to him, \"That was badly put together; that was not well done. Who did it?\" \"Well,\" he said, \"we did it somehow between us.\" That is really true of the condition of things in Europe; we were all responsible for the victory; we each contributed our part; we each did something toward shattering the fabric, and we have our responsibility for what follows. Roe Fulkerson tells an amusing story to illustrate the feverish haste in American life. We all rush through the world like a bicycle cop and a joyrider, racing for a ten-dollar purse.\nA businessman's mother-in-law passed away, requiring his wife to travel to the hometown for the funeral. The husband agreed to put their several children to bed in her absence. Upon her return, she inquired about any troubles he encountered. \"Only the red-headed one,\" he answered. \"I had to discipline her before she went to bed.\" \"Why John,\" his wife replied, \"that is not our child. She lives across the street.\"\n\nThe fable is similar to the anecdote in form, but the incident is derived from the animal world instead of human society. In a fable, animals and inanimate objects are personified and given the ability to speak like humans. The fable is not extensively used by speakers, despite its merits, and is encountered occasionally.\nAnd you will always find it effective to become familiar with a good collection of fables for speaking purposes. Beecher used a fable in his effort to make the claim of fear among the people of Harper\u2019s Ferry during John Brown's invasion and raid seem ridiculous. The attempt to hide the fear of these surrounded men by awakening a larger fear will never succeed. It is too literal a fulfillment, not exactly of prophecy but of Aesop's fables. A fox, having been caught in a trap, escaped with the loss of his tail. He immediately went to his brother foxes to persuade them that they would all look better if they too cut off their tails. They declined. Our two thousand friends, who lost their courage in the presence of seventeen men, are now making an appeal to this nation.\nWendell Phillips uses a fable to show that Webster's attitude on slavery, although an expedient one, was not altogether comfortable. Did you ever hear the fable of the wolf and the house dog? The one was fat, the other gaunt and famine-struck. The wolf said to the dog, \"You are very fat.\" \"Yes,\" replied the dog, \"I get along very well at home.\" \"Well,\" said the wolf, \"could you take me home?\" \"O, certainly.\" So they trotted along together; but as they neared the house, the wolf caught sight of several ugly scars on the dog's neck and, stopping, cried, \"Where did you get those scars on your neck?\"\n\"they look very sore and bloody.\" \"O,\" said the dog, \"they tie me up at night, and I have an inconvenient iron collar on my neck. But that's a small matter; they feed me well.\" \"On the whole,\" said the wolf, \"taking the food and the collar together, I prefer to remain in the woods.\" Now, if I am allowed to choose, I do not like Daniel Webster and Parson Dewey's collars, and there are certain ugly scars I see about their necks. I should not like, Dr. Dewey, to promise to return my mother to slavery; and, Mr. Webster, I prefer to be lean and keep my prejudices, to getting fat by smothering them.\n\nThe parable is an extremely effective form of illustration. It finds exemplification principally in the New Testament. The truths expressed in the Gospels derive their vitality in large part from the striking manner in which they are illustrated.\nThe parable is a pictorial presentation of truth, with the advantage of \"eye appeal.\" It is not extensively found in oratorical literature, probably because few men have the art to apply it. As a form of illustration, it is worthy of consideration and always effective when skillfully used. It presents truth clearly, is easy to understand, and requires a minimum of mental effort.\n\nThe parables of the New Testament are presumably so well-known that examples are not necessary. In his lecture, \"Individuality,\" Robert Ingersoll uses the following parable to suggest the folly of trying to compel conformity to certain beliefs or ways of living.\n\nA monarch said to a hermit, \"Come with me and I will give you power.\"\n\n\"I have all the power that I know how to use,\" replied the hermit.\n\n\"Come,\" said the king, \"I will give you wealth.\"\n\"I have no wants that money can supply, said the hermit. I will give you honor, said the monarch. Ah, honor cannot be given, it must be earned, was the hermit's answer. Come, said the king, making a last appeal, and I will give you happiness. No, said the man of solitude, there is no happiness without liberty, and he who follows cannot be free. You shall have liberty too, said the king. Then I will stay where I am, said the old man. And all the king's courtiers thought the hermit a fool. All these forms of illustration are in effect comparisons and embody familiar experiences that are vivid and hold attention. Whenever we can ground what we want to say in the universal experiences of the race, we may be reasonably sure that we are on solid ground, and that our listeners will feel the same way.\"\nIllustrations furnish pictorial elements in speaking. Illustrations embodied mental images or imagery that appeal to any of the senses, but for our purpose, the most important ones are those that appeal to the senses of sight and hearing. At the heart of every metaphor is a picture, and as a rule, that holds true for the simile and all the other forms of illustration. \"Talk in terms of pictures\" is advice we often hear these days, and it is sound if we understand what it means. When we speak of being concrete, talking in terms of pictures, using examples and illustrations, we mean pretty much the same thing. We take in more experiences through the sense of sight than through any other. We speak of going to \"see the city,\" \"see the factories,\" \"see the schools.\" Even in the days of the old drama, we spoke of \"seeing\" the play.\nThis will explain why the silent \"movie\" had such a hold on the popular imagination, and why the play and the novel, which present pictures, are such popular forms of amusement and instruction. Newell Dwight Hillis, in his introduction to Beecher\u2019s A Treasury of Illustration, affirms: The highest genius is pictorial; the works that abide are pictures. Homer's Iliad is a gallery of pictures; Dante's threefold epic of the unseen world is another. And so it is with Shakespeare, and all the rest of the sons of fame, to whom not only certain classes of specialists but all men of all time pay glad reverence. Others there have been, indeed \u2014 a glorious company \u2014 whose contributions of invention, statesmanship, learning, or criticism have mightily influenced their own and later times, without surviving in individual form to be passed down.\nAmong the world's eternal masterpieces, we owe more in the aggregate to this host of thinkers and actors than to the few crowned ones. I would only point out the recognized, universal, and imperishable supremacy of the genius that sees and says pictorially.\n\nTo the galaxy of the great in pictorial presentation belong the great orators just as much as the poets. Especially is this true of our great popular orators: Beecher, Phillips, Ingersoll, Starr King, Bryan, George W. Curtis, and others. Similes dropped from their lips like rain from the clouds. Some of their more carefully prepared speeches have about enough structure and logic to hold the illustrations in place. They literally teem with metaphor, simile, analogy, and anecdote.\nThe following table will give one a vivid notion of the affluence of illustration in some of Wendell Phillips\u2019 better-known speeches.\n\nHarper\u2019s Ferry Address:\nMetaphors, Similes, Analogies, Anecdotes\nThe Scholar in a Republic\nProgress, Lincoln\u2019s Election, Daniel O\u2019Connell, Under the Flag, Idols, The Pulpit, Disunion, Christianity a Battle, The Puritan Principle & J.B.\nEducation of the People\n\nWhen we remember that most of these speeches are only six to eight thousand words long, we may well be impressed with the wealth of illustrative materials that is to be found in them. In this concrete, imaginative, objective presentation of truth, the great orators largely get their effects.\n\nAll illustrations, to be apt, should touch your feelings. (Beecher)\nI. Audience members and their levels should not be judged by speakers. I suggest cultivating the habit of seeing illustrations in an audience. When I observe a seaman among my audience, an illustration from the sea emerges. If a watchmaker is present, my next illustration will likely be from horology, even if he is unaware of its use. A schoolmistress in the audience may inspire an illustration from school teaching. Thus, an audience known to you should provide illustrations that meet your needs as a speaker and their own.\nCultivate the art of presenting your ideas with concrete illustrations. Use visual images as often as possible, along with auditory and olfactory imagery. An example of effective use of illustrations is \"The Scholar in a Republic\" by Wendell Phillips. This lecture contains ninety-two historical references, seventy-eight metaphors, five similes, twenty-four analogies, and sixty-four quotations from literature, history, and the contemporary press.\n\nSources of Illustrations: We can draw on many sources for our illustrations, such as nature, history, literature, and science.\nForforms of Support: Illustrations: Beecher derived many of his illustrations from nature and the fine arts. Wendell Phillips obtained his more from history and literature, using many classic references, although he utilized all sources. Lincoln drew his largely from everyday life, occasionally from the Bible and Shakespeare. Woodrow Wilson borrowed one of the best illustrations he ever used from such a homely object as the ordinary well pump. \"Where corporations,\" he said in effect, \"make large contributions to political campaigns, they expect returns multiplied many times. It is very much like priming a pump. When you prime a pump, you expect to get out of it much more than you put in.\"\n\nConsider this from The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table.\nThere is no power I envy so much \u2014 said the divinity student \u2014 as that of seeing analogies and making comparisons. I don't understand how it is that some minds are continually coupling thoughts or objects that seem not in the least related to each other, until all at once they are put in a certain light, and you wonder that you did not always see that they were as alike as twins. It appears to me a sort of miraculous gift.\n\nYou call it miraculous, I replied, tossing the expression with my facial eminence, a little smartly, I fear. Two men are walking by the Polyphloesboean ocean, one of them having a small tin cup with which he can scoop up a gill of seawater when he will, and the other nothing but his hands, which will hardly hold water at all \u2014 and you call the tin cup a miraculous possession! It is the ocean that endows the cup with its power.\nThe miracle is my infant apostle! If all that poetry has dreamed, all that insanity raved, all that maddening narcotics driven through the brains of men, or smothered passion nursed in the fancies of women, \u2013 if the dreams of colleges and convents and boarding-schools, \u2013 if every human feeling that sighs, or smiles, or curses, or shrieks, or groans, should bring all their innumerable images, such as come with every hurried heart-beat, the epic that held them all, though its letters filled the zodiac, would be but a cupful from the infinite ocean of similitudes and analogies that rolls through the universe.\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\nThe Advantages of Illustrations. The question may well be asked: Why are illustrations used so extensively by the best speakers? There must be reasons for it. There are, as a matter of fact, several advantages to using illustrations in speech.\nSeveral important facts \u2014 let's examine two.\n\n1. Illustrations aid the memory. It's a well-known fact that long after we have forgotten principles and precepts, we remember the anecdotes, parables, figures of speech, and fables used to illustrate them. Not only do we do most of our thinking in images, but we also do most of our remembering by means of images. An image is a memory peg on which we can hang general statements. Without such pegs to hang them on, broad statements in the abstract, no matter how true and vital, are forgotten almost as soon as heard. It is by means of a well-selected picture, image, or illustration that a \u201cglittering generality\u201d may become a \u201cblazing ubiquity.\u201d We not only understand a thing better when we can see it in the mind's eye, but we remember it infinitely longer. When we once see an image of something, we are more likely to recall the associated ideas.\nA beautiful landscape or building leaves an enduring image in memory. When we merely hear it described in general terms, the picture fades. Woodrow Wilson observed in his years of teaching that long after his students had forgotten the history he had taught them, they remembered the stories he had told them. It is probable that a good deal of history stuck to the stories. Once we understand Lincoln's position, as made clear with his \"house divided against itself\" illustration, we not only remember the comparison but also Lincoln's attitude on the slavery question as expounded in his \"Springfield Speech.\" As Beecher put it, \"Your illustrations will be the salt that will preserve your teachings, and men will remember them.\"\nA speaker needs to comprehend an audience's limitations in following a speech. It takes significant mental effort to listen to a speech for an extended period, except when there's a master on the platform. Speaking for an hour or more without tiring the mind and losing attention is an art. Broad generalities and abstract statements demand considerable mental effort, making them mentally heavy. The mind can only carry a certain amount.\n\nThe difficulty in grasping general and abstract statements compared to specific and concrete ones is due to:\n\n\"For Forms of Support: Illustrations (Yale Lectures on Preaching, The Pilgrim Press: First Series, p. 159)\" is not relevant to the text and can be removed.\n\n\"hi\" is likely a typo or irrelevant and can be removed.\n\nThe text is already in modern English and does not require translation.\n\nTherefore, the cleaned text is:\n\nA speaker needs to comprehend an audience's limitations in following a speech. It takes significant mental effort to listen to a speech for an extended period, except when there's a master on the platform. Speaking for an hour or more without tiring the mind and losing attention is an art. Broad generalities and abstract statements demand considerable mental effort, making them mentally heavy. The mind can only carry a certain amount.\n\nThe difficulty in grasping general and abstract statements compared to specific and concrete ones is due to their abstract nature.\nThe former are more indefinite in meaning than the latter. If we say, \"John drinks a glass of water every morning before breakfast,\" we know in a moment exactly what that means. But if we say, \"John has just enough imagination to spoil his judgment,\" we cannot grasp the full meaning of that immediately, unless we happen to be familiar with the aphorism and have given it some thought beforehand. It will require some reflection and speculation to get at the full meaning. If a dozen statements like this follow each other in rapid succession, it is easy to see that not only will any ordinary mind tire of trying to follow, but most minds will give it up. Santayana opens a paragraph as follows: \"We must remember that ever since the days of Socrates, and especially after the establishment of Christianity, the dice of thought have been cast.\"\nCertain pledges have preceded inquiry and have divided possible conclusions beforehand with the acceptable and inacceptable, the edifying and the shocking, the noble and the base. An erudite reader may want to ponder a moment over this to drink in the full meaning, and what it ultimately means to him will depend to some extent on what is in his head before he reads it. Imagine an audience trying to interpret the meaning of sentences like these as the speaker addresses them. Even if a group of the elect could do it, it would tire them out in a short time. According to Oliver Wendell Holmes, nothing should go into a speech or lecture that five hundred persons cannot grasp the moment it is uttered. Illustrations are among the most efficient means of making comprehension clear.\nUnderstanding is easy. They always deal with the concrete, and the concrete requires very little mental effort to comprehend. We can look at pictures for a long time without much mental fatigue. About all that is required is to stay awake. Illustrations conserve attention as well by lending variety to speech materials and forms of appeal. The importance of variety in holding attention is discussed more fully in Chapter XVIII, \"What Holds Attention.\" We may use facts and figures and appeal to the intellect. We may reason and draw inferences, and appeal to the reflective mind or judgment. We may use illustrations \u2014 draw pictures \u2014 and appeal to the imagination. We may appeal to the emotions and provoke laughter, or perhaps tears. If one can, in addition, make the thought sparkle with originality and wit, it will be all the more effective.\nThe secret of holding attention, especially in a long speech, is to vary the appeal by using illustrations and other forms of support. This is the method used by successful speakers.\n\nIn preparing speeches for mixed audiences, composed of grown-ups and children, and persons on different levels of information and intelligence\u2014most audiences are of that type\u2014one must offer a variety of mental diet that all may receive some nourishment or at least a taste. For the better informed, one may offer something substantial\u2014facts, ideas, inferences. But it would be folly to feed a mixed audience exclusively on that kind of diet. The children and the less well-informed will need stories, incidents, personal experiences that are suited to their type of understanding.\nThe language must be simple with short and crisp sentences for both enjoyment and understanding. Fortunately, the interests of different assembly groups are not mutually exclusive. The more abstract and general parts of a speech may not serve youngsters or the less informed, but lighter portions such as incidents, anecdotes, and other forms of illustrations will serve all equally well, old and young, the erudite and cultured as well as the ignorant and unlettered. In relation to the minister, Beecher states: Everybody should get something every time. There should not be a five-year-old child who goes home without something that pleases and instructs him.\nI have around my pulpit a good many boys and girls of the congregation. I notice that during the general statements and the exegetical parts of the sermon, introducing the main discourse, the children are playing with each other. One will push a hymn-book or a hat toward the other, and they will set each other laughing. That which ought not to be done is, with children, very funny and amusing. By and by I have occasion to use an illustration, and I happen to turn round and look at the children. Not one of them is playing, but they are all looking up with interest depicted on their faces. I did not think of them in making it, perhaps, but I saw, when the food fell out in that illustration, their attention fully engaged.\nThe children, even those in the congregation, should be fed by sermons. Observe that children in the congregation often know if there is anything in the sermon for them. There should always be, and the best way to prepare a sermon for the plain people, the uncultured, and little children is by making it attractive and instructive with illustrations. This is the best method for a mixed audience. Although the ordinary audience is somewhat heterogeneous, no one need be discouraged in adapting speech materials. It is an attribute of illustrations that they almost invariably make things clear. (Yale Lectures on Preaching)\nEvery experience embodies elements of universality. In other words, a good illustration consists of experiences common to all people. Regardless of whether a man is a merchant, farmer, lawyer, laborer, preacher, teacher, salesman, or chimney sweep, he is first and foremost a man, sharing with all others the common life of home, friends, community, state, and nation. We all walk the same earth and obtain sustenance from it; are warmed and lit by the same sun; have our lives shaped by similar institutions - schools, press, platform, and church; and are significantly influenced by the same artistic and cultural forces.\n\nAdapting speeches to audiences of different groups necessitates tact and judgment. It is sufficient to speak in a manner appropriate for each specific group.\nA university professor gave a commencement address at a high school in a progressive town of about one thousand people. He tried so hard to see things from their perspective and speak in terms of their everyday experiences that, according to the statement of the schools superintendent, he made himself ridiculous and the audience disgusted.\n\nFacility in the Use of Illustrations May Be Cultivated. The best way to learn to use illustrations is to use them. Practice here as elsewhere tends to make perfect. In order to make effective use of illustrations, one should:\n\n1. Understand the audience and their perspective.\n2. Choose illustrations that resonate with the audience.\n3. Use clear and concise language.\n4. Provide context for the illustrations.\n5. Use illustrations sparingly and appropriately.\nTo properly use illustrations in speaking, one must be impressed by their significance. To be impressed, one must read extensively the speeches of men who have mastered the art of communicating ideas. One must study their methods of using illustrations. Individuals differ greatly in this regard. Some have a native aptitude for seeing and presenting things concretely; others naturally incline to the abstract. Those with imaginative temperaments will find the habit of using illustrations easy to form; the unimaginative will find it difficult.\n\nOnce more, we quote Beecher, himself one of the greatest masters in the use of illustrations: \"I can say, for your encouragement, that while illustrations are as natural to me as breathing, I use fifty now to one in the early years of my speaking career.\"\nmy  ministry.  For  the  first  six  or  eight  years,  perhaps,  they  were \ncomparatively  few  and  far  apart.  But  I  developed  a  tendency  that \nwas  latent  in  me,  and  educated  myself  in  that  respect;  and  that,  too, \nby  study  and  practice,  by  hard  thought,  and  by  a  great  many  trials, \nboth  with  the  pen,  and  extemporaneously  by  myself,  when  I  was \nwalking  here  and  there.  Whatever  I  have  gained  in  that  direction  is \nlargely  the  result  of  education.  You  need  not,  therefore,  be  dis\u00ac \ncouraged  if  it  does  not  come  to  you  immediately.  You  cannot  be  men \nat  once  in  these  things.  This  world  is  God\u2019s  anvil,  and  whatever  is \nfit  for  the  battle  has  been  beaten  out  on  that  anvil,  and  it  has  felt \nthe  fire  before  it  has  felt  the  blow.  So  that  whatever  you  would  get \nin  this  world  that  is  worth  having,  you  must  work  for. \nIn  Conclusion.  Illustrations  constitute  in  large  part  the \nModern psychology stresses the importance of the imaginative or pictorial element in speaking. The great mass of information we get from school subjects and elsewhere comes to us through the sense of sight. \"Seeing is believing,\" and understanding is largely based on pictures. Motion pictures are becoming a part of every progressive school's equipment. We think largely in pictures and remember almost exclusively in terms of pictures. Therefore, this element is extremely important in any method of communication, particularly in speaking. Facility in the use of illustrations is the most distinctive mark of great speaking. It is this imaginative, pictorial element in \"The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table\" - informal talks - that gives it distinction and makes it one of the world's great books. It is this same pictorial element that characterizes the work.\nThe art of effective speaking. Anyone who excels in speaking should form the habit of freely using illustrations.\n\nExercises:\n1. Analyze critically one of the following speeches for the use of illustrations and other forms of support. Classify illustrations and show how often each form is used.\n2. Choose a proposition and support it briefly for a definite purpose using one of the following anecdotes, or any equally good:\n\na. A friend called on Michelangelo, who was finishing a statue. Some time afterward he called again; the sculptor was still at work. His friend, looking at the figure, exclaimed, \u201cYou have been idle since I saw you last.\u201d \u201cBy no means,\u201d replied the sculptor. \u201cI retouched this feature, and brought out this muscle; I have given more expression to these eyes.\u201d\n\"pressure to this lip, and more energy to this limb,\" said the sculptor. \"Well, well,\" replied the friend, \"but all these are trifles.\" \"It may be so,\" the sculptor responded, \"but trifles make perfection, and perfection is no trifle.\"\n\nA man walking on an icy sidewalk slipped and fell. Just then, the parson happened by and seeing the accident remarked, \"Sinners stand on slippery ground.\" To which the other replied, \"I don't see how they do it.\"\n\n\"Why don't you let your little brother have your sled with you?\" Willie's mother asked. \"I do. I have the sled going downhill, and he has it going uphill.\"\n\nLook up some fables. For instance, in the fable of \"The Tortoise and the Hare,\" the hare, who was overconfident and took a nap during a race, lost to the diligent and persistent tortoise. In my speech, I may use this fable to illustrate the importance of persistence and consistency.\n\nBring to class some parables from the New Testament. For example, in the parable of the Good Samaritan, a man was robbed and left for dead, but a Samaritan, an enemy of the man's people, showed kindness and helped him. This parable effectively teaches us to love and help others, regardless of their background or circumstances.\n\nSpeeches and Readings.\n\"MOTIVATION: WANT APPEAL\n\nThe person who advocates a standard as valid for others must create its validity for them by creating the corresponding desires and values.\n- DeWitt H. Parker\n\nThe aim of all persuasive speaking is to influence human behavior.\n\nReferences:\nHenry Ward Beecher: Yale Lectures on Preaching. The Pilgrim Press: First Series, Chap. VII.\nHarry Allen Overstreet: Influencing Human Behavior (1925), Chaps. Ill and VIII.\nWilliam Phillips Sandford and Willard Hayes Yeager: Principles of Effective Speaking (Revised Edition, 1930), Chap. X.\nJames Winans: Public Speaking (Revised Edition, 1917), Chap. X.\nArleigh Boyd Williamson: Speaking in Public (1929), Chap. XII.\n\nForms of Support: ILLUSTRATIONS 117\"\nThe behavior of shaping minds and hearts of men to act in accordance with a speaker's views requires exploring the sources of human behavior that motivate men to do certain things and avoid others.\n\nThe Meaning of Want Appeal: We acknowledge certain values in life, rooted in our experience. Some experiences hold more significance than others or mean more to us. Our experiences hold value in proportion to their capacity to satisfy human wants or gratify human desires. Life is an endless pursuit of the satisfaction of human impulses or cravings that persistently drive us. We are all influenced by our wants, wishes, desires, prejudices \u2013 fundamental urges that move us and the world. These we call our fundamental life interests. Reason\nThe essential problem for a speaker is to harness impulses and desires for advocated views or conduct. It's not sufficient to merely suggest a course of action or provide reasons for its adoption. The crux of persuasive speech lies in establishing adequate rewards in listeners' minds, demonstrating that the speaker's desired belief or action aligns with their best interests. In advertising, the primary goal is to create a desire for the product or service. Consequently, in speaking, the crucial objective is to foster a desire within the audience.\nTo have an idea prevail, it is necessary to harness it to men's desires. Suggestions to action that cannot in some way lay hold of these 'system desires' are never accepted by us as standards for our behavior. Show an audience that they can gratify certain fundamental desires by supporting the policy you advocate, and they will be with you heart and soul. We are willing to believe almost anything if it can be shown that it is to our advantage, or if we are predisposed to believe it. We have a strong tendency to believe what we want to believe. To link up our speech or the course of action advocated with the satisfaction of fundamental human wants; to show that behavior in accordance with our aim means the fulfillment of desire, is to motivate an audience through want appeal.\nClassification of Motives. The wants or motives that impel men to action are reasonably well understood, although there is not entire agreement as to how they are derived. They lie largely within the range of our feelings and emotions, and vary in character from the meanest to the highest. Most of us understand tolerably well how our actions are influenced by such considerations as fear, anger, love, hate, pride, vanity, property, power, jealousy, shame, curiosity, emulation or rivalry, gratitude, charitableness, pity, desire for comfort, pleasure; love of children, family, friends, community, country; love of liberty, love of justice, love of art, literature, love of approval, dread of public censure, fear of ridicule.\n\nPersuasive speeches depend so largely for their effectiveness on these motives. (DeWitt Henry Parker: Human Values, 1931, p. 38.)\nThe Art of Effective Speaking: on skillful appeal to human wants and desires\n\nThis text closely follows and elaborates on the classification given in Arthur Edward Phillips: Elective Speaking (1908), Chapter V, and DeWitt Henry Parker: Human Values (1931), Chapter III.\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking: A Broad Survey\n\nIn treating of motives and the manner of appealing to them, it is of advantage to consider them in groups. Although in civilized societies motives are complex, we may speak, for instance, of the acquisitive instinct\u2014man\u2019s desire to possess things, such as wealth. But that is really a complex motive composed of various elements.\nSelf-preservation: Security; Playing Safe. \"Self-preservation is the first law of life.\" All people wish to keep well and strong, to avoid sickness and disease and \"the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.\" They wish to keep their persons safe from harm, and to minimize the hazards that endanger lives. Out of these motives arise an endless variety of actions, public and private. In the interest of personal health and safety, we enact pure food laws, provide for milk inspection and other regulations.\nBuilding inspections, establishing medical colleges, organizing boards of health, providing fire and police protection, safety appliances on railroads, safety equipment in factories, lighthouses on the high seas, lifeguards on lakes and ocean beaches. In business, the patent medicine vendor who can make his patrons believe that his product best prevents disease and conserves health multiplies his sales; the grocer who handles the freshest and purest of foods gets the customers; the railroad that can show the best-constructed coaches and the longest line of double tracks, other things equal, gets the business. The politician who can credit his party with the most relentless war on diseases, the most rigid enforcement of pure food laws, and general protection of the public health, will get the votes \u2014 and he should.\nGrowing out of this group of motives are large and varied expenditures for social or public security. Individual preservation depends in part on national safety. For this end, supposedly, we organize our standing armies, fortify our coasts, build our battleships, maintain our navies, and, if necessary, fight our wars with foreign nations. Numerous appeals to this motive are to be found in political speeches and addresses. For many years after the Civil War, the strongest appeal the Republican Party could make was that it \u201csaved the Union.\u201d Lincoln, in his debates with Douglas, sought to show that the Union could not endure permanently half slave and half free; that slavery was the one thing that had ever threatened its existence and with it that of free institutions\u2014those safeguards thrown about the freedom of the individual.\nThe purpose of Demosthenes' Philippics was to rouse the Athenians to realize the threatened danger from the north and make an appeal for the defense of Athens and her liberties. Webster, in his well-known peroration in \"Reply to Hayne,\" made his appeal largely to the motive of national safety, \"the preservation of the Union.\" It is to that Union we owe safety at home and consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that union we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud of our country. Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its blessings. Although our territory has stretched out wider and wider, and our population spread further and further, they have not outrun its protection or its benefits. It has been to us all a copious source.\nIn his speech accepting the Democratic nomination for President at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago on July 2, 1932, Franklin D. Roosevelt sought to motivate the American people with an appeal to the same motivating factor \u2014 economic security \u2014 which is one of the most fundamental human wants:\n\nIn my mind are two things: work, with all the moral and spiritual values that go with work, and with work, a reasonable measure of security, security for ourselves, our wives, and our children.\n\nThese are more than words. They are more than facts. They are the spiritual values, the true goal to which efforts at reconstruction should lead. These are the values this program is intended to gain.\n\nTwo more things: love of family, home, and friends. Solicitude for our fellow men. These are the things that make life worth living. They are the things that give meaning to our labor and our toil. They are the things that make us truly and fully human.\nThe safety and well-being of those dear to us naturally extends to us. Our love for them stems from the instinct to protect and care for. This feeling forms the foundation of the family and is the source of all altruistic impulses. It drives a mother to self-sacrifice and endless labor for her children. Parents' ambitions merge into their children's welfare. The ties of home and friends are among the strongest human connections. These interests dominate human activities.\n\nHow can we appeal to these motives? By demonstrating that the proposed action will improve their lives.\nThose who hold the hearer's affections. The salesman, instead of emphasizing solely the merits of the piano, will show the mother how much it will mean to her daughter. The defender of liquor legislation will draw vivid pictures of young careers blighted by intemperance. The successful politician understands the strength of family affections and gets into the good graces of the voters of his district by showering favors on their wives and children. As Beecher put it:\n\nMOTIVATION: Want Appeal\nHe can shake hands with more mothers, kiss more pretty girls and babies, and tell more funny stories in an hour than any other man in a month, and so they send him up to make laws.\n\nThree. Ambition: Desire for Power and Glory. Motives kindred to this are emulation and pride. These motives have as their end the attainment of influence among our fellows. Among us\nThe most cherished satisfaction is a feeling of personal worth and social recognition. The desire to be superior motivates nearly all normal beings. The boy takes great pride in being the best swimmer, rider, or ball player. In adult years, this motive takes the form of the desire for leadership. Social ambition, political ambition, professional ambition, all have their origin here. Superior mental endowments, accumulated wealth, mechanical and inventive skill, scientific research, even brute physical prowess, are all sources of influence. The prize orator and prize debater find keen satisfaction in their persuasive skill.\n\nLecturers on the power of personality make their appeal mostly to this group of motives. So do speeches that hold up to view the value of education, self-improvement, industry, excelling in scholarship.\nCraving for power varies greatly in different individuals, although the desire for superior excellence in some line is strong in most people. Within bounds, it is a worthy motive, and adds much to the zest of life. Lincoln was known to be intensely ambitious. With Napoleon, love of power was a consuming flame. Much of what passes for philanthropy these days must be ascribed to a desire for personal worth and social recognition.\n\nCharles Phillips, the brilliant Irish orator, in an eloquent panegyric to American democracy, takes occasion to remind his fellow statesmen that national power and glory are often short-lived because governments do not build on right foundations.\n\n\"The Reign of the Common People.\"\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\n\nI appeal to History! Tell me, thou reverend chronicler of the grave, can all the illusions of ambition realized, can all the wealth of the world ever fill the soul's vast hunger for meaning and purpose?\nCan all the achievements of successful heroism or all the establishments of this world's wisdom secure permanency of an empire's possessions? Alas, Troy once thought so; yet the land of Priam lives only in song. Thebes once thought so, but her hundred gates have crumbled, and her very tombs are but as the dust they were vainly intended to commemorate. So thought Palmyra \u2013 where is she? So thought the countries of Demosthenes and Sparta. Yet Leonidas is trampled by the timid slave, and Athens insulted by the servile, mindless, and enervate Ottoman! In his hurried march, Time has but looked at their imagined immortality, and all its vanities, from the palace to the tomb, have, with their ruins, erased the very impression of his footsteps. The days of their glory.\nAre they as if they had never existed, and the island that was then a rude and neglected speck, now rivals Athens in the ubiquity of its philosophy, the eloquence of its senate, and the inspiration of its bards! Who shall say, contemplating the past, that England, proud and potent as it appears, may not one day be what Athens is, and young America yet soar to be what Athens was! Who shall say, when the European column has mouldered, and the night of barbarism obscured its very ruins, that that mighty continent may not emerge from the horizon, to rule for its time as sovereign of the ascendant?\n\nThe acquisitive motive. The desire to possess things is one of the strongest and most fundamental urges of our being. The child early distinguishes between \"mine\" and \"thine,\" loves to own its toys and trinkets. Few grow to maturity.\nAs we know, this motive in adults, operating in civilized society, is no longer a simple disposition to acquire things, but a composite motive made up of several others, such as love of family, ambition, social prestige, reputation. In fact, it is one of the strongest and most comprehensive urges in human society, since the possession of wealth may satisfy so many wants and gratify so many desires. Whatever may be said for making money for the love of the \u201cgame,\u201d the fact remains that most people desire money not for its own sake but for what it can buy. \"You take away my life,\" said Shylock, \"when you do take away that which maintains it.\" The love of money may be the root of all evil; it is also the spur to some. (Charles Phillips: Speeches, London, 1817)\nFrom the perspective of a public speaker, this motive is significant in nearly every subject. Topics such as taxation, trust regulation, protecting the public against fraudulent stocks and bonds, reducing the escalating expenses of governments, chain stores, and installment buying \u2013 all ultimately boil down to dollars and cents for us.\n\nThe Republican Party's battle cry for decades has been \"Prosperity.\" The party's banner displays the promise of a prosperous country and, in turn, a prosperous you with victory.\n\nWalter Lippmann, in an address before the National Conference of Social Work in Philadelphia, 1932, attributes the unprecedented material achievements of the nineteenth century to the free play of the acquisitive instinct in American society.\nMan has invented the power to produce wealth on a scale which allows us to say that the most ancient of human problems \u2014 the problem of scarcity \u2014 has been solved. We who stand at the culmination of this epoch can see today that in order to reap the results of this achievement, in order to translate the power we possess into a secure and ordered civilization, we have to do something which is extremely difficult. We have to tamper with the motives which made the achievement possible. For if we are realistic, we must acknowledge that the driving force behind the stupendous material work of the nineteenth century was the acquisitive instinct stimulated to tremendous energy by the prospect of enormous personal profits and personal power. The supreme social problem of the twentieth century, and perhaps of the future, is how to use this power and this energy constructively.\nFor a longer time than that, it is to find energies as powerful and persistent as the acquisitive and competitive, which are disinterested and cooperative in their effect. Beecher, in his \"Liverpool Speech,\" sought to show that what England needed most was not cotton but customers \u2014 customers who had some wealth and real buying power. It is a necessity of every manufacturing and commercial people that their customers should be very wealthy and intelligent. Let us put the subject before you in the familiar light of your own local experience. To whom do the tradesmen of Liverpool sell the most goods at the highest profit? To the ignorant and poor, or to the educated and prosperous? (A voice: \"To the Southerners.\" Laughter.) The poor man buys simply for his body; he buys food, he buys necessities. The wealthy and intelligent man buys for his comforts and luxuries. Therefore, it is in the best interest of manufacturers and merchants to promote the wealth and intelligence of their customers.\nA man buys clothing, fuel, and lodging. He strives to buy the least and cheapest. He goes to the store as infrequently as possible, bringing away as little as he can, and buys for the least amount. (Laughter.) Poverty is not only a misfortune for those who experience it but also for those with whom they deal. Conversely, a wealthy man buys in greater quantity. He can afford to do so and has the money to pay. He buys in greater variety to gratify both physical and mental wants, as well as sentiment and taste. He buys silk, wool, flax, cotton; all metals - iron, silver, gold, platinum; in short, he buys for all necessities and all substances.\nBut he buys a better quality of goods: richer silks, finer cottons, higher grained wools. The price of the finer goods runs back to the beginning and remunerates the workman as well as the merchant. The whole laboring community is interested and profited in this buying and selling of the higher grades in the 'greater varieties and quantities. Mr. Beecher then proceeded to show them that the slave had virtually no buying power, and that the best way to make the South a good customer was to free the slaves. (MOTIVATION: Want appeal of course meant a favorable attitude to the North, which was precluded by the institution of slavery.)\nThe purpose Beecher wanted to attain was respect for reputation. This feeling refers to the regard we have for the opinions of others, both those living now and those yet unborn. It involves all those interests wrapped up in winning and preserving a good name. We wish to do those things and possess those qualities that in others arouse our admiration and regard, and for the reason that what we admire in others, we believe others will admire in us. To win the approval of our fellow men is one of the fundamental urges of our being. This feeling not only impels us to do things but also keeps us from doing things. It has at once a positive and negative influence on human conduct. On its positive side, it takes the form of love of public approbation, love of fame. On its negative side, it takes the form of fear of disapproval, fear of shame.\nA good name is more to be desired than great riches. \"A reputation, reputation, reputation. O, I have lost my reputation. I have lost the immortal part, Sir, of myself, and what remains is bestial. My reputation, Iago, my reputation!\" The young singer, actor, or orator takes great interest in his press notices. \"The applause of listening senates to command\" has always been regarded as worthy of a good man's best efforts. Regard for the opinions of posterity has been a molding influence in the life of many a great man. Cicero's love of fame is well known. \"To extend one's name over the world and to distant ages fires the human breast as the sublimest destiny to\"\nWhich mortal can achieve? Bread of Public Censure: Fear of Ridicule. It is on the negative side that this motive is almost all-powerful in shaping conduct. It is the great inhibitor of action. Nobody likes to be laughed at; nobody likes to be criticized by his fellows. What are a host of noble impulses hourly stifled by such paralyzing interrogations as: \"What will people think if I do this? \" \"Is it proper? \" \"Will my friends approve of it? \" Wendell Phillips sought to strike terror into the hearts of those who upheld slavery by suggesting to them what posterity will think of them. You load our names with infamy, and shout us down. But our words bide their time. We warn the living that we have terrible memories, and that their sins are never to be forgotten. We will remind future generations of your cruelty and injustice.\nThe name of every apostate, no matter how high and black, whose children's children will blush to bear it. Yet we bear no malice, cherish no resentment. We thank God that the love of fame, \"that last infirmity of noble minds,\" is shared by the ignoble. In our necessity, we seize this weapon on behalf of the slave and teach caution to the living by meting out relentless justice to the dead. How strange the change death produces in the way a man is talked about here! While leading men live, they avoid as much as possible all mention of slavery, from fear of being thought Abolitionists. The moment they are dead, their friends rake up every word they ever contrived to whisper in a corner for liberty, and parade it before the world; growing angry, all the while, with us, because we insist on explaining these chance expressions.\nby the tenor of a long and base life. While drunk with the temptations of the present hour, men are willing to bow to any Moloch. When their friends bury them, they feel what bitter mockery, fifty years hence, any epitaph will be, if it cannot record of one living in this era some service rendered to the slave!\n\nHow few in public life are strong enough to weather the storms of a hostile public opinion! It takes a Savonarola, a Martin Luther, a William Lloyd Garrison, a Wendell Phillips.\n\nIt is true that these motives also impel to action. Fear of ridicule is a whip to keep the individual in line with other people. It is fear of ridicule that prods the youngster to do with the gang what his conscience balks at. \"Following the fashions\" probably is a variation of this motive.\n\nThe Moral Sentiments: Love of Right and Justice. Most.\nMotives: Want - Appeal to egoistic or social approval\n\nConsider altruistic motives, concerned with others' welfare: love, right, justice, truth, courage, honor, uprightness, honesty, nobility; hatred, cruelty, injustice, dishonesty, selfishness, deceit, slothfulness, oppression, tyranny.\n\nActions: Morally approved or disapproved.\n\nEmotions: Moral indignation prominent.\n\nFew motives more frequently appealed to than this. Every public question has ethical aspects. The crux.\nThe child labor question centers around cruelty and injustice. The struggle between capital and labor, concerning organized unions and the \"closed shop,\" goes beyond matters of mere expediency. It involves matters of right and wrong. To what extent do workers receive a fair share of industrial products, and to what extent may they work together to enforce demands for better hours, higher wages, and improved sanitary conditions? These are important aspects of the question. Similarly, the distribution of wealth, the disenfranchisement of Negroes in the South, questions of taxation, rate regulation, and the honor system among prisoners \u2014 all have their ethical side and, therefore, afford opportunities for appealing to higher motives.\n\nThere is pathos in this vivid portrayal of the passing of the [something].\nIndians, as described by Joseph Story. Their fate elicits our sympathy (moral sentiments). There is much in their unfortunate circumstances to awaken our sympathy and disturb the calmness of our judgment; much that can be used to excuse their own atrocities; much in their characters that betrays us into an involuntary admiration. What is more melancholic than their history? By the nature of their existence, they seem destined to a slow, but certain extinction. Everywhere, at the approach of the white man, they fade away. We hear the rustling of their footsteps, like that of the withered leaves of autumn, and they are gone forever. Two centuries ago, the smoke of their wigwams and the fires of their councils rose in every valley.\nThe Hudson's Bay to the farthest Florida, from the ocean to the Mississippi and the lakes. The shouts of victory and the war-dance rang through the mountains and the glades. But where are they? Where are the villagers, and warriors, and youth; the sachems and the tribes; the hunters and their families? They have perished. They are consumed. The wasting pestilence has not alone done the mighty work. No, \u2014 nor famine, nor war. There has been a mightier power, a moral canker, which has eaten into their heart-cores \u2014 a plague, which the touch of the white man communicated \u2014 a poison, which betrayed them into a lingering ruin. The winds of the Atlantic fan not a single region, which they may now call their own. Already the last feeble remnants of the race are preparing for their journey beyond the Mississippi. I see them leave.\nThe miserable homes of the aged, the helpless, the women, and the warriors: \"few and faint, yet fearless still.\" The ashes are cold on their native hearths. The smoke no longer curls round their lowly cabins. They move on with a slow, unsteady step. The white man is upon their heels for terror or dispatch; but they heed him not. They turn to take a last look at their deserted villages. They cast a last glance upon the graves of their fathers. They shed no tears; they utter no cries; they heave no groans. They know and feel that there is for them still one remove further, not distant, nor unseen. It is to the general burial-ground of their race.\n\nReason as we may, it is impossible not to read in such a fate much that we know not how to interpret; much of provocation to cruel deeds and deep resentments; much of apology for wrong and perfidy;.\nMuch pity and indignation; much doubt and misgiving about the past; much pain from recollections; much darkness in forebodings.\n\nThe Esthetic Sentiments: Aesthetic Pleasures. As a motive for action, this refers to the pursuit of pleasure through the senses and the gratification of our aesthetic tastes. It encompasses our liking for art in all its forms: poetry, drama, fiction, oratory, music, painting, sculpture, architecture, and the decorative arts; as well as our love for the beautiful in nature, such as mountain views and other forms of natural scenery.\n\nInterests like these shape the lives of different people in varying degrees. The higher forms of art make their appeal, in general, more to the educated than to the ignorant. The love of the beautiful seems, in many, dormant if not dead.\nSome forms of art have much wider appeal than others. Millions will go to the theater, while only hundreds go to the art museum. When you advocate in a speech for the construction of a new auditorium for your school or community, it is largely because of the pleasure it will give you in hearing good plays, good lectures, and other cultural programs. Your appeal is to the aesthetic sentiments or tastes. This would be true also of an appeal for a new library or books for an old one.\n\nGreat speakers frequently have highly developed aesthetic tastes. Beecher was a great lover of art and nature, had a large collection of stones of his own gathering, and would often spend one day a week watching the workers in fine art in New York establishments. Robert Ingersoll was a great lover of the beautiful, and, like his brother, \u201cwas with color, form and music.\u201d\nIngersoll, in his eulogy of Lincoln, paid this tribute to country life, such as Lincoln lived:\n\nIt is no advantage to live in a great city, where poverty degrades and failure brings despair. The fields are lovelier than paved streets, and the great forests more poetic than walls of brick. Oaks and elms are more poetic than steeples and chimneys.\n\nIn the country is the idea of home. There you see the rising and setting sun; you become acquainted with the stars and clouds. The constellations are your friends. You hear the rain on the roof and listen to the rhythmic sighing of the winds. You are thrilled by the resurrection called Spring, touched and saddened by Autumn.\nEvery field is a picture, a landscape; every landscape a poem; every flower a tender thought, and every forest a fairy-land. In the country, you preserve your identity\u2014your personality. There you are an aggregation of atoms; but in the city, you are only an atom of an aggregation. In the country, you keep your cheek close to the breast of Nature. You are calmed and ennobled by the space, the amplitude and scope of earth and sky\u2014by the constancy of the stars.\n\nNegative motives: Fear, Anger, Hatred, Jealousy. It is very doubtful if these motives are to be regarded as having an independent status. The feelings which they denote are caused by the frustration of desire and have been developed in the competitive struggle for existence to give aid to the positive values. Fear, for example, is always a fear of something; it is an emotional response to a perceived threat.\nA person may have fear for their life, health, or family; fear of losing wealth or social position; or some other fear. It is merely the negative aspect of positive values, serving its purpose. A child expresses anger when its movements are artificially hampered. The grown-up person expresses the same emotion when they feel that their pursuit of positive satisfactions is unduly interfered with. Similarly, hatred and jealousy are closely connected with the struggle for survival and are aroused by the threatened loss of positive values or of desires being defeated. The merchant may come to hate his business competitor; the real motive operating is the desire for gain or wealth, and all that wealth will buy. The lover is jealous of their rival.\nHe is threatened with the loss of the affections of the one he loves, causing all these negative motives. In all these negative motives, it is interference with the quest for positive values or satisfactions that causes the emotion. These negative motives are not less real; they are simply the other side of the shield. They may be appealed to as directly and effectively as the positive ones. Iago appealed to Othello's jealousy, which in effect was to show that Othello was threatened with the loss of Desdemona's love. Franklin D. Roosevelt, in his acceptance speech before the Democratic National Convention, previously referred to, appealed to our fear of radicalism (negative motive). This fear operates most strongly with the possessing classes.\nRoosevelt's appeal may be construed as a bid for their support. The failure of Republican leaders to solve our troubles may generate into unreasoning radicalism. ... To meet in reaction the danger of radicalism is to invite disaster. Reaction is no barrier to the radical. It is a challenge, a provocation. The way to meet that is to offer a program of reconstruction.\n\nThe groups of human wants or motives treated here are not all-inclusive. Human wants are almost infinite in number. The classification given is comprehensive enough to open up the subject and put the speaker on his guard to interpret his message in terms of vital human interests \u2014 vital especially to the audience he is addressing. Failure to do this concretely and vividly sounds the death knell of many a persuasive speech.\n\nTact and Technique in Want Appeal. Motives range up\nSome are high on the ethical scale, some are low. Some are strong, some are weak. No definite rules can be given for motive selection. The strongest motives consistent with good taste should be appealed to. In his England addresses, 1863, Beecher strongly appealed to the money motive. Merchants and laborers in industrial centers were likely influenced most. He effectively stated, \"You are interested in selling finished goods to America. Free men consume more than slaves. A free South will be a much better customer than a slave South. You are therefore interested in the Northern cause.\" Beecher also made it clear that he knew the cause of human liberty was dear to them.\nHe appealed to the hearts of Englishmen, making his listeners believe they supported the North's cause through the loftiest sentiments. Everybody finds satisfaction in the feeling that they act on liberty and justice, and are thought to do so by their neighbors and fellow men. Beecher's technique was to appeal to the strongest motives possible and connect lower motives with higher ones. In appealing to human wants, it's best not to make the method obtrusive. The same principle applies here as elsewhere: conceal your art. It's not necessary to say, \"Ladies and Gentlemen, in this speech I shall appeal freely to your patriotism, love of children, and reputation.\" In fact, stating it in this way makes it sound ridiculous. Instead, appeal subtly and let the connection between lower and higher motives become apparent.\nYour business appeal should align with your audience's best interests and yield satisfying returns. It's unnecessary to discuss methods. In conclusion, this exploration of motivations will at least introduce the subject. It's a significant topic for the speaker. Many persuasive speeches fail to impact our lives vitally and vividly. The effective speaker links their subject to the listeners' life interests and constantly asks how best to do so.\nIf he is advocating a certain course of action or line of conduct, he will aim to discover how it will favorably affect the lives of his audience. Will it help them play it safe, conserve health, escape hazards, prevent disease? Will it affect the welfare of their family, friends, community, state, nation, or the world? Will it promote their personal influence or power, socially, politically, professionally? Will it contribute to personality development? Will it be profitable or costly? Is there an ethical side to it? Is it right or wrong, just or unjust? Will it affect their reputation or standing in the community? How will it affect their opportunity to enjoy art in all its forms? In short, what fundamental human desires will it help to gratify? What satisfactions will it give?\nThese are the tests that should be applied to every subject, and every subject worth discussing lends itself to some form of want appeal. Civilization is built up to gratify human desires and satisfy human wants, and speeches of the persuasive kind are made presumably to promote a fairer distribution of life\u2019s satisfactions.\n\nExercises:\n1. Study the lecture, \u201cAcres of Diamonds.\u201d Formulate a purpose sentence for the speech; also state the central idea. Observe the emphasis which Conwell places on sympathetic understanding of human wants. What relation does this idea have to the subject matter of this chapter? According to Conwell, a businessman who studies people\u2019s wants and tries to satisfy them will be successful. What about a speaker who studies people\u2019s wants and then shows that what he advocates will satisfy those wants?\n\nCleaned Text: The text requires no cleaning.\n1. Analyze the speech from the perspective of appeal and style. Consider informality, diction, sentence structure, direct quotations, use of questions, and other elements of good style. Make a list of the forms of support. Which are most effective? Is the speech convincing? Classify it.\n\n2. Examine a copy of the Ladies' Home Journal or another women's magazine. Create a list of the different departments in the magazine and demonstrate how each caters to specific needs in women's lives, such as health, comfort, attractiveness, and child-rearing.\n\n3. Analyze an advertisement in the Saturday Evening Post or another magazine from the standpoint of motives or want appeal.\n\n136. Test your next speech for its impelling appeal.\nMotives are concrete and vivid in an appeal? Is the speech appealing? Analyze the following speeches in writing.\n\nSpeeches:\n\"Acres of Diamonds\" by Russell H. Conwell.\n\"Farming in Illinois\" by Robert Ingersoll (Ingersoll, Vol. I).\n\"Public Duty of Educated Men\" by George W. Curtis (Mod. El.: I, Vol. VII).\n\"The Scholar in a Republic\" by Wendell Phillips (Phillips, Vol. II).\n\"Liverpool Speech\" by Henry Ward Beecher (Beecher: IV).\n\nReferences:\nDeWitt Henry Parker: Human Values (1931).\nHarry Allen Overstreet: Influencing Human Behavior (1925), Chap. II.\nJames Milton O\u2019Neill and Andrew Thomas Weaver: The Elements of Speech (1926), Chap. XIX.\nArthur Edward Phillips: Effective Speaking (1908), Chap. V.\nWilliam Phillips Sandford and Willard Hayes Yeager: Principles of Speech.\nChapter X: Motivation: Suggestion\n\nFor oral presentation, suggestion is more powerful than reasoning. - Walter Dill Scott\n\nWe have seen in the preceding chapter how important the direct want appeal is in influencing conduct. That is perhaps the most potent form of motivation. In this chapter, we will treat another form of motivation, which frequently involves indirect want appeal. This method is known as suggestion.\n\nSuggestion as a Method of Persuasion\nSuggestion is an indirect method of persuasion, which consists in presenting ideas in such a way as to win for them uncritical acceptance. A speaker uses suggestion when he aims to influence behavior.\nThe fertile oratorical mind is one that can identify a case in hand with the strongest beliefs of an audience, particularly those that appear to have no connection to the point at issue. The discovery of identity in diversity is essential when trying to move people to adopt an unwonted course of action. The orator usually achieves this by touching off familiar behavior patterns with which the listeners identify, leading them to draw the desired conclusions spontaneously. He does not tell people directly what he wants them to believe or do, but presents ideas in such a way as to align the new with approved behavior patterns.\nTo be an effective speaker, it is necessary to have vividly present to the audience all the leading impulses and convictions of the persons addressed, and be ready to catch at every point of identity between these and the proposition suggested for their adoption. If we would understand the extent to which this method is used by successful speakers, we have only to examine their speeches. We shall find that men who have been masters in communicating ideas to mixed audiences, or in \u201chumanizing knowledge,\u201d depend on suggestion much more than on logical argument. They do this largely by the use of illustrations. While suggestion is most effective with popular audiences \u2014 that is, persons who are not disposed to be critical \u2014 it is effective in some measure with all audiences.\nMarc Antony's address to the Romans at Caesar's funeral is generally regarded as one of the best examples of suggestion in speaking. If you refer to it, you will observe that the speaker studiously avoids any direct statements as to what he wants his hearers to feel and do. He calls to their minds, on the other hand, incidents in Caesar's life which will arouse the feelings he wants to arouse. Finally, by exhibiting the bloody garment in which Caesar was assassinated, he arouses intense emotions and stirs the mob to mutiny and rage. He does not say, \"Caesar was a great general and a great statesman. The conspirators who killed him are traitors and should be punished.\" No. He says of Caesar:\n\nHe hath brought many captives home to Rome,\nWhose ransom did the general's coffers fill:\nDid this in Caesar seem ambitious?\nWhen the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:\nAmbition should be made of sterner stuff.\nAnd so he leads them on by indirection,\nMakes them draw their own conclusions about the virtues of Caesar.\nThe treason of the conspirators \u2014 the very conclusions\nwhich Antony wanted them to draw from the beginning.\nObserve how carefully he avoids anything\nthat may arouse antagonism or a critical attitude.\nA critical attitude is inimical to suggestion.\nMan's Susceptibility to Suggestion. All men are susceptible\nto suggestion, most of us much more than we realize.\nWe like to think that we are rational beings,\nand that we order our lives by carefully weighing\nreasons for and against any line of action.\nWe do on occasion reason things out, but not as often.\nMost persons are mentally indolent and lazy. As Joshua Reynolds affirmed, \"There is no expedient to which a man will not resort to avoid the real labor of thinking.\" Woodrow Wilson used to say that not one man in a thousand is governed by his mind. We are all creatures of habit, custom, emotion, imitation, suggestion. These are more often the guiding processes of our lives. As Sam Walter Foss puts it, \"Men are prone to go along the beaten paths of the mind. And work away from sun to sun, To do what other men have done.\" If someone were to ask us why we belong to a certain political party, or why we attend a certain church, or why we go to some college instead of to some other, or why we wear clothes of a certain cut, or shoes of a certain style, most of us could give no reason, but would simply do as others have done.\nNo valid reasons. We should not belong to a certain political party because our fathers did; we should not belong to a certain church because we were brought up in it; we should not go to a certain college because our friends do; and we should not wear the kinds of clothes we do because it is fashion. Hardly a man has reasoned himself into a religious denomination; and they are few who have reasoned themselves into a political party. Our lives are ordered largely through social contact with our fellows. We catch opinions in much the same way that we do smallpox or measles. Man is not essentially a reasoning being, but a suggestible one.\n\nIn the words of Boris Sidis:\n\nMan is often defined as a social animal. This definition is no doubt true, but it conveys little information as to the psychical state.\nThe individual within society is defined as having a rational nature, but this definition breaks down when tested against the facts of life, as it does not hold true for the vast multitudes of mankind. Sociality and rationality do not characterize the average human being, but suggestibility does.\n\nSidis defines suggestion and suggestibility as follows:\n\nSuggestion is the introduction of an idea into the mind, met with varying degrees of opposition by the person, ultimately accepted uncritically, and realized unreflectively, almost automatically.\n\nSuggestibility refers to the particular state of mind that is conducive to suggestion.\nAccording to Walter Dill Scott, suggestion is used to denote actions that have two characteristics: (1) the thought or action is suggested by some external stimulus - this external stimulus may be a spoken sentence, a gesture, a look, a ringing of a bell, the sight of an object, etc.; (2) the second characteristic of suggestion is that the idea suggested results in action or belief without the ordinary amount of deliberation or criticism. The idea suggested does not arouse any, or at least an adequate amount of resistance.\n\nCharacteristics of Suggestion. In our endeavor to understand the processes of suggestion as applied to persuasive speaking, Walter Dill Scott wrote in \"Psychology of Suggestion\" (1898), p. 15, and \"Psychology of Public Speaking\" (1926), p. 154.\nA suggestion is a process of communicating ideas. The ideas can be communicated by any agent of expression: formal language, voice, or gestures. What is needed is an external stimulus suggesting the action or belief.\n\nThe second thing to note about the process of suggestion is that the distinctive characteristic of a suggestive idea is that it is realized in belief or action uncritically. According to Minceberg, \"A suggestion is, we might say, at first, an idea which has a power in our mind to suppress the opposite idea. A suggestion is an idea which in itself is not different from other ideas, but the way in which it takes possession of the mind reduces the chances of any opposite ideas; it inhibits them.\" \"A suggestive idea,\" says Keating, \"is one which exercises a powerful influence over the mind, making it easier for the suggested idea to take hold and suppress opposing ideas.\"\nThe influence disintegrates the mind in such a way that critical and inhibitory ideas become ineffective. Statement 2: Verbal suggestion produces belief through a process that is not inferential at all. Statement 3: In suggestion, the usual associative tendencies of an idea are suppressed; there is no balancing of reasons, pro and con. If the suggestive idea achieves its purpose, it results in belief or immediate and uncritical motor tendencies.\n\nDistinction between the Associative Value of an Idea and Its Suggestive Force. The associative tendency of an idea is not necessarily a tendency to belief or action. A person may, for instance, receive an offer to go to a distant city at a larger salary.\nThe salary is higher than what he currently draws. The original intention is to put this into practice, but the field is not clear. A train of associative ideas is evoked, some in favor of the proposition, others against it. The increased salary brings favorable dignity and power to the proposed position, as well as social and other advantages. However, there is the counter idea of leaving behind a host of friends and acquaintances, of leaving one's native city with all its associations and attachments. Opportunities for investment may not be as good in the new location; the climate may not be as favorable. It is clear that, while pondering the proposition, one must consider both the advantages and disadvantages.\n\nSources:\n1. Psychotherapy (1909), p. 86.\n2. Suggestion in Education (Second Edition, 1907), p. 54.\n3. James Sully: Human Mind, p. 498.\nThe situation may evoke a multitude of related concepts, yet the outcome might merely deepen comprehension and enhance appreciation of the pros and cons of implementing a change. The associative nature of an idea, in essence, need not lean towards belief or action.\n\nOn the contrary, it is a trait of an idea that becomes manifest in belief or action, \"quite apart from insight or understanding.\" ... If the subsequent train of association is abnormal, such that detrimental ideas and impulses appear nonexistent, this is a consequence of the suggestive power of the idea. An idea is suggestive to the extent that the train of association it initiates is incomplete or, in other words, to the extent that it manifests itself despite the presence of inhibitory ideas within the overall system.\nMethods of Using Suggestion in Speaking. We are now in a position to consider some examples of how suggestion may be applied in public address for persuasive ends. There are several methods of using suggestion in speaking. Both the speech itself and the speaker may be considered sources of suggestion. So far as suggestion is derived from speech materials or forms of support, one method stands out above all others in importance, which we shall now consider.\n\nA. Suggestion through Transference of Feeling. The most important form of suggestion, growing out of the speech itself, is the one that involves a transference of feeling from one idea or thought pattern to another. The process is best explained in terms of belief gradients or belief potentials. The transfer of feeling from one idea to another is a powerful means of suggestion.\nThe transference of feeling must be from a belief of high potential to one of lower potential. A belief or action tendency of a high potential cannot be changed by suggesting a belief or action tendency of a lower potential. This can be best understood through a concrete example. The following is probably the best illustration of this form of suggestion. It was applied to an individual, but it might just as well have been applied to any uncritical pioneer audience familiar with flintlock rifles.\n\nIn 1816, Henry Clay voted for a new Compensation Act of Congress. It aroused a tornado of popular wrath. Not even the great Commoner could stand against this, and sagaciously resolved to try to weather it. Meeting a staunch supporter who had turned against him, he said, \"You have a good flintlock rifle, don't you?\" \"Yes.\"\n\"Did it ever fail to ignite? Once, but only once. What did you do with it? Did you discard it? No, I picked out the flint and tried it again. Well, I have failed only once - on this compensation bill - and are you going to discard me? No, said the hunter, moved in his most sensitive spot. No, Mr. Clay. I will pick it up and try you again. Note the man accepts the comparison made, and his strong conviction that it is not sensible to discard a rifle because it fails to fire once - a familiar thought pattern with a high belief potential - is transferred to the idea of Clay's failure to vote correctly on the Compensation Bill - a thought pattern less familiar and involving a belief of low gradient. The comparison is in the form of a metaphor.\"\nFigurative analogy is used to transition from the accepted to the unaccepted. I am indebted to Franklin H. Knower of the Department of Speech, University of Minnesota, for this phrasing.\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\n\nSuppose Clay had used logical argument to win over his friend. Would he have been successful? Observe that Clay was not addressing a critical mind, and very few minds are critical. Note also that an uncritical acceptance is won for a hostile idea in this case.\n\nThe following passage from a speech of the late Senator Robert La Follette has a suggestive effect: \"Nothing is ever really settled until it is settled right. It may seem settled to us in our imperfect human way, but it will come back to confront us. It is God's way.\"\nThe law of everlasting righteousness demands judgment. As the law of gravity always pulls to make things plumb, so the eternal law of right goes on and on, exercising its tremendous, unending, immutable decree that right shall prevail.\n\nThe illustration not only illuminates the subject but tends to produce conviction. The feeling that gravitation operates at all times to make things plumb tends to be transferred to the idea that, in the long run, righteousness is the only stable foundation on which to build. There is involved here also a suggestion through authority (\"God\u2019s law of everlasting righteousness\"), which is treated later in this chapter.\n\nThe following illustration is a good example of how truth may be brought home by using the technique, \"Put yourself in the other fellow\u2019s place.\" It is an example of the \"imagined empathy\" technique.\nA young country doctor tried to educate his patients to send in as few night calls as possible and pay double for them. He used the following method. One night, a wealthy farmer telephoned him to come out and see a member of his household. As the doctor was leaving, the farmer asked the cost of the visit. When told that the charge was six dollars, the farmer exclaimed, \"Six dollars! That's just double what the old doctor ever charged.\" The doctor calmly replied, \"This is a night visit. It would have been only three dollars if you had called me any time during the day.\"\n\"But six dollars for one visit is outrageous, young man!\" the farmer exclaimed.\n\n\"Very well,\" responded the doctor. \"I will make it three on one condition.\"\n\n\"All right, name it!\" the farmer agreed.\n\n\"That condition is that when I need another load of hay, I may call you up at ten o'clock at night,\" the doctor explained. \"That you will get your man out, hitch up your team and bring in the hay inside of two hours, and that you will do so at the regular price and without a whimper or a complaint.\"\n\n\"Say,\" interrupted the farmer, \"you've got me on the hay argument. Don't need to go any further. You are all right.\"\n\nThe method used here is essentially the same as in the previous illustration. The doctor selects a thought pattern perfectly familiar to the farmer and one having strong conviction associated with it: that it is a nuisance.\nThe conviction is transferred from getting up in the middle of the night to deliver a load of hay to the idea or thought pattern of a doctor having to get up at all hours of the night to make professional calls. The farmer accepts the comparison uncritically. The comparison must be accepted if the suggested idea is to come to fruition in behavior. It can be said that the comparison here is from the accepted to the unaccepted.\n\nThe Use of Illustrations. In the examples given, the force of the suggestion in each instance depended on the use of an illustration (analogy). So far as suggestion in speaking derives from the speech itself, as distinguished from the speaker, this is almost invariably true: the suggestion takes some form of illustration or example, either analogy or figure.\nThe speech, like metaphor and simile, or anecdote, fable, or parable, employs suggestion. The parables in the New Testament are good examples of this. The pictorial element in speaking, largely furnished by illustrations, is the suggestive element. An analysis of our great speeches will make this clear.\n\nThere is a psychological reason for this. A suggested idea depends for its effectiveness largely on what it encounters in the consciousness of the listener. \"Every normal suggestion,\" says Allport, \"builds up its attitude upon some deep-lying reaction tendency already present. Interests, emotions, sentiments, derived drives, and innate prepotent reactions serve as basis.\" (Allport, 146) When Clay met the old hunter and compared his own mistake in voting for the Compensation Bill to a flash in the pan.\nA pan of a flintlock rifle, he knew he was referring to a very familiar and vivid experience in the life of a South Carolinian. When the doctor proposed that he be allowed to call on the farmer for a load of hay at any hour of the night, the farmer had vividly brought home to him what a doctor must go through in answering night calls. A suggestion depends for its effect on the setting of a familiar thought or emotional reaction in a conflicting pattern of reaction tendencies, thus narrowing the field of consciousness and resulting in a motor attitude or action uncritically and at once. For this purpose, thought patterns embodying universal experiences are the most dependable, especially with large audiences. The experience referred to must be a familiar and vivid one with the audience addressed.\nA good example of suggestion is the following illustration from Lincoln\u2019s \u201cSpringfield Speech.\u201d Observe how the illustration is adapted to a pioneer community and how vividly it must have come home to the farmers and woodsmen of early Illinois. The illustration was intended for the less critical part of his audience. The illustration was used to drive home the point of conspiracy among certain national Democratic leaders. (Floyd H. Allport, Social Psychology, 1924, p. 245)\nWe cannot absolutely know that all these exact adaptations are the result of preconcert. But when we see a lot of framed timbers, different portions of which we know have been obtained at different times and places, and by different workmen, for instance, Stephen, Franklin, Roger, and James, and we see these timbers joined together, and see they exactly make the frame of a house or a mill, all the tenons and mortises exactly fitting, and all the lengths and proportions of the different pieces exactly adapted to their respective places, not a piece too many or too few, not omitting even scaffolding \u2013 or, if a single piece is lacking, we see the place in the frame exactly fitted or prepared yet to bring such piece in.\nWe find it impossible not to believe that Stephen, Franklin, Roger, and James all understood one another from the beginning and all worked upon a common plan or draft drawn up before the first blow was struck.\n\nObserve once more that Lincoln, in this illustration, chooses a thought pattern peculiarly familiar to an audience of pioneer farmers, involving a belief of high potential. Namely, that timbers fashioned like the ones Lincoln described must have been prepared by men working together in accordance with a prearranged plan. The feeling of conviction associated with this is here transferred to the idea of conspiracy among the Democratic leaders \u2014 a thought pattern much more involved, much less familiar, and carrying with it only a vague belief of low potential. The comparison is from the familiar to the unfamiliar.\nIt is probable that thousands of Lincoln's followers, who were wholly incapable of following a logical argument on the sinister import of the Kansas-Nebraska Bill and the Dred Scott Decision, could understand and carry in mind the illustration Lincoln gave them, and be properly suspicious of men who could, working independently, fashion political timbers that fit like the ones Lincoln described.\n\nWhen Bruce Barton wants to impress upon his hearers that a product needs to be continually advertised, even when well known, he does not argue the proposition. A simple illustration serves his purpose better.\n\nSpeaking of the advance advertising man for the old-fashioned circus, Mr. Barton says:\n\nIt was his function to precede the circus into various communities, distribute tickets to the editor, put up on the barns pictures of the clowns, jugglers, and other performers.\nOur friend found a crossroads town with only one store. The proprietor was unenthusiastic. \"Why should I advertise?\" he demanded. \"I've been here for twenty years. There isn't a man, woman, or child around these parts who doesn't know where I am and what I sell.\" The advertising man answered promptly. \"What's that building across the street?\" he asked. \"The Methodist Episcopal Church,\" the proprietor replied. \"How long has that been there?\" the advertising man inquired. \"Oh, I see,\" he said.\ndon\u2019 t  know ;  seventy-five  years  probably .  \u201d  \u201c  And  y et ,  \u201d  exclaimed  the \nadvertising  man,  \u201cthey  ring  the  church  bell  every  Sunday  morning.\u201d  1 \nThe  effect  here  is  had  through  suggestion.  The  feeling  or \nconviction  that  it  is  proper  to  ring  a  church  bell  every  Sunday \nmorning,  even  if  the  church  is  old  and  well  known,  is  trans\u00ac \nferred  to  the  idea  that  it  is  proper  to  advertise  a  store  even  if \nold  and  well  known. \nJames  Beck,  who  interpreted  the  La  Follette  progressive \ncampaign  of  1924  as  an  attack  on  the  Constitution  of  the \nUnited  States,  gets  a  vivid  effect  through  suggestion  with  this \nillustration  :2 \n1  Homer  Dorr  Lindgren:  Modern  Speeches  (Revised  Edition,  1930), \nMOTIVATION:  SUGGESTION \nThe  La  Follette  party  assault  reminds  me  of  an  incident  that \nhappened  to  me  many  years  ago  when  I  made  my  first  visit  to \nI was in the lovely valley of Lauterbrunnen, shut in by towering mountains of eternal granite. Noted for a wonderful echo, the four notes of the common chord were sounded on an Alpine horn. As the tones reverberated from cliff to cliff, they intermingled until they sounded like the strains of a majestic organ. Then a little brass cannon was fired. The result was startling. The smoke drifted across my eyes and obscured the snowy summits of the Bernese Alps. The deafening echo seemed as if the mountains had fallen from their bases into the valleys and primeval chaos had come again. Soon the smoke cleared from my eyes, and the reverberations died away on the distant snow fields. Untouched and unimpaired, the white summit of the Jungfrau was outlined against the infinite blue.\nLast autumn, for many months, we experienced a popular upheaval that for a time seemed to obscure our vision and deafen our ears with its terrifying noise. But as the smoke of the battle cleared and the noise of the tumult died away, the Constitution of the United States was outlined against the infinite blue of the future, like a snow-capped mountain on a pedestal of eternal granite.\n\nThere is suggestive persuasion in the following fable from Beecher, illustrating the general idea that we find what we bring:\n\nA cold cinder and a burning lamp started out, one day, to see what they could find. The cinder came back and wrote in its journal that the whole world was dark. It did not find a place where there was light. Everywhere was darkness. The lamp, when it came back, wrote in its journal, \"Wherever I went, it was light.\"\nI did not find any darkness in my journey. The whole world was light. The difference? The lamp carried light with it and illuminated everything around it. The dead cinder carried no light and found none.\n\nThe Use of Figures of Speech. Figures of speech, another form of illustration, are a favorite device of successful speakers for getting effects through suggestion. The following simile from the Autocrat has a weighty suggestion for keeping out of certain kinds of controversies.\n\nIf a fellow attacked my opinions in print, would I reply? Not I. Do you think I don't understand what my friend, the Professor, long ago called the hydrostatic paradox of controversy? Don't know what that means? \u2014 Well, I will tell you. You know, that if you had a bent tube, one arm of which was of the size of a man, and the other arm was of the size of a straw, and you put water in both arms, the water in the larger arm would rise higher than the water in the smaller arm, and yet the weight of the water in the larger arm is greater than the weight of the water in the smaller arm. So in a controversy, the weaker argument, if it be put in a more impressive shape, will often carry the day, and the stronger argument, if it be put in a less impressive shape, will be overlooked or despised.\nThe pipe-stem is small enough, and the other large enough to hold the ocean. Water would stand at the same height in one as in the other. Controversy equalizes fools and wise men in the same way, and the fools know it.\n\nThe conclusion of Bryan\u2019s famous \u201cCross of Gold Speech\u201d employs figures of speech that have an intensely emotional association and are therefore strongly suggestive. They touch off a powerful emotional pattern in referring to the crucifixion.\n\nIf they dare to come out into the open field and defend the gold standard as a good thing, we will fight them to the utmost. Having behind us the producing masses of this nation and the world, supported by the commercial interests, the laboring interests, and the toilers everywhere, we will answer their demand for a gold standard by saying to them, You shall not press down upon the brow of labor this crown.\nOf thorns; you shall not crucify mankind on a cross of gold. Enough instances have been given to show the large part that illustrations play in suggestive persuasive speaking. The principal form that suggestion takes in speaking is a comparison between the belief or action sought to be induced and some belief or action familiar to the audience and accepted by them as sound. If the comparison is accepted, there is transference of feeling from one idea or belief to the other. The comparison is usually implied rather than expressed. This method of persuasion is, with the majority of people, more effective than logical reasoning, and far more widely used by great speakers.\n\nAttention has been called to the extensive use of illustrations by our popular orators, most of which have in them a large element of suggestion.\n\nMotivation: Suggestion.\nThe importance of choosing the right comparisons. One or two observations should be made on these examples. It is clear that the effect of suggestion on hearers depends largely on the thought pattern or belief set suggested to them or recalled for them. The belief set must be one of high potential; that is, one accepted by the audience without question, and one which does not arouse opposing ideas. This is in accordance with Munsterberg's statement that a suggestion depends for its effect on \"the way in which it takes possession of the mind\" and \"reduces the chances of any opposite ideas.\"\n\nFor instance, in the first illustration given, if Henry Clay had suggested to the old hunter that he (Clay) should have at least the privilege of a sheep-killing dog \u2014 a second chance \u2014 the effect might have been different, depending on the hunter's beliefs.\nAttitude on whether a dog caught killing sheep ought to have a second chance. A second thing to note is that the audience must accept uncritically the comparison which the illustration embodies. If, for example, the farmer had felt that being called upon to deliver a load of hay in the middle of the night was not at all like the case of the doctor being called upon to visit a patient at the same hour, the suggestion would have had no effect. It was the uncritical acceptance of the comparison that won him over. Suggestion in this form is not effective if there is serious doubt or deep-seated conviction in regard to the belief to be established or act to be performed. When the Fugitive Slave Law was passed, Beecher said it had scattered the Northern negroes in terror \"like partridges hunted on the mountains.\" This might have won over the audience.\nsympathy from the people of the North; it would not have much effect on Southern slave owners. In the case of unaccepted beliefs or disputed propositions, the critical judgment must first be satisfied, assuming the presence of people in which it operates. Lincoln, in his \"Springfield Speech,\" argued at length in support of his charge of conspiracy among national leaders; then, he flashed conviction on his audience by the use of his timber illustration.\n\nB. Repetition as a Source of Suggestion. It is possible to use restatement or repetition with suggestive effect, but it can hardly be said that it is a device often used in speaking. It is much more important in advertising than in public address.\n\nIf it is to be effective, two conditions must be present: the resistance to be overcome must not be strong or doubt deep-rooted.\nThe time element must have a chance to enter as a factor. In advertising a product, the popular attitude at first is likely to be one of indifference. Repeat the merits of the article with picture words of popular appeal, sing its praises often enough, and we shall eventually believe that it must be all right; and where we see it, we may buy it. It may take a long time for the suggestion to sink in.\n\nIn speaking, we may use this method to advantage if the resistance to be overcome is not too strong. The most striking example that I have known of this was that of a distinguished preacher in a sermon on the sinking of the Titanic. Many people at the time were led to question why such things could be in a world ruled over by a beneficent deity. This minister felt impelled to offer an explanation, and chose as his theme,\nGod was there. In the sermon, lasting perhaps forty minutes, he must have repeated this statement at least twenty times. The suggestive effect was doubtless strong, especially for those who accepted his leadership and were not disposed to be overcritical. The effect on me was to impress the thought indelibly on my memory, suggesting that this device not only impresses ideas on the mind but also makes them stick there. If used with art and discretion, the method is effective. It may be worthy of more cultivation than it has received. The danger of it is that it may be a source of boredom or offense if not used tactfully. It will not remove any great doubt from critical minds, and it may antagonize.\n\nMotivation: Suggestion.\nSlogans depend on their effectiveness on repetition and the character of the appeal. Political slogans have been known to win elections. \"The Full Dinner Pail,\" \"Prosperity,\" have been potent factors in Republican victories. \"He Kept Us Out of War\" elected Wilson president in 1916. \"Eventually, Why Not Now\" has been a slogan to reckon with in the flour industry. All these depend on repetition, as well as on popular appeal, for their effectiveness. All of them have been built up through long periods of time.\n\nRendering an Audience Suggestible. Suggestibility refers to that mental disposition which is favorable to suggestion. It is measured by the readiness of a subject to accept uncritically those propositions for which belief or action is sought by suggestion. Suggestibility to some degree is found in all of us.\nIn all normal persons, but varies greatly with different individuals, and is considerably affected by certain conditions. It is found in its most perfect form in the state of hypnotism, in which suggestions of all sorts are received and acted upon uncritically. It is greater in children than in adults, and greater in men accustomed to obey than in those accustomed to command. Persons that are educated, cultured, and well-informed are less suggestible than those who are uncultured, uneducated, and ignorant. The least degree of suggestibility is that of a wide-awake, self-reliant man of settled convictions, possessing a large store of systematically organized knowledge which he habitually brings to bear in criticism of all statements made\n\nFrom these facts, we should naturally infer that suggestion is more effective with popular audiences than with others.\nThe unmistakable instances of suggestion are found in greater numbers in popular addresses than in congressional or parliamentary oratory. The great masters of suggestion are our great popular orators \u2013 Wendell Phillips, Henry Ward Beecher, Robert Ingersoll, William MacDougall, Abraham Lincoln, George W. Curtis, and William Jennings Bryan. An examination of their addresses reveals an astoundingly large number of suggestive illustrations and other forms of suggestion; while one is likely to find but very few intricate logical processes. The student of suggestion in speaking is referred to the addresses of these men for a variety of examples of suggestive speaking. Let us now consider what steps a speaker may take to render effective suggestions.\nAn audience receptive to his message and win for his views favorable attention. The Psychological Crowd. It is not our purpose here to discuss at length the psychology of the crowd. Much of that is still in the controversial stage. Two authorities who have given the subject most careful thought are not able to agree as to what really happens when a group of people becomes a so-called crowd. We know pretty well, however, some things that do happen, and we may take advantage of that knowledge in managing an audience.\n\nWe know from experience, for example, that it is much easier to talk effectively to an audience if its members are sitting close together than if they are scattered. The reason is that each individual in a compact group observes more closely what his neighbors do and how they react to what is being said. Each individual in a tight-knit group pays more attention to the speaker and the message.\nObserve not only the more overt actions of the group, such as clapping of hands, laughing, hissing, and other signs of approval and disapproval, but even the facial expressions of those about him and their general attitude to the sentiments expressed by the speaker. The result is that each individual tends to be greatly influenced in his responses to the speaker by the responses which he sees others are making around him. If they applaud, he will applaud; if they laugh, he will laugh; and if they hiss, he will probably hiss. The herd instinct in all of us tends to make us do as the group does, so far as we can observe what it does. Thus, the group tends to become homogeneous, more or less of one mind, and uniform in reactions to the speaker addressing it.\nThe individual member of the crowd is fortified by the thought that what he does has the approval of the group, inducing him to express himself freely. The speaker benefits from addressing a group that is essentially one mind, suggestible one. Not all groups convert into a psychological crowd, although many groups may be so converted. Much depends on the group's character and the speaker.\n\nB. Audience Responses\nAn audience may be made more suggestible by having its members act in unison, either in response to the speaker or otherwise. It is here that humor becomes a potent device for the speaker and fulfills one of its greatest functions. There is no more effective device for getting audience responses.\nFavorable to the speaker more than a judicious use of humor. The trouble is that there is such a temptation to use it that many speakers abuse it. They will drag it into the speech for its own sake, without its having any relation to the message to be brought home. Especially is there a tendency at the beginning of a speech to abuse the story or anecdote in this way, and for the very good reason that it is the easiest way to get some kind of audience response. The skillful speaker will seek to avoid the abuse of so excellent a device. Humor in the introduction to a speech is to be commended for most occasions, and the speaker who has the art to introduce it in such a way as to serve his purpose and make it seem to spring naturally from the treatment of his subject has made a good beginning. In this respect, a speech well begun is half done.\nA great evangelist like Billy Sunday has a great singer with him, who not only can sing but who can also lead the crowd in congregational singing. This means definite audience responses that pave the way for more such responses when the speaker begins his address. We should not overlook the fact that singing is a highly emotional performance, and stirs not only those who participate, but also those who listen. A great singer, therefore, renders an audience suggestible not only through overt audience responses, but also through stirring the emotions. This leads us to consider still another way to make an audience suggestible.\n\nC. Suggestibility and Emotional Appeal. It is well known that one of the best ways to make an audience suggestible \u2014\nA favorable environment for receiving suggestions is to stir in the audience emotions favorable to the speaker and his purpose. Man is much like metal. A cold piece of steel is not very susceptible to molding influences; but heat it white hot and it becomes soft and pliable, and may be bent or molded into almost any shape. So with human beings. As long as an audience remains cold or indifferent toward the speaker\u2019s message, and untouched by emotion, the audience is not likely to be very tractable or susceptible to any influences that the speaker may bring to bear upon them. But once arouse their feelings or emotions favorably, and, like metal when heated, they become soft and pliable, easily moved and molded \u2013 that is, they become suggestible. The speaker, therefore, who wishes to use suggestion with his audience will aim to touch their feelings, use emotional appeal.\nWe shall see in Chapter XIV, \"The Impressive Speech,\" that the only way to stir emotions is through the concrete - through examples and illustrations or images. Emotions are stirred by presenting, through the imagination, images to the senses. Imagery, therefore, as exemplified in figures of speech and other forms of illustration, is one of the principal devices for getting results through suggestion in speaking.\n\nWalter Lippmann has given a new meaning to the word stereotype, which denotes a more or less vague thought pattern usually highly colored with emotion. A stereotype is a sort of label that we can conveniently attach to persons or ideas on very flimsy pretexts of identification. To a conservative, for instance, a person addressing a group on a street corner, criticizing some public policy, is a Bolshevist.\nThe implications of that term are significant. To a group of laborers, a captain of industry is a pot-bellied individual with a rhinoceros hide, whose great aim in life is to extract as much labor as possible and pay as little as he can. Assimilating people and ideas to stereotypes of this sort is truly a process of name-calling, finding justifications in superstitions. It is a convenient substitute for critical thinking and getting at the facts, for it is much easier to label a man or call him a name than to engage him in argument. This process is one of suggestion.\n\nHere, as in a direct want appeal, a speaker may abuse his power and mislead people through false comparisons and suggestions, using words or phrases weighted with emotion, such as patriotism, liberty, the stars and stripes, equality, brotherhood.\nThe hood of a man, national honor, bolshevism, communism, capitalism, and un-American. Words like these are charged with feeling and shape the mob mentality. To label persons, beliefs, and acts within these categories or stereotypes when they do not belong there is the work of the charlatan. One may deceive an audience with an epithet or a suggestion; but one may also deceive them with a logical argument, making the worse appear the better reason.\n\nThe best way to be proof against sophistry of any kind is to understand clearly the nature of the persuasive processes used, whether logical argument, direct appeal to emotion, or suggestion. All three may be used in the same paragraph or in the same advertisement. In the ordinary persuasive speech, they mix and mingle so that it is not always easy to tell them apart.\nLogical argument and want appeal almost invariably go together in practical speaking. The amount of suggestion used depends on the speaker, and it is a safe statement that the more successful the speaker, the more suggestion he will use. Or perhaps more accurately, the more he uses suggestion, especially with mixed audiences, the more successful he will be. All have their place, and the greatest art is to give each its appropriate place.\n\nD. The Speaker as a Source of Suggestibility. There are certain other conditions that tend to make an audience suggestible. The most important of these is the relation of the speaker to his audience. If an audience is to accept more or less uncritically what a speaker says, its members must have confidence in him. They must feel that he is sincere and genuine.\nA successful speaker aims to win an audience's good will and favorable attention, often through common ground, humor, or praise. Qualities like modesty, fairness, and sincerity inspire confidence. Good speeches provide numerous examples of this approach. An unusual one is Lincoln's introduction to his \"Columbus Speech,\" delivered in October 1859 following the Lincoln-Douglas debates the previous fall.\n\nFellow citizens of the State of Ohio: I cannot fail to remember\nI appear before an audience for the first time in this great State, an audience accustomed to hear such speakers as Corwin, and Chase, and Wade, and many other renowned men. Remembering this, I feel it will be well for you, as for me, that you should not raise your expectations to that standard to which you would be justified in raising them had one of these distinguished men appeared before you. You would perhaps be only preparing a disappointment for yourselves, and, as a consequence of your disappointment, mortification to me. I hope therefore that you will commence with very moderate expectations; and perhaps, if you will give me your attention, I shall be able to interest you to a moderate degree.\nSincere men speak in this manner. If a speaker can go a step further and make his hearers feel that he speaks out of abundant knowledge on the subject and as an authority, he will gain prestige and tend to have his statements accepted as valid. In the New Testament, we are told that Jesus of Nazareth spoke \u201cas one having authority,\u201d and the people heard him gladly and believed. Elsewhere, we have quoted Emerson to the effect that in any knot of men, the one who has the facts \u2014 that is, real knowledge of his subject \u2014 will have the ears of his hearers and confidence as well. During several political campaigns, the utterances of William Jennings Bryan were gospel to millions of voters, who accepted his statements uncritically at their face value.\n\nConfidence, authority, and prestige in a speaker greatly enhance his impact.\nIn conclusion, suggestion in persuasive speaking is an old process given a new name by modern psychology. It involves influencing behavior by presenting an idea in a way that wins acceptance without critical deliberation. In its most important form, it consists of comparing an inadequate or non-functioning idea or belief with one that functions adequately or more fully in listeners' minds, accompanied by a transfer of feeling or emotion from one thought pattern to the other. The key is to choose the right thought pattern for comparison, one that carries a familiar belief.\nTo the audience and accepted by them without question. This is based on the theory that man is a suggestible rather than a reasoning being. Most of our beliefs and acts are the results of social contact with our fellows, rather than any reasoning processes. Suggestibility varies with different persons, but all of us are more or less suggestible \u2013 primarily more. The speaker uses largely illustrations and examples to get results through suggestion. It is largely the pictorial element in speaking that produces suggestion. A study of our great speeches, especially those addressed to popular audiences, will reveal how extensively this process is used. It is a plain statement of fact to say that, for ordinary speaking, suggestion is far more serviceable and effective than logical argument. Logical argument and want. (Note: The last sentence appears incomplete and may not be part of the original text.)\nAppeal have their places \u2014 very important ones; whoever excels in presenting ideas \u2014 truth as he sees it \u2014 to popular audiences should cultivate the use of suggestion in speaking.\n\nEXERCISES:\n1. Study critically one of the speeches assigned for the use of suggestion. Bring to class at least three good examples of suggestion from the speech you read. Explain effects in terms of attitude, belief, or action. Observe the connection between the pictorial element and suggestion.\n2. Prepare to deliver a short speech in class, using suggestion as much as possible. Do not overlook the value of illustrations here.\n3. Give orally a criticism of a speech you have lately heard which emphasized suggestion rather than logical argument and wanted appeal. Was the speech effective? What was the nature of the audience? Was the element of suggestion overdone?\n\nReadings:\nSpeeches\n\"Which Knew Not Joseph\u201d by Bruce Barton (Lindgren).\n\"The Reign of the Common People\u201d by Henry Ward Beecher (Vol. XIII).\n\"The Scholar in a Republic\u201d by Wendell Phillips (Vol. II).\n\"Social Responsibilities\u201d by John B. Gough (Vol. XIII).\n\"The Choice of Books\u201d by Frederic Harrison (Vol. VII).\n\"The Battle of Life\u201d by Mary Livermore (Mod. El.: I, Vol. V).\n\nMotivation: Suggestion\n\nReferences\nWalter Dill Scott: Psychology of Public Speaking (1926)\nJames Milton O\u2019Neill and Andrew Thomas Weaver: The Elements of Influencing Human Behavior (1925), Chaps. III-IV.\nHarry Allen Overstreet: Influencing Human Behavior (1925), Chap. VIII.\nBoris Sidis: Psychology of Suggestion (1898).\nHugo Munsterberg: Psychotherapy (1909).\nMaurice Walter Keatinge: Suggestion in Education (Second Edition, 1925), Chapter XI.\nThe principle of effective expression in speaking, according to Herbert Spencer in \"The Philosophy of Style,\" is to present ideas with the least mental effort for the reader or hearer. The rules for clear and concise communication, such as avoiding wordiness, confusion, and intricacy, all stem from this principle.\nThe more simple and well-arranged a language's parts, the greater the effect produced, as we consciously or unconsciously assume this desideratum. Regarding language as an apparatus of symbols for conveying thought, the more mental power a reader or listener has available at each moment is limited. To recognize and interpret the symbols presented requires some of this power; to arrange and combine the images suggested by them requires further power; and only the remaining power can be used for framing the thought expressed. Hence, the more time and attention it takes to receive and understand each sentence, the less time and attention can be given to the contained ideas.\nIdea; the less vividly it will be conceived.\n\nThe Speaking Style\nIt is of first importance that those who aspire to attain skill in speaking should become thoroughly familiar with the style and method of those who are acknowledged masters in that art and observe how they exemplify this fundamental principle of effective expression. You will find that simplicity is the keynote to their style: simplicity of diction, simplicity of sentence structure, and simplicity in the general manner of presenting things. You will do well to become thoroughly saturated with the best models that the literature of public address affords. This will require much reading, but time so spent will be well repaid. The literature of public address contains many of the most brilliant gems in our language, which should prove invaluable to those seeking eloquence.\nThe word \"style\" has a broad signification in its ordinary use. When considering specific speech materials, such as concrete examples, figures of speech, and anecdotes, we deal with the elements of style. By style, we mean not only the impression of a personality on the stuff that speeches are made of, but also the character of the materials out of which a speech is made. We speak of a simple style, an involved style, a dignified style, a picturesque style, a concrete style, an abstract style, and an informal style, among others. We use these adjectives to describe the dominant aspects of style. A style may be at once simple, informal, concrete, picturesque, and vivid. Good dictionary definitions of style emphasize its qualities as a means of expression or manifestation of personality. It is the way in which the thoughts of an author or speaker are clothed in words. It is the manner in which the ideas are presented, the tone in which they are expressed, and the effect produced upon the reader or listener. In its broadest sense, style includes everything that makes the expression unique, from the choice of words and sentence structure to the organization of ideas and the use of rhetorical devices. It is the distinctive mark or characteristic manner in which an author or speaker communicates. It is the vehicle through which meaning is conveyed, and it can greatly influence the impact of the message on the audience.\nThe art of effective speaking: diction and other elements of speaking style. Instant understanding is the first law of speaking style. A speaker must be understood when uttering words, or not speak at all. When reading an essay or poem, we can stop and ponder and inquire about the meaning of unclear things. We can even look up words in the dictionary. But not so in listening to a speech. We cannot stop to ponder and inquire about meaning.\nA good speaker understands the need to deliver words as soon as they leave their lips, due to the human mind's limitation in following a speech. This is particularly true for popular audiences, although it applies to some degree for all audiences. An experienced lecturer, Oliver Wendell Holmes, shares his thoughts on this matter:\n\nThe average intellect of five hundred people, as they come, is not very high. It may be sound and safe, but it is not very rapid or profound. A lecture should be something that all can understand. A thoroughly popular lecture should have nothing in it which five hundred people cannot all grasp at once as it is uttered. A study of successful speakers reveals a wonderful simplicity.\nThe charm of simplicity is particularly evident in orators of the last fifty to seventy-five years, during which popular oratory spread through the lyceum and Chautauqua more than ever. Men such as Beecher, Ingersoll, Lincoln, Grady, Talmage, Wendell Phillips, John B. Gough, Russell H. Conwell, and William Jennings Bryan possess this quality. Their sentences are short, crisp, and simple in structure, and an analysis reveals that for every hundred words they use, about ninety to ninety-five are words of one and two syllables. The simplicity of form and outline was a significant element of Mr. Bryan's appeal and popularity in speaking. These men understood their audiences, and their genius compelled them to present truth in such a manner.\nThe speaking style of the ancients ensured that their teachings were accessible to the humblest of their audience. They achieved this not with a condescending air, but with a deep appreciation for the demands of their craft. Cicero emphasized this aspect of speaking style, as expressed in the following:\n\nWhile in other things, what is most excellent is often the most remote from the knowledge and understanding of the illiterate, it is in speaking that even the greatest fault lies in varying from the ordinary language and the practice sanctioned by universal reason.\n\nThe diction of American orators, in terms of simplicity, is indicated by the following table. The percentages have been determined by counting one hundred words in twenty-five different places for each speaker. This may not provide an absolutely accurate representation.\n\n\"\"\"\n\nThe speaking style of the ancients ensured that their teachings were accessible to all, not with a condescending air but with a deep appreciation for their craft. Cicero emphasized the importance of adhering to the ordinary language and practices sanctioned by universal reason in speaking, as expressed in the following:\n\n\"While what is most excellent is often the most remote from the knowledge and understanding of the illiterate, it is in speaking that even the greatest fault lies in varying from the ordinary language and the practices sanctioned by universal reason.\"\n\nThe simplicity of American orators is indicated by the following table, which was determined by counting one hundred words in twenty-five different places for each speaker. However, this may not provide an absolutely accurate representation.\n\n\"\"\"\n\nThe ancients believed that their teachings should be accessible to everyone, not with a condescending attitude, but with a deep appreciation for their craft. Cicero emphasized the importance of using language and practices that were familiar to the masses in his speeches, as expressed in the following:\n\n\"What is most excellent is often the most remote from the knowledge and understanding of the illiterate. However, in speaking, even the greatest fault is to deviate from the ordinary language and the practices accepted by universal reason.\"\n\nThe simplicity of American orators is indicated by the following table, which was determined by analyzing one hundred words from each of twenty-five speeches. However, this may not provide a completely accurate representation.\n\n\"\"\"\n\nThe ancients believed that their teachings should be accessible to everyone, not with a condescending attitude, but with a deep appreciation for their craft. Cicero emphasized the importance of using language and practices that were familiar to the masses in his speeches, as expressed in the following:\n\n\"What is most excellent is often the most remote from the knowledge and understanding of the uneducated. However, in speaking, even the greatest fault is to deviate from the ordinary language and the practices accepted by universal reason.\"\n\nThe simplicity of American orators is indicated by the following table, which was determined by analyzing one hundred words from each of twenty-five speeches. However, this may not provide a completely accurate representation.\n\n\"\"\"\n\nThe ancients believed that their teachings should be accessible to everyone, not with a condescending attitude, but with a deep appreciation for their craft. Cicero emphasized the importance of using language and practices that were familiar to the masses in his speeches, as expressed in the following:\n\n\"What is most excellent is often the most remote from the knowledge and understanding of the uneducated. However, in speaking, even the greatest fault is to deviate from the ordinary language and the practices accepted by universal reason.\"\n\nThe following table indicates the simplicity of American orators, as determined by analyzing one hundred words from each of twenty-five speeches. However, it should be noted that this may not provide a completely accurate representation.\n\n\"\"\"\n\nThe ancients believed that their teachings should be accessible to everyone, not with a condescending attitude, but with a deep appreciation for their craft. Cicero emphasized the importance of using language and practices that were familiar to the masses in his speeches, as expressed in the following:\n\n\"What is most excellent is often the most remote from the knowledge and understanding of the uneducated. However, in speaking, even the greatest fault is to deviate from the ordinary language and the practices accepted by universal reason.\"\n\nThe following table indicates the simplicity of American orators, as determined by analyzing one hundred words from each of twenty-five speeches. However, it should be noted that this may not provide an absolutely accurate representation.\n\n\"\"\"\n\nThe ancients believed that their teachings should be accessible to everyone, not with a condescending attitude, but with a deep appreciation for their craft. Cicero emphasized the importance of using language and practices that were\nTable Showing Dictionary of American Orators\n\nWords | Words of More Than One or Two Syllables\n---|---\nRussell H. Conwell | Robert Ingersoll\nWendell Phillips | Henry Ward Beecher\nJohn B. Gough | Henry W. Grady\nAbraham Lincoln | William Jennings Bryan\n\nThe Advantages of Simple Words. A word is not necessarily a good word because it contains only one or two syllables, nor is it necessarily a bad word because it contains more than two. Caoutchouc, guano, legumes, are words of two syllables, and still no speaker would get very far foisting such words upon a mixed audience unless he explained what they mean. The real test, of course, is that the word shall be easily understood. [Only considering \"Acres of Diamonds\" lecture.]\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking.\nA short word has at least two distinct advantages over a long one. For one thing, it is easier to understand. Its meaning can usually be grasped in a moment. The language of ordinary conversation is made up largely of words of one and two syllables. Such words carry definite and immediate meanings, and with the least expenditure of effort. There is some mental energy required to recognize the sounds of any word, and especially of a long one. This effort soon becomes fatiguing if words are spoken indistinctly and the voice is low and hard to hear. Whatever mental energy is expended in understanding the symbols is lost in getting and appreciating the full meaning. Other things equal, short words are preferable.\nShort words are more easily grasped and more forceful than long ones. Short words have richer associations and are more meaningful. The words of childhood, of fireside, family, and friends are largely Anglo-Saxon words of one and two syllables. These words are bound up with our earliest experiences and associations and are full of color and warmth. The classical element in our language, made up largely of polysyllabic words, is borrowed, adventitious, and foreign. It is cold and colorless. The difference between the two is the difference between home and habitation, friend and associate, play and amusement. The short Anglo-Saxon words, wrapped up as they are with our youthful experiences and memories, touch off thought and emotional patterns much more easily than the others. They are therefore more meaningful and evocative.\nI have known many admirable preachers who lost almost all real sympathetic hold on their congregations because they were too literary, periphrastic, and scholastic in their diction. They preferred to use large language rather than good Saxon English. But let me tell you, there is a subtle charm in the use of plain language that pleases people, they scarcely know why. It gives bell-notes which ring out suggestions to the popular heart. There are words that men have heard when boys at home, around the hearth and the table, words that are full of father and mother, and full of common and domestic life. Those are the words that resonate with the people.\nAfterward, simple language in your discourse will have a strong influence on your auditors, giving an element of success. Words that will have an effect your hearers cannot understand. In this passage of 167 words, 151 are of one and two syllables. College students frequently use involved, pedantic diction. They sound as if they had swallowed the Standard Dictionary. Emitting big words and mouth-filling phrases is their idea of erudition. This is pure pedantry, and bad psychology in the bargain. They carry into their speaking a ponderous, dray horse style, developed in writing themes.\nDr. Vincent asked Dr. Hall, pastor of the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church, about his methods in dealing with young and immature minds. Dr. Hall replied, \"In establishing relations of sympathetic reception in relatively crude and immature minds, I employ essentially simple language and rely upon concrete illustrations and imagery to connect with those I am addressing.\"\n\nWhen Dr. Vincent turned to Sam Jones, the Southern Evangelist, and asked about his methods, Jones replied abruptly and sarcastically, \"I put the fodder in a more palatable form.\"\nA speaker should not only be understood, but easily understood. It's a great mental strain to listen to a speech for an hour or more, so the effort to hear and understand should be made as easy as possible. Words that embody imagery, especially visual imagery, are preferred for speech-making purposes. Almost all persons are visual-minded and take in more experiences through the eye than any other sense.\nA man is described as a \"live wire\" or \"human dynamo\" more forcefully than being called active or alert. Anglo-Saxon words are more vividly described as \"full of father and mother\" than having emotional association. Most good picture words are figurative. The following excerpt from Beecher\u2019s \"Eulogy on Wendell Phillips\" is an example of a simple speaking style with picture words prominent:\n\nThe power to discern right amid all the wrappings of interest and all the seductions of ambition was singularly his. To choose the lowly for their sake; to abandon all favor, all power, all comfort, all ambition, all greatness \u2014 that was his genius and glory. He confronted the spirit of the Nation and of the age. I had almost said, he set himself against nature, as if he had been a decree of God overriding.\nMr. Phillips was not called to be a universal orator or thinker in literature or history. He was widely read, most elegant in person, and accomplished in manners, gentle as a baby, sweet as a new-blown rose, with a clear and silvery voice. He was not a man of tempests or an orchestra of a hundred instruments, nor an organ mighty and complex. The Nation slept, and God wanted a trumpet, sharp, far-sounding, narrow and intense; and that was Mr. Phillips. His eloquence was penetrating and alarming. It did not flow as a mighty stream.\nThe Gulf Stream was not a violent crashing against the land like the ocean, nor was it a mighty rushing river. Its power lay in its words; sentence after polished sentence, most of them burning. It fired them one after another, and wherever they hit, they killed; always elegant, always terrifying.\n\nThere is magic in words. In seeking to be rich in speech, you will find that in the vast ocean of English literature, there are pearls of great value, our potent English words\u2014words that are more powerful than the old Scottish magician; words that are bright and moving pictures with all the coloring and circumstance of life; words that echo down the centuries like battle cries; words that sob like litanies, sing like larks, sigh like zephyrs, shout like seas. Search among our inexhaustible stores, and you shall find.\nYou will find words that flash like the stars of the frosty sky or are melting and tender like Love's tear-filled eyes; words that are fresh and crisp like the mountain-breeze in autumn or are mellow and rich as an old painting; words that are sharp, unbending, and precise like Alpine needle-points or are heavy and rugged like great nuggets of gold; words that are glittering and gay like imperial gems or are chaste and refined like the face of a Muse. Search, and you shall find words that crush like the battle-axe of Richard or cut like the scimitar of Solyman; words that sting like a serpent's fang or soothe like a mother's kiss; words that can unveil the nether depths of hell or point out the heavenly heights of purity and peace; words that can recall a Judas, words that reveal the Christ.\n\nSentence structure: Just as simple and easily understood.\nThe Art of Effective Speaking: Short and simply constructed sentences are favored. We do not like long, involved sentences due to the mental effort required to comprehend their meaning. Robert Ingersoll, one of the most popular speakers, provides excellent models for studying the use of short and simple sentences. Here are examples from his eulogy of Lincoln:\n\nLincoln was by nature a diplomat. He knew the art of sailing against the wind. He had as much shrewdness as is consistent with honesty. He understood the rights of individuals and of nations. In all his correspondence with other governments, he neither wrote nor sanctioned a line that later tied his hands.\n\nLincoln was a diplomat by nature. He knew how to sail against the wind. He possessed as much shrewdness as was consistent with honesty. He recognized the rights of individuals and nations. In all his correspondence with foreign governments, he neither wrote nor endorsed a line that later bound his hands.\nIn the use of perfect English, Lincoln easily rose above all his advisers and fellows. Lincoln always tried to do things in the easiest way. He did not waste his strength. He was not particular about moving along straight lines. He did not tunnel mountains. He was willing to go around and reach the end desired, as a river reaches the sea.\n\nShort sentences predominate in the following paragraph from the speech of Owen D. Young at Harvard, June 4, 1927.\n\nHere in America, we have raised the standard of political equality. Shall we be able to add to that, full equality in economic opportunity? No man is wholly free until he is both politically and economically free. No man with an uneconomic and failing business is free. He is unable to meet his obligations to his family, to society, and to himself.\nNo man with an inadequate wage is free. He is unable to meet his obligations to his family, to society, and to himself. No man is free who can provide only for physical needs. He must also be in a position to take advantage of cultural opportunities. Business, as the process of coordinating men\u2019s capital and effort in all fields of activity, will not have accomplished its full service until it shall have provided the opportunity for all men to be economically free. I have referred elsewhere to the cultural wage. I repeat it here as an appropriate term with which to measure the right earnings of every member of a sound society, competent and willing to work.\n\nThe principle of contrast runs through all art and life. The effect is primarily to produce vividness. Just as\nCertain colors in juxtaposition set each other off, so opposite ideas set against each other become more vivid. The words on this page are printed in black on white to produce the clearest and most vivid images. Success is never so thrilling as when it follows close upon the heels of failure. The golden glow of sunset is never so bright as when it falls at the end of a cloudy day. \"A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things,\" sang Tennyson.\n\nIn persuasive speaking, when we aim to rouse an audience to more or less definite action, it is imperative to present ideas vividly and forcefully. The principle of contrast, therefore, becomes an exceedingly useful device for the public speaker.\n\nWendell Phillips, in his lecture \"The Scholar in a Republic,\" seeks to make the accomplishments of popular government stand out.\nAnacharsis visited the Archon's court in Athens, listened to great men argue a case, and observed the vote by five hundred men. In the streets, someone asked him about Athenian liberty. He replied, \"Wise men argue cases, and fools decide them.\" This sentiment, expressed by a scholar two thousand years ago in Athens, is echoed today regarding popular agitation. However, in ancient Athens, fools decided the gravest questions of policy and right and wrong. Property, which had been gathered wearily that day, could be at stake.\nAthens, in its era, likely achieved the greatest amount of human happiness and nobleness, inventing art and delving into the depths of philosophy. God granted it the largest intellects, and it shines today as the torch illuminating the mountain peaks of the Old World. While Egypt, the most conservative of antiquity, where no one dared to differ from the priest or be wiser than their grandfather; where men feigned life while swaddled in the grave-clothes of creed and custom as close as their mummies were in linen, remains hidden in the tomb it inhabited. Intellect, which Athens has trained for us, unearths those ashes today to reveal how buried and forgotten hunkerism lived and acted.\n\nClaude Bowers, in his keynote speech at the National Demonstration,...\nThe Republican Convention in Houston, Texas, 1928, employs the principle of contrast effectively. They openly base their policies on the political principles of Hamilton, while we advocate for those of Jefferson. The issues are as fundamental as they were when Jefferson and Hamilton clashed over a century ago. To comprehend the opposing views of these two men on the functions of government is to appreciate the significance of this campaign. Hamilton believed in the rule of an aristocracy of money, and Jefferson in a democracy of men. Hamilton believed that governments are strong in proportion to how profitable they are for the powerful, and Jefferson knew that they are created for the service of the people. Hamilton wrote to Morris that governments are strong in proportion to how profitable they are for the powerful, and Jefferson understood this.\nNo government is fit to live that does not conserve the interest of the average man. Hamilton proposed a scheme for binding the wealthy to the government by making it a source of revenue to the wealthy, and Jefferson unfurled his banner of equal rights. Hamilton wanted to wipe out the boundary lines of States, and Jefferson was the champion of their sovereign powers. Hamilton would have concentrated authority remote from the people, and Jefferson would have diffused it among them. Hamilton would have injected governmental activities into all the affairs of men, and Jefferson laid it down as an axiom of freedom that \"that government is best which governs least.\" (O'Neill and Riley: Contemporary Speeches, p. 507.)\n\nOriginality: Power of Statement. Emerson lists \"power of statement\" as one of the requisites of a great speaker.\nHe means originality in the way of expressing issues or ideas, the power to pose a question or concept in such a way that it cannot be ignored. When Lincoln, in his \"Springfield Speech,\" uttered the historic statement: \"This country cannot endure permanently half slave and half free,\" he put the question in a new light. Few persons had thought of it in that way before. They had supposed that the country could endure half slave and half free. Lincoln went a long way in the 'Springfield Speech' to prove that the country was gradually being prepared for extending slavery and making it national. H.G. Wells has said, \"Civilization is a race between education and catastrophe.\" That is putting the value of education in a compelling way. When William Lloyd Garrison, in 1831, stated editorially in The Liberator, \"I will be as harsh as truth,\" he expressed his intent with unyielding clarity.\nAt the threshold of our lives, society offers us an agreement: I will feed you, nourish you, support you; you shall have clothing, warmth and shelter; your property will be protected; your life shall be secure; you shall enjoy certain privileges, and all I ask in return is that you surrender to me your brain, your thoughts, your soul. \"Think my thoughts and you shall eat.\"\nIf nature is the mother of man, society is his stepmother, and she has an elaborate system of education by which she seeks to reverse and neutralize that mother's instruction. You are dull; dullness is dangerous to society; therefore, you shall be patched and mended, sheltered and varnished, until you have reached the proper degree of mediocrity. You are a genius; genius is equally dangerous to society; therefore, you shall be trimmed and pruned, mutilated and dwarfed, until you, too, are properly mediocre. Hence, it happens that the nineteenth century is fertile beyond all other ages in great nations, great institutions, and great societies, and barren beyond most other ages in great men.\nGreatness in states is directly opposed to that which produces greatness in individuals. Society is therefore logical in her conduct. She realizes that it is by stunting individuals that the state can perfectly develop, by mutilating separate twigs that the whole tree can be made symmetrical. She understands that as a great man is the highest blessing to a nation in adversity, so he is the greatest danger in prosperity, and she guides her conduct by this principle.\n\nThe best way to appreciate the power of effective speaking is to observe how great speakers exemplify it. Many of them have had the universal quality of mind that formulates maxims, strikes off epigrams, and condenses large quantities of thought into an aphorism. Lincoln.\nWendell Phillips, Ingersoll, and Emerson had it. Webster did not possess it to a marked degree. Few quotable statements from Webster are of the epigrammatic kind. This may seem strange, considering the sweep of intellect usually ascribed to that distinguished orator and statesman. Webster was a good logician, a good constitutional lawyer, and a powerful parliamentary orator. But he was not a popular speaker. His intellect was cast in a large mold, and he needed large issues to enlist his powers. On minor occasions, he had difficulty finding anything to say. Webster had little of the art of popular address that characterizes our great popular orators. Lincoln had a singular felicity in getting to the heart of great issues and stating them so simply that all could understand.\nThe speaking style strips them of all verbiage and presents ideas in their naked strength. Douglas' doctrine of popular sovereignty he characterized as \"the right of a people to exclude something from where it has a legal right to be.\" In the final debate at Alton, he characterized it as \"the most monstrous doctrine that ever emanated from the mouth of any respectable man on earth.\" In the \"First Inaugural,\" he put the issue of secession up to the Southern people, \"Can enemies make treaties easier than friends can make laws?\" \"Let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith let us in the end dare to do our duty as we understand it\" was his simple peroration to the \"Cooper Union Speech.\" Of the twenty-six words used in this sentence, twenty-four are words of one syllable.\nIn power of statement, Wendell Phillips is probably without peer among American orators. Many of his utterances are weighted with thought, are in fact condensed social philosophy. His speeches abound in epigrams and aphorisms. Here are a few:\n\nThe cause of truth is advanced in the long run by allowing all to air their prejudices and advocate all their errors.\nPower is ever stealing from the many to the few.\nRepublics exist only on the tenure of being constantly agitated.\nWhether in chains or in laurels, liberty knows nothing but victory.\n(Inscribed on Phillips\u2019 monument, Boston Common)\n\nMost men prudently lie down into nameless graves, while now and then one forgets himself into immortality.\nA community that will not protect its humblest citizen in the free utterance of his opinions, no matter how false or hateful, is only a gang of slaves.\nInvective depends on the power of statement for effectiveness. Occasions of great provocation justify its use. The following from Wendell Phillips is one of the most devastating examples on record. A group of men had disrupted a meeting of abolitionists. Who were they? (asks Phillips). Weak sons of moderate fathers, dandled into effeminacy, utterly unfit for business. But overflowing trade sometimes laps up such, as it does all obtainable instruments. Instead of fire-engines, we take pails and dippers in times of sore need. But such are the first frosts that nip idleness. Narrow men, ambitious of office, fancying that the inheritance of a million entitles them to political advancement. Bloated distillers, some rich.\nSome lack wit to keep the money they stole. Old families run to seed in respectable dullness, born only to eat. Trading families, in the third generation, playing at stock-jobbing to lose in State Street what their fathers made by smuggling in India. Sweep in a hundred young rogues, the grief of mothers and the disgrace of their names, good for nothing to fill up a place in what is called \u201csociety,\u201d and entitled as such to shrink from notice. But the motes we do not usually see get looked at when they trouble our eyes. Snobbish sons of fathers lately rich, anxious to show themselves rotten before they are ripe. (Hitherto there had been no demonstrations from the hearers, except occasional suppressed laughter at the speaker's sarcasms. The laughter here was received with hisses by a)\nThese taking courage from bolder rogues, some from jail and others whom technical skill saved, led by a third-rate lawyer broken down to a cotton-clerk \u2013 hisses \u2013 borrowing consequence from married wealth, not one who ever added a dollar, much less an idea, to the wealth of the city, not one able to give a reason or an excuse for the prejudice that is in him, these are the men, this is the house of nobles, whose leave we are to ask before we speak and hold meetings. These are the men who tell us, the children of the Pilgrims, the representatives of Endicott and Winthrop, of Sewall and Quincy, of Hancock and Adams and Otis, what opinions we shall express and what meetings we shall hold.\n\nRhythm, Alliteration. It is not to our purpose to consider.\nAll elements of oratorical composition that give distinction to style are minutely important. Some are subtle and harder to describe than to feel. The styles of Beecher and Ingersoll have much in common, yet they are very different. The styles of Phillips and Starr King also share similarities, yet they are distinct. A thorough study of all of them will impress upon you the charming merits and distinctive qualities of each of these eloquent masters of speech.\n\nH. A. Overstreet, in his Influencing Human Behavior, rightly calls attention to the very significant role rhythm plays in writing. It is likely even more important in speaking, as voice cadences lend their effects to the rhythmic flow.\nThe following passage from Sheil presents a jerky and involved rhythm, making it difficult to render and understand, especially the latter part.\n\nAliens! Good God! Did Arthur, Duke of Wellington, in the House of Lords, not start up and exclaim, \u201cHold! I have seen the aliens do their duty?\u201d He ought to have remembered that,\nFrom the earliest achievement, where he first displayed that military genius which has placed him foremost in the annals of warfare, down to the last and surpassing combat, which has made his name imperishable - from Assaye to Waterloo - the Irish soldiers, with whom your armies were inseparable auxiliaries, contributed to the glory with which his unparalleled successes were crowned. Whose were the arms that drove your bayonets at Vimiera, Badajos, Salamanca, Albuera, Toulouse, and, last of all, the greatest - tell me, for you were there (I appeal to the gallant soldier before me) - tell me, if on that day, when the destinies of mankind were trembling in the balance, while death fell in showers, when the artillery of France was leveled with the precision of the most deadly science, when her legions, incited by the voice and inspired by the example of their commanders, fought with unyielding determination.\n178. The Art of Effective Speaking\nA mighty leader rushed again and again to the onset - tell me, in an instant, when to hesitate was to be lost, were \"aliens\" startled?\nRhythm is a law of life, and figures in all great art. Much of the pleasure we derive from poetry we owe to its rhythm. It is probable that rhythm plays a larger part in poetry and oratory than in any other of the arts.\nTake the following from Ingersoll, much quoted and claimed. It possesses rhythm, alliteration, and beauty, which certainly make a large contribution to the eloquence of the passage.\nA little while ago, I stood by the grave of the old Napoleon - a magnificent tomb of gilt and gold, fit almost for a deity dead - and gazed upon the sarcophagus of rare and nameless marble, where at last the ashes of that restless man repose. I leaned over the balustrade.\nI thought about the career of the greatest soldier of the modern world. I saw him walking upon the banks of the Seine, contemplating suicide. I saw him at Toulon \u2014 I saw him putting down the mob in the streets of Paris \u2014 I saw him at the head of the army of Italy \u2014 I saw him crossing the bridge of Lodi with the tricolor in his hand \u2014 I saw him in Egypt in the shadows of the pyramids \u2014 I saw him conquer the Alps and mingle the eagles of France with the eagles of the crags. I saw him at Marengo, at Ulm and Austerlitz. I saw him in Russia, where the infantry of the snow and the cavalry of the wild blast scattered his legions like winter\u2019s withered leaves. I saw him at Leipsic in defeat and disaster \u2014 driven by a million bayonets back upon Paris \u2014 clutched like a wild beast \u2014 banished to Elba.\nI saw him escape and retake an empire by the force of his genius. I saw him on the frightful field of Waterloo, where Chance and Fate combined to wreck the fortunes of their former king. I saw him at St. Helena, with his hands crossed behind him, gazing out upon the sad and solemn sea.\n\nI thought of the orphans and widows he had made \u2013 of the tears shed for his glory, and of the only woman who ever loved him, pushed from his heart by the cold hand of ambition. I said, I would rather have been a French peasant and worn wooden shoes. I would rather have lived in a hut with a vine growing over the door, and the grapes growing purple in the amorous kisses of the Autumn sun. I would rather have been that poor peasant, with my loving wife by my side, knitting as the day died out of the sky.\nmy children on my knees and their arms about me \u2014 I would rather have been that man, and gone down to the tongueless silence of the dreamless dust, than to have been that imperial impersonation of force and murder, known as Napoleon the Great. Alliteration is essentially an emotional quality of style, and greatly adds to the impressiveness of language. It is a part of the poetry of eloquence. No one who has an ear attuned to pleasing combinations of articulate sounds can be deaf to its forcefulness, charm, and beauty. Ingersoll exemplifies this quality of style more extensively than any orator of whom we have record. His lectures are prose poetry, or poetic prose. He is easily our greatest word painter. The criticism is sometimes made that he carries his art to the point of artificiality, as in his address at his brother\u2019s grave.\nThis is probably true, but allowing for that, Ingersoll's style remains one of the most distinctive of all time. Next to Ingersoll, in the use of alliteration as a quality of style, is Wendell Phillips. There is much alliteration, as well as pleasing rhythm and beauty, in all his speeches. The following may be regarded as a fair example:\n\nProve to me now that harsh rebuke, indignant denunciation, scathing sarcasm, and pitiless ridicule are wholly and always unjustifiable; else we dare not, in such a desperate case, throw away any weapon which ever broke up the crust of an ignorant prejudice, roused a slumbering conscience, shamed a proud sinner, or changed, in any way, the conduct of a human being. Our aim is to alter public opinion. Did we live in a market, our talk should be of dollars and cents.\nSeek to prove only that slavery was an unprofitable investment. If the nation were one great, pure church, we would sit down and reason about \"righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come.\" Had slavery fortified itself in a college, we would load our cannons with cold facts and wing our arrows with arguments. But we happen to live in the world \u2013 the world made up of thought and impulse, of self-conceit and self-interest, of weak men and wicked.\n\nNo house can be regarded as of a high order that does not appeal to our sense of the beautiful. So no speech can be called a truly great speech that does not in some measure possess the element of beauty. We may imagine a house with its frame completed. The walls are up, the roof is on, the shingles are in place.\nThe place is filled with partitions, the floor is laid, plaster is on the walls. However, the house is still far from completed. If it is to be a truly beautiful home, it is probably not half finished. It is much the same with a speech. Once you have constructed it to the point of knowing your purpose, the ideas you will present to achieve your purpose, their order, how to introduce your subject to your audience, and in a general way, how to conclude it, the speech is yet far from completed. If we may continue the analogy, the house has yet to be painted, windows put in, woodwork finished, walls decorated, and floors polished, doors leading from one room to another carefully crafted.\nThe transitions between main divisions and subdivisions in a speech must be carefully planned; doors should not creak on their hinges. We must choose acceptable words. Sentences should be pleasing to the ear and easily understood. Illustrations must be included - windows to let in light. Attention must be given to elements that distinguish style. All materials and methods of presentation must be adapted to the intelligence, taste, and culture of the audience.\n\nImportance of a Direct, Personal, Informal Style. The speaker in a public address stands face to face with a living, throbbing, pulsating audience. (1 Speeches: First Series, p. 109. THE SPEAKING STYLE)\nThe audience is eager to understand all the speaker utters and follow him in all his moods. The speaker naturally desires to establish a close rapport with his hearers. To accomplish this, he uses an informal, personal style of speaking. This involves a lavish use of the personal pronouns in the first and second persons. The aim is to identify the interests of the speaker with those of his audience, to establish the \"you and I\" relationship. The person who really succeeds in interesting an audience is likely to use these personal pronouns freely. Wendell Phillips, for instance, exhibits this informal, personal element in his style to a marked degree. One is almost amazed to find this most modest and self-effacing of men using the first personal pronoun more than others.\nA hundred times in some of his speeches, and the second personal pronoun perhaps half as often. No orator of whom we have any record had a closer personal contact with his audience than Phillips, nor has any shown greater mastery in holding their attention. The testimony of those who had the privilege of hearing him was to the effect that an hour passed before anybody realized it. As one distinguished listener put it, \u201cthere was no sense that time had passed.\u201d Examine his address to the Boston school children in 1865, and you will observe how he constantly finds occasion to address them personally: \"I can boast, boys and girls, more than you\"; \u201cNow, boys, the glory of a father\"; \u201cYoung men and young women\u201d, etc.\n\nThomas Wentworth Higginson, in his \u201cHints on Speech Making\u201d relates the following incident:\nThe late Judge B.R. Curtis once lost a case in which John P. Hale of New Hampshire, a man not to be compared with him as a lawyer, was his successful antagonist. When asked the reason, he said, \"It was very curious. I had all the law and all the evidence, but that fellow Hale somehow got so intimate with the jury that he won the case.\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\n\"I take my audience into my confidence much as I do a person,\" said Booker T. Washington, the greatest of Negro orators. Webster spoke to his juries as if he were one of them. His legal opponents referred to him as \"the thirteenth jury man.\"\n\nThe Rhetorical Question. The rhetorical question is much used by speakers, and is one of the most valuable aids to clarity and vividness. It gives variety to style for one thing, and moreover presents ideas in such a way as to invite attention to:\n\n\"What is the use of a book without covers?\" - Cicero\n\"Is that a dagger which I see before me?\" - Shakespeare\n\"Can a man be too rich?\" - John Heywood\n\"Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery?\" - Frederick Douglass\nThe tendency of putting the audience in a mentally alert attitude is exhibited by not telling things in a dogmatic manner, but instead asking questions about them. We grow weary of being instructed in a didactic way and may be more receptive to being asked questions, which arouse mental curiosity and give us the satisfaction of answering them ourselves. For the rhetorical question, it is intended to be answered by the audience, not the speaker. In his debates with Douglas, Lincoln extensively employed the rhetorical question, which is a notable feature of his style and significantly contributes to the clear and compelling progression of his arguments. In the Charleston debate, Lincoln defended his statement made in the \"Springfield Speech\" that this country cannot permanently endure half slave and half free. Notice the use of the rhetorical question:\n\nLincoln: And will it not be equally a wrong towards both, if we yield to the demand of the slave-holding States, and admit their constitutional right to take away the property of the non-slave-holding States? Can any principle upon which the institutions of property and freedom are held secure be assumed as common ground, between us? I think not.\n\nDouglas: I presume the Senator does not mean that the slaveholding States would take away the property of the non-slave-holding States by force?\n\nLincoln: No, I did not mean to insinuate that. But I fear it was not intended to be understood in any other sense than that. I meant to include this, that if they can rightfully take away the property of the non-slave-holding States, they can take as much property as they please, not only slaves, but other property. Why, my constituents asked me, if this is the law, why not let us secede from the Union, and take the property of the slave-holding States? Why, if such a principle can justify the South in taking negroes from us, it can justify us in taking other property from them. Now, my constituents ask me, under the Constitution, under the laws, under all the principles of justice and fair dealing, shall we not be entitled to an equal right in the Government with the slaveholding States? If we are entitled to it, all will be right; if we are not entitled to it, no amount of force can make it right. But if the principle, which is the corner-stone of this Government, be wrong, then all its resolves, and all the parchment with which they have been written, are worthless. I repeat, if there is no right in the Constitution, or in human law, which entitles me to the property which I possess, then there is no right which the South can claim to the property which they possess. I draw the line in this manner, not from any desire to lessen the harshness, but to place it where, under the Constitution, it fairly belongs.\nI have said so, and I did not say it without good reasons. It may require more time than I have now to set forth these reasons in detail; but let me ask you a few questions. When are we to have peace on it if it is kept in its present position? How are we ever to have peace on it? That is an important question. To be sure, if we all stop and allow Judge Douglas and his friends to march on in their present career until they plant the institution all over the nation, here and wherever else our flag waves, and we acquiesce in it, there will be peace. But let me ask Judge Douglas, how is he going to get the people to do that? They have been wrangling over this question for at least forty years. He introduced the question: \"When is it likely to come to an end?\"\nNebraska bill in 1854 to put an end to the slavery agitation. He promised that it would finish it all up immediately. The Speaking Style tells us again that it is all over, and the people of Kansas have voted down the Lecompton constitution. How is it over? That was only one of the attempts at putting an end to the slavery agitation \u2014 one of these \u201cfinal settlements.\u201d Is Kansas in the Union? Has she formed a constitution that she is likely to come in under? Is not the slavery agitation still an open question in that Territory? Has the voting down of that constitution put an end to all the trouble? Is that more likely to settle it than every one of these previous attempts to settle the slavery agitation? Now, at this day in the history of the world, we can no more foretell where the end of this slavery agitation will be.\nThe direct quotation is a most excellent speech device. It does not mean exact quotations from literature and authorities. It means putting into direct discourse what would ordinarily be expressed in indirect discourse. It means putting into the mouths of men, not the exact words which they have uttered, but words which in effect, and in the simplest possible language, express such views of theirs as the speaker wishes to bring before his hearers. Through this device, institutions, states, and societies are frequently personified and made to utter sentiments and views in a simple, direct way. Quotations of this kind are almost always short, seldom more than a sentence or two.\n\nThe essence of directness lies in this rhetorical device.\nSimplicity has drawbacks. It lacks the accuracy of exact or actual quotations. Condensing a person's views on a great question into a simple sentence or two is not always easy, requiring precision and accuracy.\n\nWendell Phillips used this device more than any other American orator. In a speech that lasted only over an hour, there were often fifteen to twenty-five instances of direct discourse. This habit got him into trouble at times, even prompting his friend, William Lloyd Garrison, to criticize him for putting loose statements into the mouths of men, giving biased views of their positions.\n\nHowever, the device is worth cultivating. Scrupulously.\nCare and fairness are necessary to make it safe, but when rightly used, it is a matchless means for producing that instant understanding so much needed \u2013 and so much neglected \u2013 in oral discourse.\n\nDavid Lloyd George, at a farewell dinner given in his honor in New York in 1923, used the direct quotation with excellent effect.\n\nWhat is the real problem in Europe today? I will tell you. In spite of the war, because Europe has been left so much to herself, she still believes in force. Why?\n\nFrance says: \"Alsace-Lorraine was torn from our side fifty years ago. It was unjust; it was wrong; it was cruel; it was oppressive. Justice never gave it back to us. We had to lose 1,400,000 of our young men. You, in the British Empire, had to lose 900,000 of your young men. Force gave it back to us.\"\n\nPoland: \"One hundred and fifty years ago, our lands were torn from us.\"\nnationhood  was  destroyed.  We  were  locked  in  the  prison  of  great \nautocracies.  We  waited  for  justice.  We  thought  we  could  hear \npossible  footsteps,  but  they  were  simply  the  footsteps  of  our  jailers \noutside.  Force  came  at  the  end  of  150  years  and  unlocked  the  door.\u201d \nThe  Russian  peasant  says  today:  \u201c  We  never  saw  the  light  of  liberty \nuntil  the  revolutionist  came  with  his  powder  and  blew  our  prison \nwalls  down.\u201d \nWhat  does  Germany  say?  Germany  says:  \u201cWe  trusted  to  justice. \nWe  trusted  to  a  treaty.  We  are  broken;  we  are  shattered.  Why? \nWe  are  disarmed.  We  have  no  force.\u201d  That  is  why  Europe  believes \nin  force.1 \nThere  are  other  elements  of  style  in  speaking  that  may  be \ncultivated  to  advantage,  but  those  named  are  the  most  impor\u00ac \ntant.  If  you  will  practice  consistently  the  use  of  the  devices \nsuggested,  you  will  at  least  be  understood.  There  is  a  charm  in \nIn conclusion, if we could determine by some mental seismograph how much of a speech an audience truly grasps and how much is lost due to lack of understanding or otherwise, we might have some startling revelations. The problem of communicating ideas by word of mouth is peculiar in that understanding must be on the moment or not at all. The speaker, therefore, must use every possible device to make comprehension easy. He must use simple diction or at least words easily understood by the audience. He must use sentences that are short and crisp and easy to grasp. His attitude toward his hearers will be personal, informal, and direct.\nA speaker addresses an audience much like a group of friends. He will not be afraid to use personal pronouns freely, even those of the first person. He will use devices such as the rhetorical question and direct quotation. He will use concrete speech materials and illustrations freely. In more finished efforts, he will have proper regard for elements of style that give it distinction - alliteration, rhythm, beauty, elegance. A finished speech or lecture is a work of art. Lastly, remember with Beecher, \"Simplicity of style both in language and manners is the shortest road to success.\"\n\nEXERCISES:\n1. Count 100 words in five different places in some selection from Henry Ward Beecher\u2019s speeches. Set down the number having one and two syllables, and the number having more than two syllables.\nDo this for four other orators: Ingersoll, Phillips, Thomas Starr King, and John B. Gough are suggested. Others will do.\n\n1. Read critically Phillips' speech to Boston school children. Count the number of times he uses: (1) the first personal pronoun; (2) the second personal pronoun; (3) the direct quotation; (4) the rhetorical question. What forms of support do you find? What motives are appealed to?\n\n2. Bring to class specimens that exemplify the use of power of statement, alliteration, rhythm, and beauty.\n\n3. Read one of the speeches listed in the readings for this chapter and give a written or oral criticism of its style based on the criteria given in this chapter.\n\nReadings\n\nSpeeches\n\"Aphorisms,\" by John Morley (Mod. El.: I, Vol. V)\n[Abraham Lincoln], by Robert Ingersoll ({Ingersoll, Vol. III})\n[Address to the Boston School Children], by Wendell Phillips.\n[Against Centralization], by Henry W. Grady ({Grady})\n[Big Blunders], by T. DeWitt Talmage ({Mod. El.: I, Vol. VI})\n[The Prince of Peace], by William Jennings Bryan (Vol. XIII)\n[The Grandeur of Nations], by Charles Sumner ({Sumner, Vol. I})\n[Cooper Union Speech], by Abraham Lincoln (Vol. XI)\n[Eulogy on Lincoln], by Henry Ward Beecher (Beecher: I)\n[Bunker Hill Oration], by Daniel Webster (Vol. XI)\n[Abraham Lincoln], by Stephen S. Wise ({Lindgren})\n[Did Woodrow Wilson Fail?], by Charles Zeublin ({Lindgren})\n\nReferences:\nJames Milton O\u2019Neill and Andrew Thomas Weaver: The Elements of Speech (1926), Chap. XVI.\nWilliam Phillips Sandford and Willard Hayes Yeager: Principles of Effective Speaking (Revised Edition, 1930), Chap. XV.\nFellow citizens, I was invited by the Mayor to address the scholars of Boston. Like my friend, Mr. Dana, who preceded me, I hardly know in what direction to look in the course of this address for the scholars. I can hardly turn my back on them, nor can I turn my back on you. I shall have to make a compromise - the speaking style that everlasting refuge of Americans. (Applause) I recall, when I was in college, that when a classmate came upon the stage, we could recognize in the audience where the family, the mother, or sister were, by noticing him when he made his first bow. He would look toward them, and they would invariably bow in return. By this inevitable habit.\nI have distinguished many a mother, sister, and father among the audience today. This is the first time for many years that I have participated in a school festival. I have received no invitation since 1824, when I was a little boy in a Latin school, and we were turned out in a grand procession on yonder Common at nine o'clock in the morning. And for what? Not to hear eloquent music. No; but for the sight of something better than the art of music, that thrilled more than eloquence, a sight which should remain in the memory forever, the best sight which Boston ever saw, \u2014 the welcome to Lafayette on his return to this country after an absence of a score of years. I can boast, boys and girls, more than you. I can boast that these eyes have beheld the hero of three revolutions; this hand has touched the hand of Lafayette.\nI. Hancock and Washington's reception in Boston was more glorious than the current celebration. The sight of the nation's benefactor among Boston's children was a long-awaited event. Unlike other processions, we began punctually at the published hour. The crowd did not allow us to wander aimlessly or sit down. I received my first lesson in hero-worship. Despite being exhausted after four hours of waiting, I could have stood when I saw him - that glorious old Frenchman! These were insignificant times compared to what followed. Our public examinations were held in Boylston Hall. We never had banners or music during those times. Now, they take the classes out to walk.\non  the  Common  at  eleven  o\u2019clock.  We  were  sent  out  into  a  small \nplace  eight  feet  by  eleven,  solid  walls  on  one  side  and  a  paling  on  the \nother,  which  looked  like  a  hencoop:  there  the  public  Latin  scholars \nrecreated  themselves.  They  were  very  small  times  compared  with \nthese. \nAs  Mr.  Dana  referred  to  the  facilities  and  opportunities  that  the \nBoston  boys  enjoy,  I  could  not  but  think  what  it  is  that  makes  the \nefficient  man.  Not  by  floating  with  the  current;  you  must  swim \nTHE  ART  OF  EFFECTIVE  SPEAKING \nagainst  it  to  develop  strength  and  power.  The  danger  is  that  a  boy, \nwith  all  these  facilities,  books,  and  libraries,  may  never  make  that \nsturdy  scholar,  that  energetic  man,  we  would  wish  him  to  become. \nWhen  I  look  on  such  a  scene  as  this,  I  go  back  to  the  precedent \nalluded  to  by  you,  sir,  of  him  who  travelled  eighteen  miles  and \nWorked all day to earn a book and sat up all night to read it. By the side of me, in the same city of Boston, sat a boy in the Latin school who bought his dictionary with money earned by picking chestnuts. Do you remember Cobbett, and Frederick Douglas, whose eloquent notes still echo through the land, who learned to read from the posters on the highway; and Theodore Parker, who laid the foundation of his library with the book for which he spent three weeks in picking berries? Boys, you will not be moved to action by starvation and want. Where will you get the motive power? You will have the spur of ambition to be worthy of the fathers who have given you these opportunities. Remember, boys, what fame it is that you bear up \u2013 this old name of Boston! A certain well-known poet says it is the hub of the solar system.\nIn revolutionary days, they talked of the Boston Revolution. When Samuel Johnson wrote his work against the American colonies, it was Boston he ridiculed. When the king could not sleep at night, he got up and muttered \"Boston.\" When the proclamation of pardon was issued, the only two excepted were the two Boston fanatics \u2013 John Hancock and Sam Adams. But what did Boston do? They sent Hancock to Philadelphia to write his name on the Declaration of Independence in letters large enough for the king to read on the other side of the ocean. Boston then meant liberty. Come down to four or five years ago. What did Boston mean when the South went mad, and got up a new flag, and said they would put it in Boston on Faneuil Hall? It was Boston that meant liberty, as Boston had always done.\nAnd when our troops went out in the last war, what gave them their superiority? It was the brains they carried from these schools.\n\nWhen General Butler was stopped near the Relay House with a broken locomotive, he turned to the Eighth Regiment and asked if any of them could mend it. A private walked out of the ranks and patted it on the back and said, \"I ought to know it; I made it.\"\n\nThe speaking style, when we went down to Charleston and were kept seven miles off from the city, the Yankees sent down a New Hampshire Parrott that would send a two-hundred-pound shot into their midst. The great ability of New England has been proved. Now, boys, the glory of a father is his children. That father has done his work well who has left a child better than himself. The German prayer is, \"Lord, grant...\"\nI may be as well off tomorrow as yesterday! No Yankee ever uttered that prayer. He always means that his son shall have a better starting-point in life than himself. The glory of a father is his children. Our fathers made themselves independent seventy or eighty years ago. It remains for us to devote ourselves to liberty and the welfare of others, with the generous willingness to do toward others as we would have others do to us.\n\nNow, boys, this is my lesson to you today. You cannot be as good as your fathers, unless you are better. You have your fathers\u2019 example, \u2014 the opportunities and advantages they have accumulated, \u2014 and to be only as good is not enough. You must be better. You must copy only the spirit of your fathers, \u2014 and not their imperfections. There was an old Boston merchant, years ago, who wanted a set of cabinets made.\nOf China, made in Pekin. Sixty years ago, Boston men examined both sides of a cent before spending it, and if they earned twelve cents, they saved eleven. He could not spare a whole plate, so he sent a cracked one. When he received the set, there was a crack in every piece. The Chinese had imitated the pattern exactly.\n\nNow, boys, do not imitate us, or there will be many cracks. Be better than we. We have invented a telegraph, but what of that? I expect, if I live forty years, to see a telegraph that will send messages without wire, both ways at the same time. If you do not invent it, you are not so good as we are. You are bound to go ahead of us.\n\nThe old London physician said, \"The way to be well is to live on a sixpence and earn it.\" That is education under the laws of necessity.\nWe cannot give you that. Beneath you is the ever-watchful hand of city culture and wealth. All we can give you is your name. Bear it nobly!\n\nI was in the West where they partly love and partly hate the Yankee. A man undertook to explain the difference between a watch made in Boston and one made in Chicago. He asked me what I thought of it. I answered him as a Boston man should: \"We always do what we undertake to do thoroughly.\" That is Boston. Boston has set the example of doing; do better. Sir Robert Peel said in the last hours of his life, \"I have left the Queen's service; I have held the highest offices in the gift of the Crown; and now, going out of public life (he had just removed bread from the tax-list), the happiest thought I have is that when the poor man breaks his bread in his hand, he will remember Robert Peel.\"\n\"Fellow-citizens, the warmest compliment I ever heard was from a fugitive from South Carolina. In his hovel at home, he said, \"I thank God for Boston; and I hope before I die I may tread upon its pavements.\" Boston has meant liberty and protection. In all coming time, young men and women, make it stand for good learning, upright character, sturdy love of liberty, willingness to be and do for others as you would have others be and do unto you. But make it, young men and women, make it a dread to every one who seeks to do evil. Make it a home and a refuge for the oppressed of all lands.\n\nChapter XII\nKinds of Speeches\n\nIn planning a speech, one of the important things is to determine precisely what one wishes to accomplish. The emphasis\"\nAll public speaking is purposeful. It aims to convey ideas and feelings with sufficient force and vividness to enable the speaker to achieve his end, whatever that may be. The end sought is always some definite response from the listeners. A speaker must therefore always have one eye on the group he expects to address. He must ask himself, what response do I want to get from my audience? Do I want them to understand something, do something, or just have a good time? On the answer depends the kind of speech he is going to make.\n\nThis is what we mean when we say that speaking is objective. It is not enough to have good ideas and noble feelings; you must express them in terms of symbols\u2014words, voice, action.\nA speech is not to be regarded as a Chinese firecracker, to be fired off for the noise it makes. It is to be regarded rather as a flight of arrows that must find their way into the minds of your listeners. You must hit your target or you accomplish nothing. A hunter may have a good gun and fancy ammunition, but unless he brings down his game, he is simply making noise and filling the air with smoke. The reason so much speech fails of its purpose is that it is aimed at nothing, and when we aim at nothing we always hit it. The first thing we have to do, then, is to take aim.\n\nThe art of effective speaking. Taking aim in speaking. In taking aim in speaking, we are face to face with the fact that the human mind is many-sided.\nMan is a being that understands or can be made to understand, reasons, and expresses judgment in the form of belief or disbelief. He is also a being that feels or experiences emotion, capable of experiencing pleasure and pain. In these beliefs and emotions are the main springs of action.\n\nWe may address the understanding and make an idea clear; address the judgment to win belief; address ourselves to the feelings to arouse emotion; or enlist the fancy to entertain. As a rule, no speaker addresses himself to all these at the same time, although all may be involved in a single speech.\nHave to consider different kinds of speeches, based on these different kinds of appeal. Writers on the subject are not altogether agreed on how to classify speeches. No classification so far made is altogether satisfactory, and very likely no one can be found that is. Functions of the human mind defy accurate classification. Not our purpose here to go too minutely into these differences of opinion, as it would take us too far afield into psychology of human behavior. A brief survey of these views will be in order.\n\nAristotle recognized three divisions of oratory: deliberative, judicial, and demonstrative. By these he meant the oratory of the political assembly, of the bar, and of the popular forum. Quintilian, in his Institutes:\n\n(Note: The text above is already clean and readable. No need for any cleaning or correction.)\nOf Oratory concludes that public address may serve any one of three primary ends: to inform, to move, and to please. If we interpret the word \"move\" to be equivalent to \"persuade,\" this classification fits strangely well with present-day psychology.\n\nArthur Edward Phillips, in his Effective Speaking, was the first of modern writers on the subject to depart somewhat radically from the old classification. He recognizes five ends of speech: (1) clearness, (2) impressiveness, (3) belief, (4) connection, (5) entertainment. James Winans, in Public Speaking, considers the speaker's purposes to be: (1) to interest, (2) to make clear, (3) to induce belief, (4) to influence conduct. O'Neill and Weaver in The Elements of Speech recognize five speech purposes: (1) to instruct, (2) to entertain, (3) to persuade, (4) to delight, (5) to inspire.\nConvince, divert, stimulate, inform, entertain. Woolbert identifies five purposes in Fundamentals of Speech: (1) to divert, (2) to stimulate, (3) to inform, (4) to convince. Sandford and Yeager, in Principles of Effective Speaking, reduce the general ends to three: (1) to inform, (2) to persuade, (3) to entertain. With some terminology variations, there is agreement among these writers on at least two speech ends: information and entertainment. Opinion diverges only in the field of persuasive speaking. Some authorities give three general ends, others two, and one makes no division. Without analyzing these ends.\nThe purpose of finding points of agreement and perhaps some points of difference, let us look at the problem from a somewhat different angle. The Hierarchy of Beliefs. I believe it will be found on examination that in persuasive speaking, the speaker is always dealing with beliefs, beliefs that vary greatly in their efficacy or power to influence human behavior. Some of our beliefs are absolute and dynamic, and operate with full force to influence conduct; others are wavering and doubtful; still others are dormant or dead.\n\nWe believe, for example, that gravitation and other natural laws are at work all the time, and that if we do not order our lives in harmony with those laws, we are liable to get into trouble. If, for example, we throw a stone or shoot an arrow into the air, we take it for granted that it will come down.\nAnd we prefer not to take a chance on getting in its path. So there are numberless beliefs in the social sphere that are reasonably dynamic and operate with a fair degree of adequacy as determinants of behavior. Such we disregard at our peril. Others operate with more or less inadequacy. If the weather man tells us that tomorrow is going to be \"fair,\" we shall probably believe it -- 85% if we happen to know that there is about 15% error in such predictions. We may think we believe the time-honored principle, \u201cBlessed are they that are persecuted for righteousness\u2019 sake,\u201d but most of us would be willing that some one else should get the benefit of the experience. These examples will perhaps suffice to show that in human society there is a hierarchy of beliefs which operate in varying degrees to influence human conduct. They range from those that are:\n\n(Note: The text appears to be complete and does not contain any meaningless or unreadable content, OCR errors, or other issues that require cleaning. Therefore, the entire text is output as is.)\nBeliefs that are unqualified and dynamic, which no normal person would ever disregard in ordering his life, extend down the scale to those other beliefs that operate hardly at all as determinants of behavior. The potency of any particular belief varies with different individuals.\n\nFor speech-making purposes, it will be found convenient to classify beliefs on the basis of our attitude toward them. Broadly speaking, either we accept a belief or we do not. We meet with many propositions, it is true, embodying beliefs that we are doubtful about or indifferent to, largely because we do not understand their implications. In such cases, it cannot be said that we accept them; and they would therefore fall into the latter class.\n\nBroadly, then, we may divide beliefs into two classes: those that we accept and do not significantly dispute; and those that we do not accept.\nPut and accept those we do not. Within each class, we may recognize a gradation of beliefs in reference to their function in behavior, or, in the case of unaccepted beliefs, in regard to our hostility towards them. We may accept one belief and act on it consistently; we may accept another and merely give it lip service. Much depends on the nature of the beliefs, how closely they touch our lives. In the case of disputed or unaccepted beliefs, we may be merely indifferent or in doubt, owing to a lack of understanding of the facts involved; or we may be positively hostile. The more indifferent or hostile we are, the greater, of course, is the persuasive problem.\n\nIt is my opinion that each of these two classes of beliefs gives rise to a somewhat distinct type of speech, both of which we may consider briefly.\nSpeeches dealing with accepted beliefs or undisputed propositions are excellent subjects. For instance, \"We should meet our appointments promptly\" is a good topic for a class speech. No one will dispute this seriously, and no evidential support is required in the way we are accustomed to understanding that term. We don't have to go through a long ritual of expounding the meaning of the question, defining terms, giving the history of the question, lining up contentions on both sides, selecting issues, and finally proving the issues with a long array of facts, figures, statistics, authorities, and more or less involved reasoning processes. Strictly speaking,\nAn issue is always a disputed proposition. Although we give general assent to the proposition, we do not always conform our behavior to it. There are people who are chronically late for appointments, wasting other people's time and jeopardizing their own chances of success. The challenge in speaking here is to appeal to personal interests - motives like ambition, reputation, fairness - and show that the effort required for promptness in keeping engagements will yield significant returns. To make the proposition dynamic and inspire action, we may provide examples of men.\nWho have lost the confidence of their associates through carelessness and undependability in keeping important engagements? We may also cite examples of men who have been appointed or promoted to responsible positions, in part at least, as a result of being prompt and dependable. We may even quote great executives on the value of forming habits of promptness and in other ways bring to bear on the proposition as many and varied forms of support as are available.\n\nThe speaker here is concerned primarily with an appeal to motives; that is, desires, feelings, and emotions that tend to action. His aim will be to link up this precept of promptness with the vital interests of the audience, by means of specific, concrete, vivid speech materials; to impress upon the hearers the value of dependable promptness in keeping important engagements.\nSpeeches Dealing with Unaccepted Beliefs or Disputed Propositions. Let us consider the problem a speaker faces in establishing and making dynamic an unaccepted belief embodied in a disputed proposition. In this type of speech, we distinguish two kinds of propositions. We may call them judgments of fact and judgments of value using philosophical language. If we prefer less technical language, we may use the terms propositions of fact and propositions of policy. It does not make a great deal of difference what terms we use provided we are agreed on the meaning. To say that chain stores provide substantial economies for their customers is to express a judgment of fact. So it is also a judgment of fact to say that the St. Lawrence waterway is feasible from an economic standpoint.\nFrom an engineering perspective, or if the League of Nations has prevented wars and automobile accidents killed over 35,000 people in 1932 \u2013 assuming these propositions are true \u2013 the function is to prove them as such. This is the role of evidence and logical argument, possibly even suggestion. The process of establishing the truth or falsity of these propositions is unrelated to their social significance or interpretation in terms of human values that may hinge on them. In other words, it has no connection to motivation.\n\nAs instances of value judgments or policy propositions, we can cite virtually any debate-worthy question. The United States should join Canada in constructing the St. Lawrence waterway; compulsory military drill should be implemented.\nAbolished in our colleges; a state income tax should supplement general property taxes \u2014 these are familiar examples. Questions are argued or debated in this form. One might have a lively debate on the question whether the American protective tariff has burdened agriculture, which is purely a proposition of fact. But more often, resolutions for debate involve questions of policy. It will be observed that all these questions lend themselves to motivation. That is, they raise the question: What is their social significance? What are they worth to society \u2014 or more particularly, from the point of view of the speaker, to the audience addressed \u2014 in human values, in satisfying human wants? Only so far as the speaker can interpret for his hearers the significance or value of these propositions and bring such value vividly home to them can he effectively argue his case.\nMake beliefs function in behavior. Strictly speaking, propositions of policy (judgments of value) cannot be proved true or false. We may be able to prove true or false the propositions of fact on which they rest, but the propositions themselves, more accurately speaking, we evaluate. We do not prove true or false the proposition that the United States should cancel the war debts owed it by European nations; but by a careful examination of the facts involved, we can interpret the meaning or value of the proposition, and on the basis of such evaluation, win acceptance, and perhaps get active support for it \u2014 make it function in behavior. It would be in the interest of accurate evaluation.\nI believe the term \"proof\" should be limited to propositions of fact. Propositions of policy we support or evaluate in speech are not proven. Every teacher of speech has felt unsatisfied with the term \"proof\" to describe the support of propositions in an impressive speech or propositions of policy in an argumentative speech. In fact, there is usually nothing to prove in an impressive speech. We do not prove that we ought to keep appointments promptly or be loyal to our convictions, or do a thousand other things we may advocate in a speech. We admit it all beforehand. The problem is one of creating or interpreting values, of setting up a system of rewards in the minds of the audience, of making them want to do the things we want them to do. The problem, in other words, is purely one of motivation.\nThe fact remains that in this type of speech, propositions of fact generally prevail. It is precisely because there are so many propositions of fact at issue in questioned or debated arguments that argumentative speech always deals with disputed ideas or beliefs.\n\nTake, for instance, the question: The United States should join the League of Nations. This is a proposition of policy. Whether such a policy is sound, whether its adoption would benefit America, depends in turn on several questions of fact; for example: Has the League, in some measure at least, prevented war or conflict among nations? Is it likely to do so increasingly in the future? Is the League dominated by two or three large European powers? On the answer to these questions and many others\u2014all questions of fact\u2014will depend the outcome of the argument.\nThe soundness of joining the League depends on the answers to these questions. Once these questions are favorably answered by the League, assuming the facts warrant it, interpreting the value of such an organization to human society becomes a simple matter. Most people are motivated in advance on this subject. There is no doubt that unaccepted beliefs vary greatly in terms of the difficulty of proving their factual propositions true and in evaluating or motivating an audience regarding them. The audience attitude may be, \"We might accept your proposition, but what is it good for in satisfying our wants?\" In other cases, it may be difficult to prove true the factual propositions on which a judgment of value rests, and easy to motivate an audience.\nRegarding it if the facts are proved favorable. There are times when an audience is motivated in advance regarding a policy and asks only to be shown that the facts are favorable. This might be true of an audience assembled to hear a speech on the League of Nations. The audience attitude might be, \"Show us that the League will prevent war and that it is not dominated by two or three European powers (or whatever the facts in dispute may be) and we will be with you.\" Still, even here, if the members of an audience were asked to make contributions to further the cause, they might need motivation on the subject. It would probably be necessary to appeal to their feelings and emotions by presenting to them vivid images of what war does to us and what we would escape by making the League function.\nOn  the  other  hand,  a  belief  that  might  be  easily  supported  as \nto  the  facts,  and  difficult  in  regard  to  evaluation  or  motivation, \nmight  be,  \u201cWe  should  discourage  the  organization  of  chain \nstores.\u201d  It  would  be  easy  to  show  that  chain  stores  effect  sub\u00ac \nstantial  economies  for  their  customers,  that  they  tend  to  wealth \nconcentration,  and  that  their  local  managers  are  seldom  perma\u00ac \nnent  residents  of  a  community.  We  should  recognize  the  first \nof  these  effects  to  be  good,  and  the  second  and  third  bad.  The \nreal  problem,  however,  is  to  discover  how  good  is  the  first,  and \nTHE  ART  OF  EFFECTIVE  SPEAKING \nhow  bad  are  the  other  two.  That  is  a  process  of  evaluation  or \nmotivation.  In  a  question  like  this,  it  is  fair  to  say  that  the \nreal  problem  is  one  of  motivation. \nThe  alert  speaker  will  always  be  on  his  guard  to  analyze \nThe speaker should carefully assess his speech problem and determine where his heavy artillery is most needed. If his problem is primarily one of proving a fact or establishing the probable correctness of an opinion, he must focus his energies in that direction. If the problem is essentially one of motivation, he must address that. If the persuasive problem involves both, the speaker will order his attack accordingly. One thing he should never forget is that he is dealing with a belief that does not properly motivate the behavior of his audience. It is his business to make such belief dynamic, prove it true if it is seriously denied, interpret its affective meaning to the audience if necessary, and link it up with their vital life interests.\nDegrees of Belief. We see from these examples that the same belief may have gradations of meaning for different individuals. One man may believe vaguely and uncertainly that he should keep his appointments promptly and order his behavior accordingly. Another man may believe it to the point of deep conviction and act upon it consistently. One may entertain a kind of belief about the efficacy of the League of Nations to prevent war, which means next to nothing so far as influencing his conduct is concerned; or one may be fired with a flaming enthusiasm for it \u2014 believe in it so firmly as to give generously of his time and means to support it.\n\nBelief and Action. The degree of belief in which a speaker is interested is the one that results in action or influences conduct. That is always the goal. The goal, of course, may not be immediately achievable or practical, but it is the belief that moves people to act.\nIt is unlikely that a man can attain absolute beliefs in the social sphere. He cannot be one hundred percent courteous or prompt in keeping appointments, one hundred percent solicitous about preventing automobile accidents, or love his neighbor fully up to the Biblical injunction. Everything is relative. The speech that best accomplishes its purpose vitalizes the belief it aims to influence most potently for behavior change. No definite, overt action needs to be contemplated; however, influencing action in some way is always the end of all persuasive speeches. A speaker may advocate temperance not only in consuming liquor but in all things, without having any definite, overt actions.\nThe more an audience is motivated in regard to a belief, and the more potent such belief is for influencing conduct, the more fully the speech's end is achieved. A speaker may have in mind a definite, overt action on the part of the audience. The overt action aimed at may be immediate or remote. For instance, a speaker may ask for a vote on some question or resolution, or for a contribution to some cause. The action is definite and immediate. Or he may ask for a vote for a political candidate three months hence. The action is definite and remote. Even when no definite, overt action is aimed at, it is no less true that motivation is the process by which the end is accomplished, and as a rule, the end is achieved through making the necessary or appropriate preparations.\nbelief must be potent and dynamic enough to bring about action. In all these cases, the goal is to influence conduct, whether it be to elicit definite, overt, immediate action or to establish attitudes or action tendencies \u2013 predispositions to act in a certain way \u2013 that will result in the appropriate conduct when the occasion presents itself. The persuasive problem is essentially the same. As William James puts it: \u201cA resolve, whose contemplated motor consequences are not to ensue until some far distant future condition shall have been fulfilled, involves all the psychic elements of a motor fiat except the word \u2018Now.\u2019\" (Selected Papers on Philosophy, Everyman\u2019s Library, 1917, p. 69)\n\nThe problem of persuasion, then, is to take any belief, no matter on what level or of what kind, and through the use of words, convert it into a living, dynamic force, capable of overcoming the forces that oppose it and inducing the desired response in the listener or reader. This is no easy task, for beliefs are deeply ingrained and often resistant to change. But with skillful use of language, it is possible to tap into the emotions and reasoning of the audience, to appeal to their desires and fears, and to present the belief in a way that makes it irresistible.\n\nTo do this, the persuasive speaker or writer must understand the nature of belief itself, and the psychological and social factors that influence it. They must also be able to craft messages that resonate with their audience, using language that is clear, compelling, and persuasive. And they must be able to anticipate and counter objections, to address the doubts and concerns that may arise in the minds of their listeners or readers.\n\nIn short, the art of persuasion is a complex and nuanced one, requiring a deep understanding of human psychology, language, and communication. But with practice and skill, it is a power that can be harnessed to bring about positive change, to inspire action, and to shape the course of history.\nWhat degree and lift it to the level of dynamic action, by charging it with a richer meaning and more vital interest for the listeners. The degree of belief at the outset may vary from anything short of willingness to act upon it consistently, to open hostility or disbelief. It is difficult to give good examples of gradations of belief, especially as persons differ in regard to them. Most persons would give mental assent to the proposition that educated men and women should take an interest in public questions, but still, the subject offers large opportunities for persuasion, for our behavior falls far short of squaring with our so-called belief. An easier persuasive problem would be to support properly the proposition that all drivers should stop at railroad crossings to prevent accidents. The persuasive problem becomes, of course, much more difficult.\nWhen we enter the field of beliefs in doubt or dispute, and reach its maximum with an openly hostile audience, there are problems in persuasion that any speaker of good taste will let alone. Deep-seated prejudices or convictions, religious, social, economic, political, are not easily set aside. Yet, almost anything may be undertaken if done in the right spirit and in good taste. A person can say almost anything if he says it in the right way.\n\nWhat is an adequate support to give a proposition in a persuasive speech? That depends altogether on the proposition. If the belief is vague, or dormant, or dead, it may require heroic support to make it dynamic. On the other hand, sometimes a single fact may flash conviction on us. If we are about to enter a house and see a smallpox sign on it, the sign alone creates conviction.\nA single statement can set off all our predispositions to avoid dangerous situations. A speaker can seize upon short cuts to desired ends by touching off well-selected thoughts and emotional patterns of the audience. This is dealt with at length in Chapter X, \"Motivation: Suggestion.\" On the other hand, I may listen to a colored orator discourse for an hour or more on the need and merits of industrial schools for negroes in the South. On the strength of facts and examples presented, I am made to believe \u2013 give tacit assent to \u2013 the proposition that these schools are worthy enterprises. As a result of pictures drawn of the harsh conditions under which these schools operate for lack of funds, I am persuaded.\nI am moved to sympathy with the heroic efforts on behalf of these schools. Skillful appeal to motives makes me feel that the welfare of the whole country, including my own, depends on giving negroes adequate education and fair opportunities. By a final appeal to self-interest and patriotism, I am led to subscribe to the cause of these schools. The speaker must run the whole gamut of appeal \u2014 exposition, logical argument, suggestion, and motivation in various forms \u2014 before his purpose is accomplished.\n\nThe Two Types of Persuasive Speeches Distinguished. It is plain that the two types of speeches given above \u2014 one on keeping appointments and one on the League of Nations \u2014 have much in common. Both aim to influence human behavior and are therefore persuasive. Both appeal to motives.\nAnd emotions have action as the general end, at least insofar as they aim to make beliefs more potent in determining conduct. Both may require almost any form or all forms of support. However, there are distinctions to be made.\n\nThe speech on keeping appointments promptly deals with an accepted belief or undisputed proposition. The first requires very little exposition to make its meaning clear; the second requires much exposition. In the first, the appeal is largely to feelings and emotions\u2014motives; in the second, the appeal is in part to understanding and judgment, but also to feelings and emotions. (It is in its failure to appeal to motives or emotions that the traditional argumentative speech falls down.) In the first speech, certain forms of support may be unnecessary.\nSpeeches can be classified based on the predominant forms of support used. In the first type, illustrations, literary quotations, and general and concrete examples will predominate. In contrast, logical argument or reasoning processes, facts, figures, statistics, authorities, and analogies will be the primary forms of support in the second type.\n\nBased on these differences, we can distinguish two kinds of persuasive speeches: (1) impressive speeches, which deal with accepted beliefs; and (2) argumentative speeches, which deal with unaccepted beliefs.\n\nClassification of Speeches:\nWe can roughly divide speeches into four classes:\n1. Informative speeches\n2. Entertaining speeches\n3. Persuasive speeches dealing with accepted beliefs (impressive speeches)\n4. Persuasive speeches dealing with unaccepted beliefs (argumentative speeches)\n\nThese classifications are somewhat arbitrary, as an informative speech may be entertaining and a persuasive speech can be both informative and entertaining.\nA speech can be argumentative and at once informative, impressive, and entertaining. While there is overlapping, the classification is useful and practical. Let's try to understand clearly what we mean by these distinctions and how they may serve a speaker in attaining speech purposes.\n\nA. The Informative Speech. The aim of a speaker can be primarily to impart information as such, in as clear and impartial a manner as possible. Information given may be more or less entertaining and more or less impressive, but these aspects are incidental. The primary purpose of this type of speech is to expound, inform, or instruct, and this fact governs largely the choice of materials and treatment of the subject. Classroom lectures are usually regarded as informative speeches.\nThe charge of a judge to a jury and scientific lectures, such as Agassiz's \"Man and Monkeys\" and Huxley's \"On a Piece of Chalk,\" are informative. A description of a mechanical device, like an electric transformer, or an explanation of a policy, like the Monroe Doctrine, or a theory, like Evolution, falls into this category.\n\nThe following are a few typical subjects for informative speeches:\n\n1. The Organization of the League of Nations\n2. The Farm Board\n3. The Kellogg Pact\n4. Fascism: What is it?\n5. The United States of Europe\n6. Bolshevism: What is it?\n7. The British Labor Party\nProfit-Sharing in Business\nEspionage Legislation\nLegumes and Soil Improvement\nCommunism: What is it?\nThe Malthusian Theory\nBenjamin Franklin\u2019s Plan for New Occupations for Women\nSelf-development (See his autobiography.)\nWhat does free speech mean?\nFootball Signals\nLiberty: What is liberty?\nHow Oranges Are Sorted\nRoad Construction\nThe Technological Unemployment\nMilking Machines\nThe Operation of the Stock Exchange\nCorrect Breathing\nVitamins\nThe Single Tax: What is it?\nThe Organization of the World Court\n\nThe Impressive Speech\nThis is a persuasive speech dealing with an undisputed proposition or an accepted belief. It is sometimes called an inspirational speech, for its aim is primarily to inspire or to stimulate the feelings and emotions in regard to some belief pattern. This type of speech usually focuses on eliciting emotions and creating a persuasive effect on the audience.\nThe text deals with ideas or beliefs that we generally accept but fail to function adequately in behavior. Many of these are found in the field of social customs, habits, and morals. The aim of an impressive speech is to vitalize certain beliefs, build up for them a system of desires, and make them dynamic so that we order our behavior more fully in accordance with them. No definite, overt action needs to be contemplated, although it may be, and frequently is. One may speak on the value of patriotism and seek to arouse certain patriotic impulses without having any definite, overt action in mind into which such impulses might flow. A doctor, in a five-minute speech on the prevention of tuberculosis, may give certain definite directions for detecting early symptoms of the disease and motivate listeners to take action.\nAn audience to take definite steps for the proper diagnosis and treatment, whether the problem be to get definite, overt action, immediate or remote, or merely to charge a belief with a larger and more impressive meaning, so that it will more adequately function in behavior, the psychological problem involved is much the same. The end is achieved largely through appeal to self-interest, in which are to be found the leading motives that impel to action. We are all motivated primarily by our desires, wants, wishes \u2014 fundamental urges, which are the real determinants of our behavior.\n\nThere are many examples of these speeches. Virtually all sermons are of this type, so far as the ultimate end of such discourses is concerned. They may contain much exposition, as of Biblical texts, and frequently do, but such exposition has no bearing on the main point.\nFor its aim, the enriching and vitalizing of beliefs and maxims, and to make conduct square with them. It is fair to say that most political speeches are of this type. On most occasions, the political speaker will content himself with bolstering up old convictions and giving solemn praise for things as they are.\n\nThis is not necessarily the highest type of political speech, but it is the most common one. If old beliefs are assailed, or new reforms advocated, the political speech becomes argumentative. Such were most of Lincoln\u2019s best-known political speeches and debates.\n\nOf this type of speech also are lectures on the lyceum and Chautauqua \u2014 if they go beyond the bounds of mere humor. This was especially true of the older lyceum, which counted among its devotees such distinguished lecturers as Oliver.\nWendell Holmes, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry Ward Beecher, Wendell Phillips, Thomas Starr King, and Robert Ingersoll. No one of these men ever made a lyceum speech with entertainment only as the end. They had a very definite message and aimed to \u201cenrich the brain, ennoble the heart and quicken the conscience.\u201d Of later lyceum lecturers who exemplify this type of speaking, William Jennings Bryan and Russell H. Conwell can be mentioned. Both exerted great influence through their distinguished careers on the platform. In this class also must be included almost all eulogies\u2014that is, speeches dealing with the lives and characters of great men. The primary aim of a eulogy is to hold up certain distinctive character and personality traits as examples to the living. Occasional addresses, such as the commencement address, come under this heading as well.\nThe memorative and welcome addresses, along with farewell speeches and others, belong to this category. It will be evident that this type of speech includes many popular forms of public address. The eulogy is essentially an impressive type of speech, and it is hardly debatable. If we were to deliver a speech on Lincoln's character, focusing on distinct traits such as (1) his honesty, (2) his kindliness, and (3) his tolerance of others' views, few would object. We would aim to present these traits of Lincoln in a way that they serve as examples for the rest of us striving for richer and more meaningful lives. Such a speech, if skillfully crafted, would evoke certain emotions.\ntional  attitudes  and  action  tendencies  that  might  find  fruition \nin  a  better-ordered  behavior. \nI  recently  heard  an  excellent  eulogy  of  George  Washington, \nbased  largely  on  a  three-volume  biography  recently  completed. \nIn  his  introduction  the  speaker  remarked,  \u201cIf  I  can  build  one \nstone  into  the  characters  of  those  who  hear  me,  I  shall  feel  that \nI  have  not  spoken  in  vain.\u201d  Again  he  said  toward  the  close  of \nthe  speech,  \u201cIf  the  marble  lips  of  his  many  statues  could \nspeak  to  us  of  the  present  generation,  what  would  they  say?\u201d \nIt  is  plain  that  the  speaker  conceived  his  purpose  to  be  to \ninspire  and  motivate  the  living  by  holding  before  them  the \nvirtues  and  achievements  of  the  illustrious  dead. \nLike  the  political  speech,  the  eulogy  is  apt  to  shade  off  into \nthe  argumentative  type.  Such  is  Wendell  Phillips\u2019  eulogy  of \nToussaint  L\u2019Ouverture,  and  in  a  measure,  also,  his  eulogy  of \nDaniel O\u2019Connell. Phillips held advanced thinking positions that often placed him at odds with his contemporaries. Most eulogies will be of the impressive type of speech, aimed at influencing human behavior and avoiding controversy. Here are a few propositions and subjects for this type of speech. Note that the truth of any or all of the propositions is not seriously disputed, and yet we need to have these truths impressed upon us from time to time. All of them deal with human conduct, either directly or indirectly. The aim is to give fuller meaning to truths to which we only give lip service; to make our conduct square more fully with our professed ideals. On the given subjects, formulate propositions that are not essentially disputed.\n1. Educated men have a public duty.\n2. Intemperance is a vice.\n3. Intolerance is a mistake.\n4. New occasions teach new duties.\n5. Our biggest opportunities are near at hand.\n6. Want appeal in speaking is important.\n7. The life of Benjamin Franklin is an inspiration.\n8. Lincoln was a great patriot.\n9. Woodrow Wilson was a great President.\n10. Theodore Roosevelt was an interesting personality.\n11. Mental health is a requisite to wholesome living.\n12. The challenge of youth.\n13. The uses of courage.\n14. The decay of the home.\n15. Our hostility to new ideas.\n16. The scholar in a republic.\n17. Truth in advertising.\n18. The full life.\n19. The value of ideals.\n20. Democracy and education.\n21. Courage of youth.\n22. The battle of life.\nThe argumentative speech type deals with unaccepted beliefs or disputed propositions that require evidential support. Its purpose is to win acceptance for an idea or proposition, whose truth is in doubt or in dispute, and to vitalize it for influencing conduct. Action is the end of an argumentative speech, which may be definite and immediate, such as Bryan's speech for Woodrow Wilson at the Democratic Convention in 1912, or more remote, like speaking for the League of Nations in the hope that the United States may join someday. However, it should be noted that while the specific or proposed action may vary, the overall goal of an argumentative speech is to persuade and influence.\nThe art of effective speaking involves overt actions with the aim of favorably disposing men's minds or setting up attitudes that may immediately find expression in behavior aligned with the advocated policy. I may hear a convincing speech on the League of Nations and acquire a new attitude, leading me to support it when the opportunity arises. The argumentative speech deals with controversial propositions, some affirming and others denying. Should we join the World Court? Should we encourage students to attend small colleges instead of large universities? Should we require Latin in high school? These are all controversial topics with two sides that can be argued. In a speech on such a subject, the primary problem may be to remove doubt.\nArgumentative speeches abound in all debates, political or otherwise. They are necessary for winning acceptance for a proposition, which requires evidential support and skillful appeals to motives and emotions. Argumentative speeches are common in deliberative assemblies such as legislatures, congresses, and parliaments. The purpose is always the same: to get belief or win acceptance for an idea and set up attitudes that will result in favorable action, regardless of whether it is within a family, club, community, state, or nation.\n1. Are our industries overexpanded?\n2. Can we escape periodic depressions?\n3. Does capital punishment deter crime?\n4. Are athletics interfering too much with college education?\n5. Should lobbying be condemned?\n6. Is national income in the United States fairly distributed?\n7. Should farming by corporations on a large scale be encouraged?\n8. Can we instill patriotism by compulsory flag-waving or salute?\n9. Should workingmen organize a Labor Party in the United States?\n10. Are chain stores detrimental to our best interests?\n11. Is the small college to be preferred to the big university?\n12. Should there be national supervision of the production of moving pictures?\n13. Is installment buying on a large scale sound economic practice?\n14. Should house-to-house selling be prohibited?\n\nD. The Entertainment Speech. We recognize a type of speech that has for its primary end entertainment. So-called after-dinner speeches, or some of them at least, fall within this class. There are not many of them, and it is safe to say that only born humorists or eccentric geniuses can make them successful. The most notable of these lectures is \u201cThe Mormons\u201d by Charles Farrar Browne (Artemus Ward). Speeches at class reunions and group gatherings to commemorate some event probably would stress the entertainment feature. There may be a few others that serve this purpose.\nSome Chautauqua lectures belong to this class, although most worthwhile ones have some ulterior aim besides mere entertainment. Few speeches are made solely for entertainment purposes. It's a mistake to suppose that after-dinner speeches should consist merely of funny stories and jokes. Our published models do not support this idea. The better class of after-dinner speeches have a more or less definite message and frequently give expression to vital and dignified sentiments. An after-dinner speech may be anything from a few casual remarks with perhaps a story attached \u2013 hardly worthy of the name of a speech \u2013 to a somewhat lengthy and dignified discourse.\nA speech given after a dinner is not always an after-dinner speech. A presidential candidate comes to a city, is feted at a banquet, and then talks about political issues for an hour and a half. That is not an after-dinner speech. An after-dinner speech, typically, is rather short, informal, humorous, and may or may not have a definite message. The more lengthy and effective ones usually do.\n\nThe Entertainment Factor in Public Addresses:\n\nThe place of entertainment in public lectures or persuasive addresses can be a temptation for speakers. The following comment from Glenn Frank, an accomplished speaker, is worth heeding:\n\nThe attempt of the average lecturer to entertain has been the ineffective way to engage an audience.\nThe intellectual damnation of the present-day lecture platform. There is, of course, no excuse for the man who talks dully of great things and then damns the stupidity of the people for walking away from him. The unpardonable sin of the platform is the sin of being uninteresting. But what would have happened to the public influence of those sturdy old publicists, the Hebrew prophets, if they had spent their time spinning yarns just to capture applause of Israel? I mean no indictment of men who create their own material and cast it into fiction or character form. While such men entertain in the highest sense, their entertainment only wings the arrows of their philosophy. They are in the royal succession of real lecturers. Nor is reference intended to men who wisely use a story to illuminate a truth. Lincoln.\nWe should weave a story into an address in a way that illustrates a principle, as a steel engraving or woodcut enhances a book. However, such men do not bring in a story to recapture an audience whose absence of thought has wandered. We must distinguish sharply between mere entertainment and interestingness. Entertainment, which refers primarily to the humorous element in a speech, is only one factor in interestingness. A speech is interesting when it holds the attention of those who listen, but not all methods of holding attention have equal value for accomplishing worthwhile ends in speaking. We have stressed on more than one occasion in this text the idea that a speech, in order to be interesting in the best sense, must touch vitally and vividly the fundamentals. (An American Looks at His World, 1932, p. 67. - Kinds of Speeches)\nMental human interests. Whatever entertainment a speech affords should at least seem to spring naturally from the development of the theme and the speech materials used. One man will treat a serious subject in such a way as to get a great deal of humor out of it, while moving to a definite goal without seeming to go out of his way at all. Another man will treat the same subject and be unable to find any speech materials that yield genuine humor unless he goes out of his way to do so. There is no harm in a humorous story if it illuminates a point or, by subtle suggestion, points a moral. The harm comes in using it as an end in itself. It is a safe rule to follow that any speech materials that are introduced for the sake of amusement and not for the sake of advancing the end of the speech are better left out.\nLet us not overlook the fact that public lecturing is an art. It is not enough to have something to say; one must know how to say it. There is such a thing as charm in a speech, where humor and originality play a large part. Many good lectures have in them that which makes them enjoyable. They possess distinctive literary qualities. An examination of them will reveal this to a marked degree. One has but to read some of the speeches of platform masters like Thomas Starr King, Robert Ingersoll, George W. Curtis, and others to be impressed with their rhythmic charm and beauty. Among present-day speakers, Glenn Frank excels in the power to make truth palatable. His speeches exemplify not only virile thinking, but more than ordinary felicity of phrase and picturesqueness of style. They have what Emerson called \"the power to stir the soul and enter into the very essence of things.\"\nThe Art of Effective Speaking refers to the power of statement, or the ability to present an issue in a way that cannot be disregarded. Thought and language are interconnected. Radio managers emphasize the importance of \"showmanship\" in preparing talks for the radio, particularly in educational programs. The criticism is that educators lack the ability to present their ideas in an engaging way, and that the general public is like a thirteen-year-old in its capacity to understand and assimilate knowledge. Any mental diet offered to this audience must not only be in diluted form, but also interspersed with lighter offerings, presumably in the form of popular jazz melodies and other ordinary choices.\nIn this way, vaudeville menus are the only means to make the general public \"listen in\" to lectures and other educational programs.\n\nLet me first state that \"showmanship\" is an inadequate term for a speech, and not an enlightening one. While there may be some basis for criticism, college professors are accustomed to speaking to college students in terminology that does not pass current outside the campus. If presented to a thirteen-year-old audience, the seed would not fall on fertile ground. The reason is that the college professor does not speak to thirteen-year-olds and does not need to concern himself much about getting an audience. His audiences are selected and provided to him through the arrangement of\nThe curriculum requires students to listen, regardless of their preference. On the radio, listeners have the freedom to choose. The issue at hand is not only to present information in an intelligible format, which is the sole requirement of the classroom, but also to secure an audience to listen. Showmanship presumably deals with acquiring an audience on the air and maintaining their attention.\n\nKinds of Speeches\n\nIf showmanship implies that a minimum of truth or information should be provided, and that vaudeville methods are essential for educational programs, the answer is that such methods are unnecessary and, in the long run, will undermine their own objectives. If, on the other hand, showmanship refers to the presentation of ideas in a manner that makes them easily comprehensible and engaging through simple diction, then it is a valid approach.\nIn conclusion, speeches can be roughly classified into four categories based on their intended purposes: informative speeches and impressive speeches.\n\nStyle a speech with a large pictorial element, avoid technical terms, tactfully link ideas with fundamental human interests, scrupulously consider audience attention values or speech materials that capture their interest, interpret ideas and feelings in terms of familiar experiences, and add a touch of humor and originality - the answer is, let us have showmanship. We must realize that in our attempt to \"humanize\" knowledge, we must cultivate the art of communicating ideas to the public and meet them on terms they are willing to listen. There is no appeal from this popular mandate.\nArgumentative and entertaining speeches both aim to influence human conduct. Impressive and argumentative speeches share commonalities, but are distinguished by the fact that one deals with accepted beliefs or undisputed propositions, while the other deals with unaccepted beliefs or disputed propositions.\n\nThe impressive speech deals with ideas or beliefs that we acknowledge to be sound, but which do not function adequately in behavior. Its aim is to vitalize these beliefs and make them function more fully in behavior.\n\nThe argumentative speech takes a proposition that is not accepted as a basis for behavior. It may be in doubt, or it may be strenuously disputed. The speech aims to win acceptance for the proposition which expresses its purpose.\nTo interpret a speech's worth to us in fundamental human interests, in its capacity to gratify human desires and satisfy human wants, we must consider both its process of proving facts and the importance of the propositions to us. Emphasizing one process over the other can result in an unbalanced argumentative speech. The nature of the proposition determines which process is more crucial. It may be difficult to establish facts and easy to demonstrate the proposition's significance if the facts are favorable. Conversely, it may be easy to ascertain facts but challenging to evaluate the proposition. The speaker is the ultimate judge as to the most judicious treatment of a speech after considering all factors.\nThe speech situation consists of three elements: speaker, audience, and occasion. An informative speech aims to convey information clearly and impartially, explain new concepts, and clarify the obscure. Effectiveness depends on having interesting information. An entertainment speech, as its name suggests, provides amusement. Few speeches are given solely for entertainment. So-called after-dinner speeches, of the better type, offer a message or thought-provoking suggestions. We have numerous good models to guide us.\n\nExercises:\ni. Read Huxley\u2019s lecture \u201cOn a Piece of Chalk\u201d and write a report on it. Does it contain arguments? Classify it as an argumentative speech. Comment on style, clarity of thought, forms of support, and use of illustrations.\nTo read other speeches assigned and criticize them orally in class.\n\nKinds of Speeches:\n1. Report to the class on a sermon or some other speech you heard recently, answering the following questions:\na. What was the speaker's definite aim?\nb. How did he accomplish this aim? Briefly restate the ideas which supported or achieved his purpose.\nc. Do you think he achieved his purpose? Analyze the effect the sermon had on you \u2013 also get the reactions of others in the congregation.\n2. Analyze an instructor's lecture as follows:\na. What other purposes besides giving information did he have?\nb. What materials did he use for these purposes?\n3. Prepare a ten-minute speech, giving special attention to the type of speech. Let it guide you in choice of materials.\n\nReadings:\nSpeeches\nCHAPTER XIII\nTHE INFORMATIVE SPEECH\n\n\"Business \u2014 A Profession,\" by Louis D. Brandeis (Vol. IV)\n\"On a Piece of Chalk,\" by Thomas H. Huxley (Vol. XIII)\n\"Social Responsibilities,\" by John B. Gough (Vol. XIII)\n\"Cooper Union Speech,\" by Abraham Lincoln (Vol. XI)\n\"Why Men Strike,\" by Edward A. Filene (Vol. IV)\n\"The Babies,\" by Samuel L. Clemens (\"Mark Twain\") (Vol. I)\n\"The Pilgrim Mothers,\" by Joseph H. Choate\n\nReferences:\nCharles Henry Woolbert: Fundamentals of Speech (Revised Edition)\nJames Milton O\u2019Neill and Andrew Thomas Weaver: The Elements of Speech (1926), Chap. XII\nArthur Edward Phillips: Effective Speaking (1908), Chap. II\nWilliam Phillips Sandford and Willard Hayes Yeager: Principles of Effective Speaking (Revised Edition, 1930), Chap. III\nJames Winans: Public Speaking (Revised Edition), Chap. X.\nSome of your first speeches will likely be of the informative type. Beginning students in speaking generally choose to make informative or expository speeches, probably because they are accustomed to giving talks of this kind in the classroom and elsewhere, and are therefore led to believe they can do better with this kind than with any other. This may be correct, although the informative speech often presents real difficulties in terms of interesting an audience and holding attention.\n\nImportance of the Informative Element in Speeches: Most good speeches are likely to have in them a large element of interesting information. It is therefore important to know how to deal with it. Very often, the best service one can render a subject is to riddle it with light. The most persuasive way to present information is to make it engaging and clear.\nApproaching a difficult question with divergent views may involve making a clear and impartial statement of the issues. The process of clarifying a belief or view can be the shortest road to winning acceptance for it. The primary distinction between exposition and argument lies in the use of materials. A scientist may expound on the theory of evolution, seeking only to make it clear and having no particular interest in its acceptance; however, the exposition may still cause acceptance and exert far-reaching influence on the listeners. It may provide them with a wholly new outlook on life. \"The Lost Arts\" by Wendell Phillips, one of the most popular of all lyceum lectures, derives its power and charm largely from the unique and startling information it contains.\nThis text is already clean and readable. No need for any cleaning.\n\nThe informative speech in question would not be classified as such, as it has an ulterior aim. Many of the speech materials used in this lecture are impressive, but impressiveness is not the end goal. The speech is essentially argumentative, with the speaker intending to advocate a view that many will dispute. Phillips, it may be said, found it difficult to agree with his contemporaries, and as a result, almost all his speeches are of the argumentative type, whether eulogies, lyceum lectures, or even occasional addresses.\n\nArthur Edward Phillips emphasizes clearness as an objective in speaking in his Effective Speaking. Clearness is a quality of style rather than a general end, but it is worthy of special emphasis.\nThe informative element in speaking is clarity. Oliver Wendell Holmes, himself an accomplished lecturer, affirmed that nothing should go into a lecture which five hundred people cannot grasp immediately. Nothing more effectively kills interest in a speech than cloudiness or confusion of thought. If the members of an audience cannot listen and comprehend what is being said with mental ease and comfort, they are likely not to listen at all. The speaker, as a rule, has difficulty realizing that he, presumably, has a much clearer comprehension or view of the subject than his audience. The fact that things are simple and clear to him does not mean that they are simple or clear to them. Clear presentation must always be considered from the listeners' point of view.\n\nIt is sometimes difficult to realize the obscurities and ambiguities in one's own writing or speech. Therefore, it is essential for the speaker to put himself in the audience's shoes and evaluate the clarity of his message from their perspective. By focusing on clarity, the speaker can ensure that his ideas are effectively communicated and that his audience remains engaged and interested in what he has to say.\nThe ambiguities that lurk in language. I confess that I used the following sentence more than once before I noted its ambiguity: \"Nothing as raw material for a speech is a failure.\" I meant to say that a speech cannot be made out of nothing, and raw material of that order is a failure. I did not see that the sentence might also mean \"There is nothing in the form of raw material for a speech that is a failure\" \u2014 something I did not mean to say at all.\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\n\nThe informative element in a speech is therefore important. First, there is likely to be a great deal of it in almost any speech, for it may serve all ends. Second, in the presentation of information as such, the primary objective is clearness: the audience must be made to understand with the least mental effort.\nThe nature of exposition. In speeches that seek primarily to expound or impart information, it is well to remember that the desired response from the audience is \"I understand\" or \"Your explanation is clear to me.\" The question now arises: What is the best and surest way of accomplishing this aim? How do we impart new information, new ideas, build up the image of a new object? What is the basis of understanding and agreement ultimately between speaker and audience? The answer lies in our experience. That is the ultimate common ground where we can meet.\n\nThe only way in which we can learn anything new through speech is by its being likened to something that we already know; that is, by its being expressed in terms of experiences that are familiar to us. We can have new experiences, of which the text speaks.\nWe can go to Africa or Australia to see strange animals and new landscapes. But if we are going to make others see them by telling about them, we must describe them by likening them to other animals or scenes that are familiar. No matter how strong or creative our imagination may be, we cannot imagine anything that is not an element of past experience. Try it and be convinced. We can imagine an animal with the head of a horse, the body of an ox, and the tail of a lion, but while the animal is new, the parts are all old and familiar.\n\nOne method of exposition is by means of definition. For example, take the function of a dictionary. What is it? It is to define words we do not understand in terms of words we do understand. If we do not know the meaning of the word, define it.\nCaoutchouc is a kind of rubber. When the dictionary defines caoutchouc as a type of rubber, we have a general understanding of what it is. If we do not know how to pronounce it, we can learn it through familiar letter sounds. For instance, if we spell it \"kod-chook,\" we may understand its pronunciation. Another way to explain is through examples. A single example can shed light on a question, especially if it is a fair and typical representative of a class. William Lyon Phelps, in his commencement address to the New York University graduation class in June 1927, shared an amusing anecdote to illustrate that accuracy of statement does not always equate to truth. He said:\nThe history of the great sailing ship in the Indian Ocean is known to us. The ship was calm, and all the men were desperate. For the first and only time in his life, the mate got drunk, and the captain kept the log that week. He wrote in the log, \"Mate was drunk yesterday.\" When the mate came to, he said, \"Captain, you must remove that statement from the log; it will ruin me.\" The captain replied, \"It is true. You were drunk yesterday.\" \"I was, but I shall not get a berth again when we come to port, and you must forgive me and take it out,\" the mate pleaded. The captain said, \"No, I believe in writing the exact truth.\" The mate then replied, \"Very well.\"\n\nA week later, the mate was keeping the log and wrote, \"Captain was sober yesterday.\"\nposition. Franklin D. Roosevelt, in his speech nominating Alfred E. Smith for President on the Democratic ticket, at Madison Square Garden, New York, 1924, expounded on the source of public opinion: \"It was the illustrious Woodrow Wilson, my revered chief and yours, who said, 'The great voice of America does not come from the university. It comes from a murmur from the hills and the woods, from the farms, the factories and the mills \u2014 rolling on and gaining volume until it comes to us from the homes of the common people'\" (Homer D. Lindgren: Modern Speeches (1930), p. 326. 2 Ibid., p. 137).\n\nAnother method of exposition is by the use of illustrations. This is a very important method, for it is the method employed in likening the unknown to the known. In the early days, illustrations were often used in the form of pictures or diagrams. Today, however, illustrations take many forms, including anecdotes, stories, and examples. The effective speaker will use illustrations to clarify and make concrete the abstract ideas he wishes to convey.\nThe little girl, during the days of the automobile when horses shied at every car they met, overheard a man asking another, \"Isn't it strange that horses should be afraid of automobiles?\" The man replied, \"Well, I guess you would be afraid if you saw a pair of pants coming down the street with nobody in them.\" The child's analogy embodies familiar elements of thought. Although the idea of pants walking by themselves is new, the process of walking and a pair of trousers are familiar objects of thought. The relationship in which they are placed is new. It may be added that the suggested phenomenon would strike terror into the heart of the most valiant in broad daylight.\nOne more illustration. Lincoln once had occasion to explain to a jury of Illinois farmers the meaning of the phrase, \"preponderance of evidence.\" A large number of witnesses had been examined, all equally credible and all equally positive; it was a question of where the preponderance of evidence lay. Lincoln told the jurors they must decide the case according to the impressions which the evidence had produced on their minds, and if they felt puzzled at all, he would give them a test by which they could bring themselves to a just conclusion. \"Now,\" said he, \"if you were going to bet on this case, on which side would you be willing to risk a quarter? That side on which you would be willing to bet a quarter would be the side on which rests the preponderance of evidence in your minds. It is possible that you may not be right, but that is not the issue.\"\nThe question is about where the preponderance of evidence lies. You can determine this in your minds by deciding which side you would be willing to bet on. This illustration sheds light on the question. It's something we can understand from our own experience. The unknown is compared to something well understood - hitting the bullseye in speaking. Observe that the comparison is from the unknown to the known. The desired mental response is \"We understand.\" The principle here explained underlies all good informative speeches. One must always move from the unknown to the known, from the unfamiliar to the familiar. The known and familiar are always to be understood.\nThe use of speech materials should be adjusted to your audience. This principle applies to all types of speech. Your diction should be easily understood, sentences constructed for easy comprehension, and presentation method clear and uncomplicated for the information to be grasped with clarity and ease.\n\nThe use of charts and maps is beneficial in presenting complex facts and statistics. For instance, showing the growth of population, national income, increase in taxes, or any other statistic is challenging without the aid of graphs with ascending curves or mounting columns. Demonstrating how the Versailles Treaty altered European national boundaries would be extremely difficult without the use of maps. Charts and maps are essentially pictures and possess all their advantages.\n\"All such devices, including charts, are excellent aids to understanding and memory in speaking. However, they should be used sparingly in speech training. They do not significantly help develop speaking ability and may even retard it. Creating good charts is the work of scientists and statisticians, not speakers. Speaking from charts is simpler than speaking without them. Such aids are seldom used in public addresses except in scientific lectures and technical subjects.\n\nIn some instances, such as certain intercollegiate debates, they have been forbidden due to the tendency to abuse them. In the early debates, charts cluttered the stage and were strung up on wires stretched over the platform, giving the debates the appearance of a competition in chart-making. The audience\"\nA good informative speech should arouse curiosity and deal with a subject that the audience wants to know more about. Informative speeches are often made on subjects with only mild interest for the audience or on which they are as well informed as the speaker. Such speeches have, instead:\n\nkept looking at the charts rather than listening to the debaters. The result was that all such devices were ruled out by the constitution of the league. Judicious use of such devices on occasion may be proper. The tendency to abuse them or make too much of them should be avoided. It is a good rule to use them only when adequate results cannot be had in any other way. Requisites of a Good Informative Speech: A good informative speech should, to some extent at least, arouse curiosity. It should deal with a subject that your audience would really want to have explained or know something more about. Informative speeches are too often made on subjects that have only mild interest for the audience, or on which the listeners are as well informed as the speaker. Such speeches have, instead, lost the audience's attention.\nA tendency to degenerate into an elaboration of the obvious. For example, a girl in class is on part-time duty in a hospital and undertakes to make a speech on the history and work of the institution. Unless that hospital treats cases that are out of the ordinary, the chances are good that the listeners are in for a dull speech. To be worthwhile, a speech of this kind should yield information that is really new to the audience and adds to the sum total of their knowledge.\n\nIn an expository speech, there is not the same opportunity to link the subject up with the vital interests of the audience as there is in persuasive speeches. Very often, mental curiosity alone must sustain attention. I may be interested in understanding something about vacuum radio tubes or Einstein's theory of relativity.\nThe Central Debating Circuit, originally comprised of the Universities of Illinois, Iowa, Minnesota, Nebraska, and Wisconsin.\n\nThe Informative Speech\n\nStein's theory of relativity; yet, it is mere curiosity that sustains interest in such a speech. I would not anticipate applying this information in practical terms, or if I harbored such intentions, they would be distant and uncertain. We, therefore, rely predominantly on factors of intrigue such as the unusual and the concrete. It is primarily through the new and unusual, conveyed in terms of familiar experiences, that informative or expository speeches engage.\n\nAnother essential component of an effective informative speech is the speaker's extensive knowledge of the subject compared to the audience.\n\nSocrates is attributed with the saying, \"All men are sufficiently knowledgeable.\"\nPeople speak eloquently about things they understand. Unfortunately, the reverse is also true: no one can speak well on a subject they do not understand or have less information about than their audience. In the classroom, students generally put less effort into preparing an informative speech than they do for other types. The temptation is to choose a topic that they know little about, often something nearby, like a classmate's favorite subject. The outcome is a dull speech. For instance, a student might read several magazine articles and portions of a book or two in preparing a speech or debate on the League of Nations or lobbying. But how many students will make adequate preparation for a truly interesting speech on \"The Intelligence of Monkeys\" or \"The Socratic Method\"?\nThe Culture of the Eskimos \u2014 excellent subjects for an informative speech? Examples of Interesting Informative Speeches. Lectures on the polar regions by noted explorers, such as Admiral Byrd's at the Municipal Auditorium in Minneapolis, drew record-breaking attendance. The estimated attendance at the two lectures given in the afternoon and evening of the same day was twenty thousand. While there was likely good publicity for both the lecture and the polar expedition, the primary reason for this record-breaking attendance was Byrd's unusual experiences and information to share, as well as pictures of new and unknown scenes to exhibit. Few of us have first-hand knowledge of life and climate in the polar regions, and mental curiosity here is at its peak.\nVilhjalmur Stefansson, Arctic explorer and leading expert on life and culture in the frozen North, can captivate an audience for two or three hours with his personal experiences and discourse on the life and culture of the Eskimos on the North American coast. The Roald Amundsen lecture on the discovery of the South Pole was of the same nature. Few of us have the unique experiences and information to impart that these bold adventurers in the polar regions have, but their lectures suggest the kind of materials wanted in an informative speech. They also demonstrate how desire, especially curiosity, can be gratified and attention held by this type of address.\n\nOne of the earliest and most popular lectures of Wendell.\nPhillips was \"Street Life in Europe.\" A travel talk describing interesting places and persons is likely to hold attention, especially if the speaker has had opportunities for travel and can give first-hand information. If you have studied anthropology, astronomy, chemistry, or almost any science, it should yield interesting subjects for informative speeches.\n\nAn example of an exceptionally fine speech containing a wealth of unusual and interesting information is \u201cThe Lost Arts,\u201d by Wendell Phillips. This is regarded as the highest type of lyceum lecture. While information may not be the ultimate end in this speech, it is a very important subordinate end. The lecture abounds in concrete information that is striking and unique. Read it as an example of informative and attention-gripping speech materials.\n\nInformative Speeches That Expound or Explain. The informative speech is a type of public address that aims to educate or enlighten the audience about a particular topic. It is characterized by the presentation of facts, data, and information in a clear, concise, and engaging manner. The speaker's goal is to inform, educate, and persuade the audience to adopt a new perspective or understanding of the topic at hand.\n\nInformative speeches can cover a wide range of subjects, from scientific discoveries and historical events to social issues and current affairs. The key to delivering an effective informative speech is to choose a topic that is both interesting and relevant to the audience, and to present the information in a way that is engaging and easy to understand.\n\nTo prepare for an informative speech, the speaker should conduct thorough research on the topic, using reliable sources to gather accurate and up-to-date information. The speaker should also practice delivering the speech in a clear and confident manner, using visual aids and other tools to help illustrate key points and engage the audience.\n\nSome effective techniques for delivering an informative speech include using anecdotes and personal stories to illustrate key points, using visual aids such as charts, graphs, and images to help explain complex concepts, and using rhetorical devices such as repetition, metaphors, and analogies to help the audience remember key information.\n\nIn conclusion, the informative speech is an essential tool for educating and enlightening audiences about a wide range of topics. By presenting information in a clear, concise, and engaging manner, the speaker can help the audience gain a new perspective or understanding of the topic at hand, and leave them feeling informed and enlightened.\nInformative speeches thus far have addressed unusual facts that are interesting in themselves and do not pose significant interpretation issues for the average audience. Such speeches are not difficult to prepare if one has the necessary materials. They generally hold the audience's attention well.\n\nAnother type of informative speech aims to explain new processes or devices, and expound new theories, proposals, and experiments. These may present a genuine challenge in maintaining attention and sparking vital interest in the audience.\n\nFor instance, there are various mechanical devices and processes that are marvels in themselves. However, providing a reasonably engaging explanation of them is another matter. It seems almost miraculous that, in a city of several million people,\nPeople, in a few minutes, we may speak to one of them over the telephone. How are such connections made? It's simple once you understand. However, of several speeches I have listened to on this subject, none made it clear. The automatic telephone system is more marvelous as a mechanical invention, probably too complicated to explain in a speech. The fact of the matter is, in addition to the inherent difficulties of explaining these processes, we have only a mild interest in understanding them. Many people drive a car without being able to find either the carburetor or the crankcase. So, unless you have more than an ordinary interest in these mechanical devices or processes, and more than ordinary skill in presenting them, be on your guard against inflicting your explanations on innocent listeners.\nAs for new theories, experiments, proposals in the realms of economics, government, science, and so forth, they may be very interesting and furnish good subjects for expository speeches. If mere exposition is the aim, it should be made impartial, and everything that savors of advocacy should be avoided. Even then, exposition of such subjects may have a certain persuasive effect. To understand is frequently equivalent to believing. Perhaps we have to admit that any speech may indirectly influence conduct.\n\nForms of Support. Almost all forms of support may be used\nIn an informative speech, concrete speech materials are the best. The general and specific examples will be effective. The lectures of men like Stefansson, Byrd, and Amundsen were replete with personal experiences, which, as a rule, take the form of specific examples. To clearly show how an Eskimo family lives and moves and has its being, how a penguin behaves, and what are the effects of very low temperatures in the polar regions, can best be done through concrete examples.\n\nIn explaining the new and unfamiliar, in the form of mechanical processes or devices, economic theories and proposals, illustrations will be found extremely useful. Several examples have been given to show how valuable an analogy can be in making clear the meaning of a phrase or a form of behavior. Illustrations are essential.\nThe effectiveness of traditions derives largely from the fact that they embodied well-known and familiar experiences. They are the chief means of likening the unknown to the known. In explaining the meaning of economic or political theories and institutions, such as the business cycle or the World Court, the use of testimony from authorities in these fields would prove effective.\n\nIn conclusion, the informative element is prominent in all types of speeches, unless it be the purely entertaining speech. It is therefore worthwhile to cultivate skill in presenting ideas simply and clearly so that the humblest may grasp them. In the argumentative speech, especially, the giving of information plays a large part. Frequently, the only difference between exposition and argument is the use made of, or direction given to, the information.\n\nThe Informative Speech\nTo present materials effectively, information must be simple, clear, and vivid. Exposition becomes argument when it relates to a definite course of conduct. Effective speaking requires presenting information in a clear and unobscured manner. Cloudiness and obscurity of thought can quickly lose an audience's attention. A speaker must repeat ideas in various ways before they are fully understood and appreciated. First, a general statement with some restatements; then, a specific example or several examples; next, perhaps testimony in some form; and finally, a comparison in the form of a good illustration. When people take in ideas by ear, they must take them in diluted form. Paradoxically, the only way we can truly take in ideas is through repeated exposure and various forms of explanation.\nInformation is taken in through the eye instead of the ear for comprehension and comfort. We need to see things in pictures to fully understand and remember them. For informative speeches during class practice, finding suitable subjects is a challenge. Avoid trite and commonplace topics. Look for the unusual or unique to capture your audience's attention. Use concrete speech materials and illustrations to help navigate difficult sections.\n\nEXERCISES:\n1. Write a report on one of the assigned speeches. Identify its type. Is the informative element predominant? Is it clear? What forms of support are used? Which ones are effective?\n1. What is more effective? Do you find the pictorial element strong? Comment on the style and other points that occur to you.\n2. In a three-minute speech, aim to make clear the meaning of the following. Be concrete and simple.\n   a. A man must be twice his predecessor's worth to equal him.\n   b. We never learn anything from history.\n   c. He who has less than he desires should know he has more than he deserves.\n   d. You can do anything with a bayonet except sit on it.\n   e. Riches are the baggage of virtue.\n3. Read Watterson\u2019s description of Lincoln (page 484). Comment on its diction and other qualities of style. Does it present a clear picture of Lincoln?\n4. Give a report, oral or written, on a speech you have recently heard which aimed primarily to make something clear or impart information.\nPrepare three speech situations, selecting subjects and audiences, for an informative speech:\n\n1. Subject: Modern Education and the Government\n   Audience: Parents and educators\n\n2. Subject: The Poetic Principle\n   Audience: Literature enthusiasts\n\n3. Subject: Man and Monkeys\n   Audience: Biology students\n\nPrepare an informative speech of eight or ten minutes on an interesting subject. Avoid trite and commonplace topics. Enlist as many factors of interestingness as possible.\n\nReadings:\n- \"Modern Education and the Government\" by Franklin D. Roosevelt (O\u2019Neill and Riley)\n- \"The Poetic Principle\" by Edgar Allan Poe (Mod. El.: I, Vol. VI)\n- \"Man and Monkeys\" by Louis Agassiz (Mod. El.: I, Vol. VI)\n- \"Aphorisms\" by John Morley (Mod. El.: I, Vol. VI)\n- \"The Choice of Books\" by Frederick Harrison (Vol. VII)\n- \"How to Fail in Literature\" by Andrew Lang (Vol. VI)\n- \"The Future of the Supreme Court\" by James M. Beck (Lindgren)\n\nReferences:\n- William Phillips Sandford and Willard Hayes Yeager: Principles of Effective Speaking (Revised Edition, 1930), Chap. XII.\nAll great thoughts come from the heart. - Marquis de Vauvenargues\n\nChapter XIV\nThe Impressive Speech\n\nWe have briefly discussed the informative speech. Now, we must consider the impressive speech. Both impressive and argumentative speeches, as a rule, are persuasive; that is, they aim to influence human behavior. The distinctive aspect of persuasive speaking is that it appeals to feelings and emotions or motives, as well as to the intellect. In informative speeches, the appeal is primarily to the understanding or intellect.\n\nWe have already seen that the type of speech we are here dealing with is concerned with the support of propositions that are not disputed; or, to put it differently, with beliefs that are widely accepted.\nWe are all agreed that selfishness is an ugly trait, and we need not be convinced on this score. However, hundreds of sermons have been preached on it, and hundreds more will continue to be preached. There are plenty of occasions for making speeches that aim to strengthen old loyalties, revive flabby faiths, bolster up old convictions, mobilize moral impulses, put a new edge on conscience, and hold up character traits that are altogether lovely and admirable. The problem of the impressive speech is essentially one of motivation.\n\nFeelings, Emotions, Motives. In this chapter, we shall have occasion to use freely such terms as feelings, emotions, motives. We often refer to emotional appeal. We should understand what these terms mean.\nPsychologists refer to feelings in three dimensions: pleasantness-unpleasantness. We are primarily concerned with feelings in their aspect of being pleasant or unpleasant, as all of us are motivated by a desire to have pleasant experiences and avoid unpleasant ones. It is difficult to see how expectancy and excitement, or their opposites, can escape having a pleasant or unpleasant feeling tone. We may therefore say, roughly, that all feelings, so far as they motivate action, range themselves under these two heads, pleasant and unpleasant. By referring to our own experiences, we have a fairly clear idea of what that means.\n\nAn emotion is essentially an intensified feeling and may be either pleasant or unpleasant. Familiar pleasant emotions are:\nmirth, joy, love, unpleasantnesses such as grief, fear, anger, hate. An emotion is a stirred-up state of feeling. Each emotion can be located in the tridimensional scheme of feeling, but such an analysis does not do full justice to the emotion. Fear is a state of excited, unpleasant expectancy, and mirth is excited pleasant relief. Each is something more. Emotion is like feeling in being diffuse and massive, but an emotion has more definiteness than a mere feeling, especially on the motor side. Each emotion is a sensation mass, and each is at the same time a motor set. Fear is a set for escape and anger for attack. These sets are more specific than the sets of mere pleasantness and unpleasantness. (We shall not go far astray in regarding emotion as deep, intense feeling.) A motive is a feeling or emotion that prompts or incites to action.\nAction is not always linked to emotions in the sense of influencing conduct, although they may. A mother grieves over the loss of an only son. Her grief may not motivate to any definite action. It might, however. For instance, a wealthy woman might, as a means of compensation for her grief, donate a memorial library to her community or an educational institution. A motive is always a determinant of behavior.\n\nRelation of Our Wants and Wishes to Our Emotions\n\nThere has been much confused thinking regarding the relationship between our emotions and our wants or motives. It should be made clear that our feelings and emotions are as inseparably connected with our wants and desires as wind is with air. In fact, it may be said that:\n\n\"There has been much confused thinking in regard to the relationship between our emotions and our wants or motives. It should be made plain that our feelings and emotions are as inseparably connected with our wants and desires as wind is with air.\" (Robert S. Woodworth, Psychology, 1929, p. 282)\nJust as wind is simply air in motion, so our feelings or emotions are simply our wants and wishes in action. To want something is to experience a feeling or emotion concerning it. If our wants are making progress in the direction of being satisfied, we experience pleasurable emotions. If our wants are not making progress in finding satisfaction or are in the process of being defeated or frustrated, we experience unpleasant emotions. If we are hungry and cannot get food, suffocating and cannot get air, lonely and cannot find friends, we have painful or unpleasant feelings or emotions. If we are looking forward to attending a fine concert, a play, or a football game, we have pleasurable feelings or emotions. The satisfaction of a want may be sudden and of short duration, as when we unexpectedly run across a desire.\nFriendship, or it may be of long duration, as in the case of a composer writing a symphony, or it may have a long period of anticipation, as when we plan a trip abroad six months in advance. Satisfaction is not limited to the actual appeasement of the impulse through action upon its object; it is no mere running down of a drive. For it contains, in addition, an anticipation of appeasement, an imaginative foretaste of the attainment of the goal. This is even true of the most primitive satisfactions of man. The satisfaction of hunger is not the simple appeasement of an organic craving, but a realization in imagination of the pleasures of dining, which may accompany the whole process of eating. Anticipation thus provides an ideal component in all satisfaction. The appeasement of impulse in action is the fulfillment of a desire.\nThe focus is on satisfaction, but around it lies the anticipation of appeasement. Sometimes one, sometimes another of these factors in satisfaction prevails. (DeWitt Henry Parker: Human Values, p. 24)\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\n\nIn Chapter IX, \u201cMotivation: Want Appeal,\u201d it was made clear that negative motives like fear, anger, jealousy, hate are emotions developed in the competitive struggle as a result of interference with our quest to satisfy human wants. Pleasant emotions, on the other hand, are always the result of wants satisfied or desires fulfilled. An emotion is therefore always symptomatic of a human want in the process of being either satisfied or frustrated.\n\nEmotional appeal is always want appeal. It is plain from what has been said that emotional appeal in speaking has to be based on satisfying human wants.\nEvery emotion is rooted in some form of desire. When Franklin D. Roosevelt appealed to the fear of radicalism in his acceptance speech for the Democratic nomination for the Presidency in 1932, he understood that for a large group of Americans, the spread of radicalism meant threatened interference with the desire for free opportunity to build careers through unhampered profit-making. The appeal to ethical sentiments, common in persuasive speaking, is based on the desire of all normal persons to see fair dealing and justice prevail. We feel uncomfortable when human misery and suffering are brought imaginatively to our attention, and find satisfaction in a course of conduct that addresses these issues.\nThe value of emotional appeal. All forms of emotional appeal, whether the emotion sought to be aroused is pleasant or unpleasant, have a basis in some form of desire, either in the process of fulfillment or defeat. Our feelings and emotions are symptomatic of human wants and are the mainsprings of action. \"The chief motives of human actions lie in the feelings and emotions,\" says an eminent psychologist. \"There is no light in souls in which there is no warmth\" is a French aphorism.\n\nAn understanding of emotions is of primal importance to every public speaker, for his success. - Walter Dill Scott\nOr the success of a movement depends more on his ability to stir emotions than on his ability to instruct the intellect or move the will. \"No movement gets far on a purely intellectual basis,\" says John Dewey. \"It has to be emotionalized; it must appeal to the social imagination. Man is so constituted that every great movement in history has owed its force to the stirring of emotions.\" This is equivalent to saying that all great movements must be linked up with fundamental human wants. A man's eloquence is measured largely by his ability to stir emotions. He who cannot touch the heart will never be a successful speaker. The manner in which we give beliefs a richer meaning and make them more potent for better-ordered behavior is by linking them up with human wants or charging them with feeling, just as a wire is charged with a current of electricity.\nThe difference between a dynamic belief and a dormant one is the difference between a live wire and a dead one. We do the things we feel deeply about and leave undone the things we do not feel or care about. All stimulation of feelings, all emotional appeal, must be interpreted to have value only insofar as it revives dormant beliefs, strengthens and vivifies weak and wavering ones, and renders strong ones still more potent and dynamic. It is not enough that a eulogy of George Washington, for example, makes us feel deeply in regard to that gentleman. It must hold up for our emulation definite personality traits, inspire us by definite acts of heroism or statesmanship, and so give a richer and more dynamic meaning to certain definite beliefs that we hold concerning the Great Virginian.\nOur feelings or desires are the basis of human values. Many persons seem to think that there is something tricky and ignoble in an emotional appeal. If that is really so, we had better keep a watchful eye on our poets, for their appeal is primarily to the feelings and emotions. It is not the function of a poet to give facts or impart scientific information impartially. Great poetry, like great oratory, is pictorial and, by means of presenting vivid imagery of power and beauty to the senses, stirs in us appropriate feelings and emotions, inspiring us to love what is beautiful and righteous, and to hate what is ugly and base. It is our feelings and emotions that make life interesting and determine all its values. The goal of all living is to get as many experiences as possible. (Psychology of Public Speaking, 1926, p. 50. - 236 The Art of Effective Speaking)\nOur reason aims to evaluate human behavior and help us choose between pleasurable and unpleasant feelings, even in the next world. The best our intellect can do is guide us towards pleasurable feelings and away from disagreeable ones. However, the choice is always based on desire and wants. Our judgments about the worth of things, whether big or small, depend on the feelings they arouse in us. If we were radically feelingless and if ideas were the only thing our mind could entertain, we would lose all our likes and dislikes at once and be unable to point to any situation or experience in life as more valuable.\nWe speak of intellectual emotions, such as satisfactions derived from great accomplishments in literature, art, invention, administration. All our experiences, even intellectual ones, have a feeling or emotional tone. Our feelings and emotions are the colors in life's picture. Without them, life would be drab indeed.\n\nUnderstanding is not enough. It is part of the Socratic gospel that truly virtuous conduct rests on understanding. But is understanding enough? Remember that impressive speeches deal with propositions that are not disputed. Our reason tells us that such propositions are true or valid. Should we rely solely on understanding for right behavior?\nA citizen in a republic votes, reason says yes. Do we always vote? Reason says no. Should we behave selfishly toward associates? Reason says no. Do we always behave unselfishly? Reason tells us to take outdoor exercises regularly, eat slowly, select food based on nourishing quality, and do or not do a thousand other things. Do we follow reason in these matters? No. The spirit may be willing, but the flesh is weak. We do not live up to our aspirations. It is precisely with this problem of making action patterns conform to beliefs and ideals that a quarter of a million pulpits are occupied every Sunday morning. An appeal to interests or motives is necessary. If, then, reason is powerless to motivate human beings in regard to the most important matters.\nVital truths or at best play a minor role in influencing audiences, is it not poor psychology to depend too much on them? Must not the speaker necessarily appeal to such mental processes as in reality impel men to action? If it is a fact that we are governed largely by our wishes, wants, desires, prejudices, customs, habits, feelings, emotions, then obviously the speaker must address himself to these. He must bring his message or the course of action which he advocates into line with the listeners' wants, wishes, desires, customs, habits, because, in general, we do not like to adopt the new unless it is made to look much like the old and familiar. \"I have only one lamp by which my feet are guided,\" said Patrick Henry. \"And that is the lamp of experience.\" It is only in our experiences that we meet on common ground.\ni. Analyze your audience for motives. This is important for all persuasive speeches, whether impressive or argumentative. It's not always easy to identify and understand what motives may be at play in a particular audience. Look for two kinds of motives: those that are common to all people, and those that are unique to the audience in question. Professional men and laborers share many common interests, but each group also has specific interests. As a rule, there are usually more common motives than unique ones, depending on the subject. If you are talking to an audience, analyze their motives.\nabout a citizen's obligation to take an active interest in public affairs, the motives you will appeal to are largely those common to all people, for we all have much the same stake in government. The motives that could be appealed to have an extremely wide range. Suppose you are addressing an audience of college students on this subject. Consider the possibilities of appeal to the following motives:\n\na. Self-preservation: Playing it safe. Does not safety lie in the direction of an intelligent interest in public questions? Consider what the World War did to us, and will continue to do to us for the next half-century or so. Is it probable that we can prevent wars until we develop an intelligent and socially-minded citizenship in the leading nations of the world?\n\nb. Property. We have an interest in avoiding corruption in government.\nThe problems in the text are minimal. Here's the cleaned text:\n\nThe problems of democracy \u2013 local, national, or international \u2013 are a running sore. Corruption and misgovernment can be costly. The estimated cost of the World War was 350 billion dollars. We pay a costly toll annually for bad government.\n\nC. Reputation. We wish to be known as good citizens, as persons with enough intelligence to do our part in getting good government. Any other attitude is cynical.\n\nd. Affections. The interests of family and friends are involved in an efficient and stable government. The ramifications of bad government are endless. Consider the effects of the Russian Revolution on the middle classes in Russia.\n\ne. Moral sentiments. Intelligence and education are trusts to serve society. The scholar who does not recognize such obligations is recreant to his trust. (See \u201cThe Scholar in a Republic,\u201d by Wendell Phillips.)\nWhat is the relation of an efficient government to the development and enjoyment of the highest culture and art \u2014 great music, drama, oratory, painting? There may be a definite one. What would a revolution do to art? Revolutions come from a lack of intelligent interest in government. This is merely suggestive. It is intended to serve primarily to stress the importance of centering attention on the audience and motives. In preparing a speech, always keep one eye on the audience. Try to discover their interests in your question, not in a vague and nebulous way, but in a specific and concrete way. Your subject must touch your audience at some point vitaly, or else it is not a good subject for that particular audience. As an example of what may happen under a government that suppresses public discussion and in which the electorate has no voice:\n\n1. Remove meaningless or completely unreadable content: None in this text.\n2. Remove introductions, notes, logistics information, publication information, or other content added by modern editors that obviously do not belong to the original text: None in this text.\n3. Translate ancient English or non-English languages into modern English: No translation needed.\n4. Correct OCR errors: None in this text.\n\nTherefore, the cleaned text is:\n\nWhat is the relation of an efficient government to the development and enjoyment of the highest culture and art \u2014 great music, drama, oratory, painting? There may be a definite one. What would a revolution do to art? Revolutions come from a lack of intelligent interest in government. This is merely suggestive. It is intended to serve primarily to stress the importance of centering attention on the audience and motives. In preparing a speech, always keep one eye on the audience. Try to discover their interests in your question, not in a vague and nebulous way, but in a specific and concrete way. Your subject must touch your audience at some point vitaly, or else it is not a good subject for that particular audience. As an example of what may happen under a government that suppresses public discussion and in which the electorate has no voice:\nvoice. Consider the following contrast between democracy in America and despotism in Russia under the Czarist regime. I know what reform needs, and all it needs, in a land where discussion is free, the press untrammeled, and where public halls protect debate. There, as Emerson says, \"What the tender and poetic youth dreams today, and conjures up with inarticulate speech, is tomorrow the vociferated result of public opinion, and the day after is the charter of nations.\" Lieber said in 1870, \"Bismarck proclaims today in the Diet the very principles for which we were hunted and exiled fifty years ago.\" Submit to risk your daily bread, expect social ostracism, count on a mob now and then, \"be in earnest, don't equivocate, don't excuse, don't retreat a single inch,\" and you will finally be heard.\nIn such a land, he is doubly and treply guilty who, except in some most extreme case, disturbs the sober rule of law and order. But such is not Russia. In Russia, there is no press, no debate, no explanation of what government does, no remonstrance allowed, no agitation of public issues. Dead silence, like that which reigns at the summit of Mont Blanc, freezes the whole empire, long ago described as \"a despotism tempered by assassination.\" Meanwhile, such despotism has unsettled the brains of the ruling family, as unbridled power doubtless made some of the twelve Caesars insane \u2014 a madman sporting with the lives and comfort of a hundred millions of men. The young girl whispers in her mother's ear, under a ceiled roof.\nPity for a brother, knouted and dragged half dead into exile for his opinions. The next week, she is stripped naked and flogged to death in the public square. No inquiry, no explanation, no trial, no protest; one dead, uniform silence \u2013 the law of the tyrant. Where is there ground for any hope of peaceful change? Where is the fulcrum upon which you can plant any possible lever?\n\nThis is a powerful emotional appeal intended to rouse sympathy for the Russians struggling for liberty. Of the scholar\u2019s place in a democracy, Wendell Phillips says elsewhere in the same speech:\n\nLet us inaugurate a new departure, recognize that we are afloat on the current of Niagara, eternal vigilance the condition of our safety, that we are irrevocably pledged to the world not to go back to bolts and bars \u2013 could not if we would, and would not if we could.\nBut Bacon states, \"In the theatre of man's life, God and his angels should be lookers-on.\" \"Sin is not removed from man as Eve was from Adam, by putting him to sleep.\" Richter remarks, \"The eagle is beautiful when it floats with outstretched wings aloft in the clear blue. But it is sublime when it plunges down through the tempest to its eyry on the cliff, where its unfledged young ones dwell and are starving.\" Accept proudly Fisher Ames' analysis: \"A\"\nMonarchy is a man-of-war, stanch, iron-ribbed, and resistless when under full sail; yet a single hidden rock sends her to the bottom. Our republic is a raft, hard to steer, and your feet always wet; but nothing can sink her. If the Alps, piled in cold and silence, be the emblem of despotism, we joyfully take the ever-restless ocean for ours - only pure because never still.\n\nPurpose and main divisions of your speech:\n1. Permit greatest want appeal in your speech.\n2. Careful survey of question.\n3. Careful analysis of audience interest.\n3. Important propositions selected without audience interest.\n4. Aimless and dull speech.\nBegin to grip your audience only when you begin to show them that their interests are involved. Suppose we use the subject of taking an interest in public affairs as an example. The plan for such a speech might be somewhat as follows:\n\nMain Idea I. The privilege of citizenship in a democracy was acquired only after a long and bitter struggle.\nMain Idea II. Good government, with all its advantages, can be had only by an interested citizenship.\nMain Idea III. You can discharge your obligation as scholars only by taking an active interest in public affairs.\n\nThis plan is only a suggestion, and perhaps you can find a better one. You will find, however, that the main ideas of the speech are vital propositions and lend themselves to persuasive appeal. If you will read Phillips\u2019 \u201cThe Scholar in a Republic,\u201d you will readily discover what powerful appeals may be made.\nto some of the motives suggested and how much persuasive dynamite there is in this question. Phillips takes a broad view of the subject, maintaining with matchless eloquence that educated men must not only vote, but assume a leadership in the agitation and discussion of public questions.\n\nSpecific Methods of Emotional or Want Appeal. Let us now consider specific methods of emotional appeal, remembering that an emotional appeal is always an appeal to motives. There are at least two ways of appealing to the feelings.\n\ni. Give such facts and incidents as have a direct impact on the feelings to arouse them. Hear what a veteran in the field, Henry Ward Beecher, has to say on this subject:\n\nYou can never make people feel by scolding them because they do not feel. You can never move anybody by saying \u201cFeel.\u201d Feeling is not something that you can turn on at will. But there are certain facts beneath which feelings lie, and if you can make those facts clear in a simple, impressive way, you will make the feelings clear. (Henry Ward Beecher)\nThe human soul is as much a product of cause as anything else in the world. I could sit down before the piano and say, \"A, come forth\"; it won't. But if I place my finger on the key, it will, and that is the only way to make it. The human soul is like a harp; one has but to touch a chord, and it will vibrate according to his touch, depending on his knowledge. It is the knowing how that you are to acquire. It is the very business that you are going out into the world for; it is to understand human nature so that you can touch the chords of feeling.\n\nIn general, feeling results from the presentation of some fact or truth that has a relation to the particular feeling you wish to produce. If I wanted to make you weep, I would not tell you an amusing story; I would tell one if I wanted to make you laugh, and that story had a relation.\nIf I wished to make you laugh, I would tell you a pathetic incident, the truth of which had some sympathetic relation to feeling. If you wish to rouse your hearers to righteous indignation, you must present such facts as will produce that emotion; if to admiration, then such facts as will awaken that feeling; if to loathing, the appropriate ideas must be presented; and so on through the whole gamut of the emotions. The ideas introduced must have the proper emotional association.\n\nSuppose we have occasion to make an appeal for a Red Cross drive during a period of depression. We can say: \"People are in need. They need clothes to wear and food to eat. It is your duty to contribute out of your means and help.\" This line of talk has a certain effect and would doubtless get some response.\nA school nurse in a large city noticed one morning that one of the girl pupils looked pale and wan. She questioned her.\n\n\"Are you sick?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied the little girl.\n\n\"Do you feel hungry?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Didn't you have breakfast this morning?\"\n\n\"No. It was not my turn.\"\n\nAn incident like this is highly suggestive. Psychologically, it sets off a feeling pattern with which we are all familiar - that of hunger.\nWe may not have been placed in the same economic position as this schoolgirl, but most people can relate to the pangs of hunger and understand her predicament. This example serves not only to illustrate the condition of this one family, but also of many similarly situated. The incident provides us with a point of contact with reality.\n\nWe must not forget that a speaker deals with reality. When he advocates a course of action aimed at removing conditions harmful to social welfare, such as child labor, distress during economic crises, intolerance, and excessive drinking, his goal is clear: to bring such conditions to the minds of his audience, making them see things as they truly are in terms of human experience.\nTo move people to emotion and action, we need concrete images brought vividly to our senses. The ideal way to make people appreciate a situation is to have them experience it firsthand, presenting the concrete elements to their senses. If people could see all the things that happen during a modern battle or have vivid pictures of them brought to their senses, probably no war would last thirty days. Similarly, if all automobile accidents and their accompanying sufferings that occur in a year could be flashed before our eyes, we would drive more carefully. However, the difficulty lies in the limitations of our imagination. Juries are sometimes taken to the place where the cause of action occurred.\nThe need to see events firsthand for a more accurate impression is not feasible for an audience. Instead, we must present vivid images to the imagination that best represent the situation we aim to portray and evoke strong emotions. This necessitates careful fact and incident selection. Broad generalities lack impact as they are vague abstractions of reality. They fail to connect with earthly experiences. Witness the potent motivations in the suggested imaginative appeals, both instances of which would be highly emotional. Some of the strongest impelling motives for action would be engaged: self-preservation or playing it safe; affections, danger to one's family.\nA good lawyer or life-insurance salesman differs from a poor one not only in their ability to analyze evidence and reason, but also in their skill to draw pictures and make tactful, imaginative appeals to feelings at the right moment. An impressive example of persuasion for the value of life insurance was a letter written by a father to his daughter. To be opened only upon his death, the letter contained a touching message and enclosed a $10,000 life-insurance policy. The letter moved one almost to tears.\nAnd made one feel that if one wanted to do something handsome for one's children, that was the way to do it. Great criminal lawyers are known not so much for their ability to analyze evidence as for their ability to make jurors suggestible and move them to tears by appropriate emotional appeals. The following from Webster\u2019s \u201cReply to Hayne\u201d is an illustration in point, and a very good one. In defending the course of Massachusetts and New England, Webster did not deem it necessary to introduce any evidence on the subject. He was aware that his audience knew well the proud part Massachusetts had played in shaping national policies, and he understood what keys to strike to touch the chords of sympathy and admiration in his hearers.\n\nMr. President, I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts.\nShe needs none. There she is. Behold her and judge for yourselves. There is her history; the world knows it by heart. The past at least is secure. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill; and there they will remain forever. The bones of her sons falling in the great struggle for independence, now lie mixed with the soil of every state from New England to Georgia; and there they will lie forever. And, sir, where American liberty raised its first voice, and where its youth was nurtured and sustained, there it still lives in the strength of its manhood and full of its original spirit. If discord and disunion shall wound it; if party strife and blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it; if folly and madness, if uneasiness under salutary and necessary restraint, shall succeed to separate it from that which?\nUnion by which alone its existence is ensured; it will stand, in the end, by the side of that cradle in which its infancy was rocked. It will stretch forth its arm with whatever vigor it may still retain, over the friends who gather round it. And it will fall at last, if fall it must, amongst the proudest monuments of its own glory, and on the very spot of its origin.\n\nHere again is a good example of strong motivation in an emotional appeal. The appeal is not only to New England pride for the large and honorable part played by Massachusetts in early American history, but also to patriotism and the safety of the Union, which Webster held up as the fountainhead of liberty and prosperity.\n\nFeeling may be aroused with reference to one idea by likening it to another idea that has the right emotional association.\nThe method of suggestion, which involves a transference of feeling from one thought pattern to another. It is a striking fact that one idea, emotionally colorless, may become suffused with feeling by merely likening it to another idea about which we are accustomed to think with a certain emotion. For instance, an instructor wishes to make his students feel that aspirants for honors in debate and oratory owe it to themselves as well as to their Alma Mater to make the most careful preparation, through class instruction, practice in literary societies, and reading of good oratorical literature. A mere statement of the proposition makes no impression. He may, however, liken the art of speaking to the art of music and dwell upon the long-continued and painstaking drill which a musical student must undergo before he masters his art. He may suggest that the students' own self-interest and their debt to their Alma Mater are intertwined, creating a stronger emotional connection to their preparation.\nThe student in music or speaking who fails to give proper time and effort never rises above the ragtime variety. In the agitation against child labor, the following stanzas have been widely circulated:\n\nNo fledgling feeds the father bird!\nNo chicken feeds the hen!\nNo kitten mouses for the cat \u2014\nThis glory is for men.\n\nWe are the wisest, strongest race \u2014\nLoud may our praise be sung!\n\nThe only animal alive\nThat lives upon its young.\n\nAn impressive comparison, or rather contrast, is made between the customs:\n\nThere is no argument in this, and no one pretends there is, in the sense of evidential support. But there is an impressive speech comparing the customs of:\nThe lower animals and man, to man's disadvantage. We may not be moved by the idea of children laboring in factories. But we are deeply moved by the idea that such labor, in effect, amounts to adults feeding on the substance of these wretched children. In this way, the idea of child labor is invested with a feeling of horror; in other words, the idea of child labor, which may not have any emotional coloring to begin with, becomes suffused with feeling when compared to the idea of adults feeding on their children. The comparison is from the unfelt to the felt. The appeal is to the moral sentiments. The feeling aroused is one of strong repulsion which may become a powerful motive.\n\nIn this respect, ideas are like metals. A metal heated to high temperature will, when brought into contact with another, fusion occurs.\nAn idea highly colored with emotion, when associated with another idea that is emotionally cold or colorless, gives the latter its feeling tone. This is what William James called the sympathetic induction of feeling.\n\nA comparison must be accepted to be effective. In order to achieve results in this way, the audience must accept the comparison as valid. If there is doubt in their minds about the fairness of the comparison or about the truth of the idea presented, no results will be obtained. For instance, if listeners doubt that child labor is an evil and are inclined to look upon it as a good or at least as a necessary evil, then no amount of invidious comparisons will have any effect.\n\nThat is why illustrations of this kind are effective in impressing an audience.\nspeeches,  where  we  usually  deal  with  propositions  not  disputed. \nIn  argumentative  speeches,  dealing  with  disputed  propositions, \nacceptance  must  sometimes  first  be  won  by  evidence  and  au\u00ac \nthorities.  When  that  is  done,  emotional  appeal  is  frequently \nTHE  ART  OF  EFFECTIVE  SPEAKING \nin  order.  This  applies  not  only  to  the  speech  as  a  whole,  but \nalso  to  subordinate  propositions. \nExamples  of  emotional  appeal  through  comparisons  are  innu\u00ac \nmerable,  and  abound  in  almost  all  speeches  of  this  type  that \npossess  merit. \nAt  the  International  Convention  of  Methodist  Episcopal \nChurches  held  in  Minneapolis  in  the  summer  of  1912,  the  ques\u00ac \ntion  of  the  retirement  of  bishops  came  up  for  consideration. \nAfter  a  bitter  debate  lasting  several  days,  the  convention  finally \nvoted  to  retire  three  or  four  bishops.  One  of  these,  facing  the \nmen  who  had  voted  to  retire  him,  uttered  these  memorable \nwords : \nIt is better to have your head off and rolling in the basket than to live for ten days and look upward at the keen edge of the guillotine, as I have done. I urge you to adopt some system like that suggested by the Dean of the Yale Law School for the automatic retirement of bishops. It would save you from the possibility of political temptation and us that of anguish and humility. You have done what you thought was your duty, and I am submissive to your will. You have discovered that I am not effective. I have not discovered it, but your judgment is better than mine, and this is not the finish. I shall still be permitted to show you how far the Gulf Stream of my youth can extend into the Arctic Ocean of old age.\n\nThe quotation is given at some length to show the spirit of it, as well as the dignity and self-control with which it was given.\nIt is the illustration at the beginning that claims attention. This simple comparison brings out more vividly and forcefully the feelings of the speaker than several pages of discussion. We may not have seen a guillotine, but we have read about it. The French Revolution established it as one of the most gruesome forms of execution; so that while our knowledge of it is an indirect experience, it is an extremely vivid one. Noticeable also is the strikingly effective and beautiful comparison (metaphor) in the last sentence.\n\nThe impressive speech:\n\nAncient feudalism has long been a synonym for oppression. It made men masters and slaves. It robbed the masses of their rights, while it concentrated power and wealth in the hands of the few.\nFounded upon barbarism and tyranny, it enforced its rule at the point of the sword. Feudalism, however, is dead. The quarrelsome barons, under whose despotism Europe once trembled, now live only in song and story. Their frowning castles, which once rang with shouts of revelry and merriment, and which were long the strongholds of feudal aristocracy and power, now lie in crumbling ruins. But out of the ruins of ancient feudalism, modern feudalism arose. The spirit which had built castles and conquered continents now impelled men to amass fortunes and master the world\u2019s commerce. Discarding the rusty sword for a bag of gold, this new form of feudalism sought a new home on the American shores. Its old barons became the modern money magnates, the captains of finance, who immediately took possession of all our industries. One of these sank a shaft into the\nThe plain earth poured forth its wealth in bubbling streams of petroleum. An ingenious Scotchman built a furnace on the mountain side, founding modern iron works. Some delved into the bowels of the mountains and drew forth untold riches of useful and precious metals. Others entered the field of invention, building telegraphs and organizing gigantic railroad systems. Today, the wealth from these sources is over one-seventh of the total Union wealth.\n\nThe power of the comparison lies in the fact that feudalism represents tyranny and oppression on one hand, and serfdom on the other. The speaker aims to evoke in his audience the same feeling or attitude toward what he calls American industrial feudalism that people ordinarily have toward historical feudalism. In the language of suggestion, there is a transfer.\nThe art of effective speaking. Sigurd Peterson, University of Minnesota, Second Prize, Northern Oratorical League, 1909.\n\nThis illustration in the introduction effectively links the speaker's subject to a fundamental human want and the resulting emotion. The desire for economic freedom and the frustration of that desire are demonstrated through the use of words with strong emotional connotation, such as quarrelsome, despotism, crumbled, frowning, and crumbling ruins. The passage possesses rhythmic charm and power.\n\nForms of support for impressive speeches. All forms of support may be used in an impressive speech, but certain ones will prevail. The best way to determine which ones are essential is to analyze a few models. The aim must always be:\n\n(Note: The text above this point is not part of the original text and has been removed.)\nTo find materials with the right feeling and content.\n\ni. Facts and Figures. These are not impressive, as a rule, unless they are put in such a form as to appeal to the imagination. To say that the World War cost twenty million lives does not make much of an impression; but if in imagination you march the ghosts of the dead in solemn procession before a reviewing stand and suggest how long it would take for the ghostly column to pass a given point, so many deep, the picture may be impressive. Observe that it is the picture you draw - the appeal to the eye - that gives the presentation of the facts an emotional content.\n\nThe following is impressive as an effort to suggest that eternity is a long time.\n\nSuppose that every flake of snow that ever fell was a figure nine, and that the first flake was multiplied by the second, and that product by the third, and so on. Eventually, the number would become so vast that it would be difficult to comprehend.\nAnd suppose that this total should be multiplied by every drop of rain that ever fell, calling each drop a figure nine; and that total by each blade of grass that ever helped to weave a carpet for the earth, calling each blade a figure nine; and that again by every grain of sand on every shore, so that the grand total would make a line of figures so long that it would require millions upon millions of years for light, traveling at the rate of one hundred and eighty-five thousand miles per second, to reach the end.\n\nSuppose, further, that each unit in this almost infinite total stood for billions of ages \u2013 still, that vast and almost endless time, measured by all the years beyond, is as one flake, one drop, one leaf, one blade.\nThe grain, compared to all the flakes, drops, leaves, and blades, and grains.\n\nThe general example is a very effective form of support for impressive speeches. By means of it, we may present not specific but general images to the senses, and so stir the emotions. The following, from Ingersoll, which is regarded as one of the most eloquent extracts in the English language, is built up exclusively with the general example. Observe how familiar emotion patterns are touched off and with what consummate skill the images are selected for emotional effect. While most of the images are visual, there are a number of effective auditory images.\n\nThe past rises before me like a dream. Once again, we are in the great struggle for national life. We hear the sounds of preparation\u2014the music of boisterous drums\u2014the silver voices of heroic bugles. We hear the old, fierce words: \"Stand by your country! Who would be a traitor, body, or a coward?\" The shrill cries of \"To the colors!\" and \"Forward, men!\" ring through the air. We see the flags, waving and fluttering in the breeze. Over the traffic of cities and towns, we hear the alarm bells wailing. What a pity that God has not made us all poets! Then every man would be a poet, and every man would be a hero!\n\nThe battlefields are covered with the bodies of men. The clang of the sword, the crack of the rifle, tell the tale of human misery and woe. The cries of the wounded and the piteous prayers of the dying, mingle with the shouts and imprecations of the victors. The air is filled with the smoke of battle, and the ground is crimson with the blood of the slain.\n\nYet, amid the horrors of war, there are scenes of heroism and devotion. We see the brave soldier, with a torn and bloody uniform, carrying on his shoulders the form of his wounded comrade, and bearing him to a place of safety. We see the tender and self-sacrificing nurse, ministering to the wants of the suffering and the dying. We see the brave soldier, with a tear in his eye, bending over the form of his fallen friend, and with a last look of fondness, closing the eyes of the dead.\n\nThese scenes, my friends, are not the creations of the poet's brain, but are the realities of life. They are the results of the struggles and sacrifices of our forefathers, and are the heritage of us all. Let us honor their memory by emulating their virtues, and by striving to make this, the land of the free and the home of the brave, a land where every man shall have the opportunity to develop his latent powers, and to become a poet, a hero, or a man.\nThousands of assemblages, where we see pale women's cheeks and men's flushed faces. In these assemblages, we no longer lose sight of the dead, whose dust we have covered with flowers. We are with them when they enlist in the great army of freedom. We see them parting from those they love. Some walk for the last time in quiet, wooded places with the maidens they adore. We hear whisperings and sweet vows of eternal love as they lingeringly part forever. Others bend over cradles, kissing babes that are asleep. Some receive blessings from old men. Some part from mothers who hold them and press them to their hearts again and again, saying nothing. Kisses and tears, tears and kisses \u2014 divine mingling of agony and love. And some are talking with wives, endeavoring to console them.\nwith brave words, spoken in the old tones, to drive from their hearts the awful fear. We see them part. We see the wife standing in the door with the babe in her arms \u2014 standing in the sunlight sobbing. At the turn of the road, a hand waves \u2014 she answers by holding high in her loving arms the child. He is gone, and forever.\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\nRefer to the speech of Jane Addams at the end of Chapter XVII, \u201cThe Occasional Address\u201d (page 302), and observe the effect she gets with the general example. The whole speech is built up with this form of support almost exclusively.\n\nIn her lecture, \u201cThe Battle of Life,\u201d Mary Livermore uses general examples to make impressive some maladjustments in modern society.\n\nIt [Christianity] is yet to conquer the realm of trade and commerce, and to readjust all the relations of man with man, on the basis\nOur human brotherhood will not allow a million or more men, with hungry wives and children, to beg for work that will be refused by millionaire employers living in luxury. We will not read of women and children starving and freezing in the midst of our nation's abundance, nor of daily suicides in our great cities due to homelessness, lack of friends, inability to obtain work, and utter despair of any change for the better. Our papers will not print the foul accounts of business frauds and betrayals of trusts, reports of defalcations and embezzlements, and the dishonesty of trusted officials. Armenians will not be hunted like partridges on the mountains, tortured and slaughtered by Moslem hate, while the civilized world stands idly by.\nIt will be possible for an inferior race to live comfortably among dominant Anglo-Saxon people, with no danger of being enslaved or destroyed by them. (Applause.) 3. The Specific Example. The specific and concrete always arouses feelings and brings vividly home to us the worth of ideas and their vital interest to us. Abstract ideas and broad general statements are almost devoid of emotional coloring. So are reasoning processes. The following facts are grim enough, but they are too general to make any strong emotional impression. (Modern Eloquence, First Edition, 1900, Vol. V. The Impressive Speech.)\nAn officer returning from the Battle of Charleroi declares the Germans lost 60,000 in killed and wounded in the three-day battle. At many places, the piles of dead were so high they had to be moved to allow the guns to maintain range. (Minneapolis Journal)\n\nIn contrast, consider the emotional effect of the following:\n\nSir, I have read in some account of your Battle of Monterey about a lovely Mexican girl. With the benevolence of an angel in her bosom and the robust courage of a hero in her heart, she was busily engaged during the bloody conflict, amid the crash of falling houses, the groans of the dying, and the wild shriek of battle, in carrying water to slake the burning thirst of the wounded of either host. While bending over the wounded, she distributed water with a tender hand, and her gentle voice soothed their agonies. Her beauty, mingled with the horrors of the scene, was a sight to melt the hardest heart.\nA wounded American soldier, struck by a cannonball, was blown to atoms. Sir, I do not charge my brave, generous-hearted comrades who fought that battle with this. No, No! We who send them \u2013 we who know that scenes like this, which might send tears of sorrow \"down Pluto\u2019s iron cheek,\" are the invariable, inevitable attendants on war \u2013 are accountable for this. And this \u2013 this is to be the way we are made known to Europe. This \u2013 this is to be the undying renown of free, republican America! \"She has stormed a city \u2013 killed many of its inhabitants of both sexes \u2013 she has room!\" So it will read. Sir, if this were our only history, then may God of His mercy grant that its volume may speedily come to a close.\n\nA good example of the value of the concrete in arousing feelings and setting up action tendencies is Uncle Tom's Cabin.\nHarriet Beecher Stowe, sister of Henry Ward Beecher, gave a vivid picture of slavery days in Uncle Tom's Cabin. Opinions differ as to which influenced antislavery sentiment most: Garrison with The Liberator, Phillips with his eloquence, or Mrs. Stowe with Uncle Tom's Cabin. We need not decide the issue. We know that Uncle Tom's Cabin exerted an overwhelming influence in rousing slumbering consciences against negro slavery in the United States. From its appearance, antislavery sentiment rolled a giant wave over the North. There was no argument, no reasoning, no statistics; simply a picture. The picture showed both the brighter and the darker side of slavery. The darker side:\nJohn Gough, a popular lyceum speaker during the American lyceum's peak, achieved greatest impact through dramatic illustrations. He was an accomplished mimic and actor, enacting lengthy examples in dramatic form. Gough lacked literary accomplishments. His power derived from acting and use of concrete incidents, largely drawn from his own experiences, imbued with deep emotion. Billy Sunday employed similar methods.\n\nTestimony, especially from authorities and experts, is generally unimpressive. It primarily belongs to argumentative speech. However, there are instances when it is presented in such a form as to stir emotions. The following:\nFrom Franklin D. Roosevelt's speech nominating Alfred E. Smith for the Presidency in 1924: \"It was the illustrious Woodrow Wilson, my revered chief and yours, who said, \u2018The great voice of America does not come from the University. It comes in a murmur from the hills and the woods, from the farms, the factories and the mills, \u2014 rolling on and gaining volume until it comes to us from the homes of the common people\u2019\" (Homer Dorr Lindgren: Modern Speeches, Revised Edition, 1930).\n\nThe literary quotation often plays a primary part in impressive speeches. Its length may vary from a short sentence to several stanzas of poetry. A speaker may even read a whole poem with good effect, if the poem is not too long. The primary aim of a literary quotation is to:\n\n(Note: The text provided does not contain any unreadable or meaningless content, modern editor additions, or ancient languages. Therefore, no cleaning is necessary.)\nA good literary quotation adds impressiveness and enriches style, helping to vividly convey the appropriate emotion and drive home an idea. The following paragraph from Field's lecture, \"Masters of the Situation,\" illustrates the effect of well-selected short quotations and anecdotes:\n\nNo man ever became master of the situation by accident or indolence. I believe, with Shelley, that the Almighty has given men and women arms long enough to reach the stars if they will only put them out. It was an admirable saying of the Duke of Wellington:\n\"No general ever blunders into a great victory,\" St. Hilaire said, ignoring the existence of blind chance, accident, and haphazard results. \"He happened to succeed\" is a foolish, unmeaning phrase. No man happens to succeed. \"What do you mix your paints with?\" a visitor asked Opie, the painter. \"With brains, sir,\" was the artist's reply.\n\nAn impressive speech without illustrations is a good deal like a home without furnishings. It is possible to have a fairly good speech of this type without many illustrations, just as it is possible to have a fairly comfortable home without much upholstery. But as variety and richness of furnishings give distinction to a home, so variety and richness of illustrations lend distinction to the impressive speech. One has only to examine a few good models to be impressed with their effectiveness.\nThe wealth of illustrative materials in them. One may find as many as a hundred metaphors in many of Phillips, Ingersoll, and Beecher's speeches, a good number of similes, a liberal sprinkling of analogies and anecdotes, and an occasional fable and parable. These illustrations largely constitute the pictorial element in the impressive speech, which is one of its chief sources of effectiveness.\n\nAppealing to Base Motives. Whoever understands the springs of human behavior and possesses in some measure the art of appeal wields a power that may be used for good or evil. The manner of its use falls within the field of ethics rather than that of public address. All power is subject to abuse. The aim of speech training is frankly to increase the power of the speaker.\nIndividual superiority over fellows. If a scoundrel wields it, he will be all the more a dangerous scoundrel for knowing something about the laws of his art. We have no course except to trust truth to its own defense and to assume that \"truth crushed to earth will rise again.\" We proceed on the theory that there is more good than evil in the world, and that the race gradually gravitates toward right and justice. This may be a sublimely audacious assumption, but it is one on which all progress rests. No rules or even suggestions can be given as to what is ethically proper in a given situation. We must leave to the individual the right to use his powers as he chooses, subject only to such restraints as society imposes.\n\nIn conclusion, the impressive speech is by all odds the most common and the most popular of all forms of public address.\nThe overwhelming majority of sermons, lyceum lectures, political speeches, business speeches, occasional addresses aim to stimulate interest and enthusiasm by dealing with beliefs, truths, and precepts that are not disputed but fail to find full measure of fruition in practical living. Their goal is to interpret and make impressive the worth and value of these beliefs in terms of vital life interests, satisfying fundamental human wants. Such speeches strongly appeal to universal desires, wants, and wishes that motivate all normal human beings.\nEmotional appeals are always appeals to fundamental human wants and desires. While all forms of support may be useful in an impressive speech, certain forms will predominate, such as the general and the concrete example, illustrations in all forms, and literary quotations. It is the more concrete speech materials that are effective in rousing feelings and stirring emotions \u2013 those that present concrete images to the senses and therefore deal in pictures. The pictorial quality is what gives effectiveness and distinction to the impressive speech. If you cannot make speeches like the great masters, do not be discouraged. Students in painting do not paint like Michelangelo and Rembrandt. Use the great models as sources of inspiration as well as guides to better speaking. Hitch your wagon to a star.\n1. Carefully read and write a report on Gough's speech, \"Social Responsibilities.\" Pay particular attention to the dramatic impact of his illustrations. Identify the primary forms of support he uses. Characterize his style. How does it compare to Beecher's, Wendell Phillips', or Ingersoll's? What is your opinion of Gough's method of achieving effects largely through high-powered emotional illustrations? Is it well-suited to Gough's subject and purpose? Are the effects likely to be permanent? If you have heard Billy Sunday, compare the methods of the two men. Comment on Gough's use of suggestion.\n\n2. Prepare a ten-minute speech on a subject that lends itself to impressive treatment and has a non-disputed purpose sentence. Use general and specific examples, illustrations, and literary quotations freely. Use a definite outline.\n3. Read \"Acres of Diamonds,\" by Russell H. Conwell, again, and report on it as a popular lecture. This lecture has a remarkable history. Look it up. It was delivered several thousand times, yielding millions of dollars in income. Try to discover reasons for its popularity based on the criteria set down in this text.\n\nReadings:\nSpeeches\n\"Acres of Diamonds,\" by Russell H. Conwell.\n\"The Lost Arts,\" by Wendell Phillips (Vol. XIII).\n\"Shakespeare,\" by Robert Ingersoll (Vol. XIII).\n\"Wastes and Burdens of Society,\" by Henry Ward Beecher\n\"Last Days of the Confederacy,\" by John B. Gordon (Vol. XIII).\n\"The Battle of Life,\" by Mary Livermore (Mod. El.: I, Vol. V).\n\"Through the Great Forest,\" by Henry M. Stanley (Vol. XIII).\n\"American Wit and Humor,\" by Minot J. Savage (Mod. El.: I)\nVol.  VI). \n\u201cBig  Blunders,\u201d  by  T.  DeWitt  Talmage  {Mod.  El.:  I,  Vol.  VI). \n\u201cSocial  Responsibilities,\u201d  by  John  B.  Gough  (Vol.  XIII). \n\u201cAbraham  Lincoln,\u201d  by  Stephen  S.  Wise  {Lindgren). \n\u201cThe  Press  and  the  Government,\u201d  by  Irvine  L.  Lenroot  {Lindgren). \nReferences \nArthur  Edward  Phillips:  Effective  Speaking  (1908),  Chaps.  III-XVI. \nCharles  Henry  Woolbert:  Fundamentals  of  Speech  (Revised  Edition, \n1927),  Chaps.  XV-XVI. \n1  This  speech  appears  on  page  379  of  this  volume. \nCHAPTER  XV \nTHE  ARGUMENTATIVE  SPEECH \nNo  appeal  to  reason  that  is  not  also  an  appeal  to  a  want  can  ever  be \neffective.  \u2014  Harry  Allen  Overstreet \nThe  argumentative  speech  is  in  some  respects  the  most  diffi\u00ac \ncult  of  all  speeches  to  prepare  well,  and  it  is  safe  to  say  that \nmore  argumentative  speeches  miss  fire  than  any  other  kind. \nIt  is  comparatively  easy  to  make  impressive  the  idea  that \nWashington was a great patriot, or Lincoln had in him much of the milk of human kindness; it is quite another matter to persuade a doubting Thomas that the United States should join the League of Nations, that the government should own the railroads, or that Congress should have passed the McNary-Haugen Bill.\n\nDifficulties Involved in Argumentative Speeches. One reason an argumentative speech is often difficult to prepare is that in such a speech we have to move through more stages than in any other. We may have to do a great deal of explaining or informing before we can begin to argue; then we have to offer evidential support, sometimes voluminous and extensive; and finally we have to appeal to motives and feelings.\nWe do have in impressive speeches an aspect often neglected in argumentative ones. Thus, in this type of speech, we may have, as it were, three speeches in one. This is particularly true of subjects that have not been much before the public, such as the St. Lawrence-to-Gulf waterway, or that, having been before the public, are technical or involved, like the question of our entrance into the World Court or the League of Nations.\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\n\nMany of the questions we argue about are extremely complex. This is likely why we differ in regard to them. For example: Is the United States justified in making such large appropriations for national defense as it does? In an effort to come to a conclusion on that question, one might have to read extensively and interview many leading men in this field.\nIn countries and other places, and study congressional and parliamentary debates. This would likely result in being just as far from a solution as at the beginning. The best-informed men would disagree; the wisest could only guess. Whether or not the United States should build the St. Lawrence waterway can only be determined by the opinions of technical engineering experts after an exhaustive survey lasting perhaps several years.\n\nIn making argumentative speeches, you will find use for all you have learned about informative and impressive speeches. Additionally, you will have to learn a new process: namely, proving the truth of factual propositions that are in dispute. When the attitude of your audience is one of lack of knowledge or indifference, as is often the case, the task is not an easy one.\nA good speaker or debater recognizes the difficulties involved when facing an audience in disagreement or hostility. The task at hand is to elicit a mental response from the listeners in the form of an admission: \"You are right, and we were wrong. We now agree with you.\" This is a challenging feat.\n\nIt is a common trait of an effective speaker or debater to acknowledge the challenges and not overstate the worth of their argument. One way to bore an audience is by making extravagant statements, drawing hasty conclusions, and claiming more for the evidence than it is worth. The persuasive speaker proceeds with humility and caution, and does not ask the audience to accept propositions based on insufficient evidence.\nWith this preliminary survey, let us see what can be accomplished with the argumentative process in winning acceptance for ideas that we cherish and that we wish others to cherish and act upon.\n\nDistinction between Impressive and Argumentative Speeches: Let us recall that in impressive speeches, we are dealing with accepted beliefs or propositions that are not seriously disputed; the truth of them is not in question. The problem is to give such beliefs a richer and more vital meaning; make them dynamic by charging them with feeling and emotion; show that by acting in accordance with them, we shall be able to satisfy more abundantly the fundamental wants of human nature\u2014material, spiritual, aesthetic.\n\nIn argumentative speeches, we are dealing with propositions that are disputed, involving both judgments of fact and judgment of value.\nments  of  value.  Their  truth  is  in  doubt  or  even  positively \ndenied.  They  are  questions  of  opinion:  different  persons  hold \ndifferent  views  on  them.  The  argumentative  speech,  therefore, \npresents  a  double  problem.  One  is  to  establish  the  truth  or \nfalsity  of  propositions  of  fact;  the  other  is  to  interpret  the \nworth  of  propositions  of  policy  in  terms  of  their  capacity  to \nsatisfy  human  wants,  and  thus  drive  them  home  through \nappeal  to  motives.  There  is  always  this  twofold  aspect  of  the \npersuasive  problem  in  argumentative  speeches.  Some  examples \nwill  make  this  plain. \nSuppose  our  purpose  is  to  show  that  college  athletics  inter\u00ac \nfere  too  much  with  college  education.  The  extent  of  interfer\u00ac \nence  is  a  question  of  fact.  Suppose  we  succeed  in  establishing \nwith  a  reasonable  degree  of  probability  that  college  athletics  in\u00ac \nterfere  to  some  extent  with  study.  The  question  still  remains: \nHow does this interference affect student life? To what extent is it bad? To what extent may it be good? That is a matter for interpretation in terms of vital life interests. Such interpretation would involve an appeal to motives.\n\nAre we to regard chain stores as detrimental to our best interests? That will depend on several questions, which are matters of fact. Do chain stores offer substantial economies for consumers? Do they tend to wealth concentration? Are local chain store managers likely to become permanent residents of a community? All these are questions of fact, and we have to estimate them the best we can by direct and indirect evidence. It would probably be easy to show that chain stores do offer economies to consumers, that they tend to wealth concentration.\nIn the field of motivation, concentration or the fact that local managers are seldom permanent residents of a community raises questions. Most people would likely view the first effect as good, while the other two may not be as favorable. The question remains: How good is the first effect and how bad are the other two? Opinions would vary. When interpreting these effects in terms of satisfying human wants, we are in the realm of motivation.\n\nIn argumentative speeches, we depend on probabilities. It is a safe statement to make that no proposition providing a good subject for an argumentative speech or debate can be conclusively proved. If it could, it would no longer be in doubt and would not, therefore, by definition, be a subject for an argumentative speech. To what extent do chain stores affect economies for consumers? We do not know.\nIt is difficult to obtain facts. We must rely on probabilities. Will the League of Nations prevent great wars? We do not know. Some believe they do, but enthusiasm does not guarantee certainty. Would a labor party in the United States be as successful as in England? We cannot be certain. We can only guess. There is always an element of uncertainty; we must act based on probabilities, if at all.\n\nWhat constitutes adequate support for a disputed proposition? Once we have established the truth or correctness of a proposition or opinion with a reasonable degree of probability, based on the facts involved, this does not mean we have given it adequate proof. We must determine its impact.\nThe meaning of something is its worth in satisfying human wants. We can demonstrate that the St. Lawrence waterway is feasible from an engineering and financial perspective, and Canada will participate in its construction. Once this is achieved, we still face the same problem: to persuasively illustrate the project's value in enhancing purposeful and pleasurable living \u2013 fulfilling fundamental human desires.\n\nThese two processes are the foundation and fabric of an argument. They support the main ideas of the speech and its overall purpose. It may be a lengthy and arduous process.\nRule: Connect audience interests first in argumentative speeches. It's better to address their general interests before delving into lengthy proof. Once they have a vital interest in a proposition, they will listen to arguments and authorities regarding its technical and practical aspects.\n\nThe Informative Process in Argumentative Speeches.\n\n1. Defining Terms:\nIn an argumentative speech, certain preliminaries need attention. Frequently, a great deal of exposition is necessary before we truly understand what we're arguing about. Historically, many controversies have stemmed from misunderstanding the meaning of words and phrases, leading people to believe they were disputing the same proposition.\nIn a debate, individuals dispute different propositions. For instance, one might argue for uprooting Bolshevism in America, but defining the term Bolshevism would be challenging. Similarly, the proposition that the United States should adopt unemployment insurance involves defining unemployment insurance and the term \"adopt.\" In an intercollegiate debate several years ago, the question was: \"That the United States should adopt a policy of shipping subsidies.\" Despite appearing innocuous, four months of intensive study failed to reveal a clear meaning for the phrase \"policy of shipping subsidies.\" At the time the question was being discussed, the United States was paying out subsidies for shipping.\nBetween one and two million dollars a year to certain mail and passenger lines. Was that a shipping subsidy? If so, how could any additional subsidy be called adopting a policy? England was paying over eight million dollars a year to mail and passenger lines. Was that a subsidy? English statesmen strenuously denied that it was. They affirmed that the government was getting value received in service. Did the question mean that the United States government should pay subsidies to ocean freight lines? There was no sentiment for aid of that kind. On the basis of these facts, how would you define a \"policy of shipping subsidies\"? The question really was: Should the United States give additional aid to certain mail and passenger lines? John T. Flynn, writing in the New Republic for April 25, 1931, on chain stores and the independent merchant, makes the following argument.\nThe following statement: \"My own impression is that almost all the folly and confusion in the whole discussion arises out of a stubborn refusal of everybody engaged in it to define the term \u2018independent\u2019\" \u2014 and then proceeds to clarify the discussion by defining the term \"independent.\"\n\nThe dictionary sometimes helps to define terms, but not always. No dictionary would have thrown any light on the shipping subsidy question. In the course of discussion, words come to have a technical meaning which no dictionary can reckon with. In questions for argumentative speeches or debates, it is well to scrutinize every word and to give such definitions as are necessary for a clear understanding of the question and no more.\n\nAn excellent example of how disputes arise and flourish through failure to define terms is given by William James.\nMembers of a camping party had gotten into a dispute over whether a person chasing a squirrel around a tree went round the squirrel. I sought and found a distinction: \"Which party is right?\" I said, \"depends on what you practically mean by 'going round' the squirrel. If you mean passing from the north of him to the east, then to the south, then to the west, and then to the north of him again, the man does go round him. But if on the contrary you mean being first in front of him, then on his right, then behind him, then on his left, and finally in front again, it is not the case that the man goes round the squirrel.\"\nThe man fails to go round the squirrel, as the squirrel's compensating movements keep its belly towards the man and back turned away. Make the distinction, and there is no need for further dispute. You are both right and wrong, depending on how you conceive the verb 'to go round' in one practical sense or another.\n\nAn argumentative speech deals with controversial questions. Opinions are ranged on both sides. Some people believe one way, some another. A good speech of this type must not only have arguments for one side; it must reckon with arguments on the other side as well. Answering objections usually goes by the name of refutation. An argumentative speech, if it is carefully prepared, will have both constructive arguments and refutations.\nA good way to get at the heart of a controversial question is to line up opinions and contentions of both sides. To do that, one must make a careful survey of the whole field. Let's take as an example a question that is a bone of contention between capital and labor: namely, that of the closed shop.\n\nThe leading arguments on both sides would run something like this:\n\nConflict of Opinion\nAffirmative Contentions\nI. Labor unions have greatly benefited the laboring classes.\nA. They have helped to raise wages in many industries.\nB. They have shortened hours in many industries.\nC. They have widely improved the sanitary conditions in shops and factories.\nII. The closed shop is necessary to the effectual maintenance of trade unions, for\n- Selected Papers on Philosophy (Everyman\u2019s Library, 1917), p. 198.\n- 266 The Art of Effective Speaking.\nA. It is necessary for successful collective bargaining \u2014 the chief end of trade unions.\nIII. The closed shop is not unfair to the employer.\nA. It does not unduly interfere with his business.\nIV. The closed shop is not unfair to the non-union man.\nA. It is not unreasonable to ask him to join a union,\ni. It is for his benefit and his class.\n\nNegative Contentions\nI. (Negative would probably admit this.)\nII. The closed shop is not necessary for effective maintenance of trade unions, for\nA. Collective bargaining is carried on successfully without it.\nIII. The closed shop is unfair to the employer.\nA. It unduly interferes with him in the management of his business.\nIV. It is unfair to the non-union man.\nA. It forces him either to join a union or remain unemployed.\nB. Frequently, he is even refused entrance to the shop.\nunions face high fees and membership restrictions. The closed shop principle would not result in a dangerous labor monopoly. A. The proportion of non-union labor to union labor would always be too great for such a result. While this does not represent all the clashes on this question, it is enough to serve as an example. You will observe that there are several head-on clashes in the conflict of opinion. When stated in question form, these constitute the real issues in the controversy. Every good subject for an argumentative speech lends itself to this kind of analysis, although the clash may not always be quite so pronounced. The important thing is to realize that\nThere are two sides to the question, and to understand if possible the reasons for the opposing views. We cannot meet objections, remove doubts, or replace opinions unless we understand on what foundations those objections, doubts, or opinions rest. We have to assume that people who hold divergent opinions from our own are just as reasonable and intelligent as we are. The whole truth is not on either side of any debatable question. It is a Lincoln tradition that he always understood the other side of a legal case so well that he could afford to make more admissions than any man in court. It is characteristic of one who has a large perspective and a broad view of a question that he is not afraid to make admissions and grant concessions to the other side. Only he knows what to admit or grant, and what not to admit or grant.\nForms of Support in Argumentative Speeches. 1. Logical Argument. Having selected from the clash of opinion the contentions to be supported or proved, the next step is to find proper supports for those contentions. A very important form of support is logical argument, a form of support to which we wish now to give special attention.\n\nA logical argument rests on two things: evidence, which may consist of either facts or opinions or both; and reasoning, or inferences drawn from facts and opinions. \"Evidence is the material from which we generate proof, and reasoning is the process by which we generate it\" (1).\n\nWe get facts from our own observation and the testimony of others as to their observation. Observation is ultimately the source of all facts. To get at facts or establish them may mean overcoming obstacles and dealing with counter-evidence.\n\n(1) The Art of Effective Speaking. Dale Carnegie. Page 11.\nA long process of observation, experiment, and testing of hypotheses. We distinguish between testimony as fact and testimony in the form of opinions, or expert testimony. Anyone may testify as to a fact; only those recognized as authorities can give dependable opinions.\n\nWe distinguish several kinds of logical arguments based on the nature of the inference made: (a) generalization; (b) argument based on causal relationship; and (c) analogy. These constitute what in law is known as circumstantial evidence, as distinguished from direct evidence \u2013 testimony as to facts, and authorities.\n\nLet us look at these in turn.\n\n(a) The Generalization. A generalization is an inference from a number of observed examples of the same class to the whole number of examples included in that class. Suppose a survey.\nThe life earnings of five thousand college graduates and a like number of high school graduates should show that college graduates average almost twice as much in earnings as high school graduates. We should be justified in drawing the general conclusion that on average, college graduates earn almost twice as much as high school graduates in a lifetime. There might be some exceptions, but the conclusion would be very nearly true for the whole number of these two classes of students. The inference is clearly drawn from a relatively small number of examples (although in fact a good number) compared to all the examples of the class, or classes, in this instance. The observed examples here would not constitute half of one.\nA century of college students, and a much smaller percentage of high school students, make up this generalization, which would be recognized as carefully made and scientifically valid. This is a typical example of a generalization. Observe that the inference is from the known to the unknown, and that, as a rule, it involves some degree of uncertainty. Every inference is more or less a \"leap in the dark.\" We draw a conclusion for a whole class of objects or phenomena based on only a relatively few known examples of the class.\n\nTests of Argument from Generalization:\n1. Is there a sufficiently large number of observed, as compared with unobserved, instances to warrant the conclusion?\n2. Are the instances observed fair specimens of the class?\n3. Are there any known exceptions?\n4. Is there a reasonable probability that such a general statement is true?\nIn practical speech-making, we cannot always be so careful and so scientific as this example suggests. It is often very difficult to get a sufficient number of examples to establish the law of averages or a reasonable degree of probability for the general statement advanced. Much depends on the nature of the examples. In some cases, a single instance may support a conclusion; in others, nothing short of all the examples of a class will support it. If a chemist should discover that two elements combine in a certain proportion to form a new chemical compound, that single instance would be enough to warrant the conclusion that these elements would always so combine. On the other hand, nothing short of a complete enumeration would support the generalization that all the members of a certain state legislature are over thirty years of age.\n270  THE  ART  OF  EFFECTIVE  SPEAKING \nTo  generalize  on  too  few  examples  is  certainly  one  of  the \nmaster  fallacies  of  the  human  mind.  We  make  the  statement \nthat  the  people  of  a  certain  race  are  thrifty,  or  honest,  or  acquis\u00ac \nitive;  and  in  support  give  a  few  examples  of  individuals  that \nwe  have  observed  or  heard  about.  We  say  that  labor  unions, \nwhen  they  once  get  control  of  a  shop  so  that  all  labor  employed \nis  union  labor,  will  make  unreasonable  and  annoying  regulations; \nand,  in  support  of  that,  quote  an  example  or  two  that  we  happen \nto  know  about.  While  such  examples  may  be  worth  quoting, \nand  have  a  certain  probative  value,  the  fact  remains  that  they \nfall  far  short  of  giving  adequate  support  to  these  propositions. \nIn  the  first  instance  given,  their  value  as  proof  is  not  worth \nmuch.  A  few  instances  out  of  millions,  where  there  are  involved \nThe variations in behavior which the human species exemplifies cannot be taken as typical for a whole race. Examples of the second class carry more weight, as there is at least a degree of probability that the ever-present conflict of interest between the employer and the union may result in more or less drastic regulations.\n\nExceptions do not prove a rule. There is a superstition abroad having to do with argument from generalization which frequently finds expression even by learned people; and it is that exceptions prove the rule. \"These are the exceptions that prove the rule,\" we hear so often. A moment's reflection will convince any thinking man that exceptions never prove a rule, either singly or in numbers. If for example we say that a certain college employs for its faculty only men who have:\nPh.D. degrees, and someone points to an exception he knows about \u2014 would that exception prove that all the rest of the faculty had Ph.D. degrees? Suppose, on investigation, we should find several exceptions; would they prove the rule? Would they not do just the opposite and prove that the general statement was wholly unsound? Or suppose we make the statement that cooperative enterprises in America have been failures, and someone points to several conspicuous successes. Should we be justified in saying that those exceptions prove that all the rest were failures? Assuredly not.\n\nExceptio probat regulam is the Latin sentence. The error is in translating the last word as \u201cprove\u201d instead of \u201cprobe\u201d or \u201ctest.\u201d Exceptions probe a rule. If there are many exceptions to a generalization, they show that, to that extent at least, the generalization may need refinement or qualification.\ngeneralization  is  not  sound. \nb.  Arguments  Based  on  Causal  Relationship.  There  are  two \nkinds  of  arguments  based  on  causal  relationship:  ( a )  argument \nfrom  cause  to  effect;  and  ( b )  argument  from  effect  to  cause. \nOccasionally  we  have  an  inference  from  effect  to  effect. \nArgument  from  Cause  to  Efect.  We  use  this  form  of  argu\u00ac \nment  constantly  in  our  discussion  of  social,  economic,  and \npolitical  reforms.  We  propose  a  certain  measure,  or  changes  in \nan  old  one,  and  infer  from  the  nature  of  our  proposal  or  changes \nto  be  made  (cause)  that  certain  beneficial  results  (effect)  will \nfollow.  We  passed  the  prohibition  amendment,  and  supposed \nwe  should  do  away  with  drinking  on  any  large  scale.  The \neffect  was  disappointing.  We  passed  certain  legislation  for  farm \nrelief,  and  supposed  we  should  get  higher  prices  for  farm  prod\u00ac \nucts,  and  again  the  effect  was  disappointing.  Lincoln  used \nThis form of argument in his \"Springfield Speech,\" demonstrating that legislation sponsored by Democratic leaders would make slavery national. A college student spends four or more years obtaining an education with the hope that such education or training will yield returns in larger earning power and happier living. In the last case, the inference is reinforced by a large number of known examples in which the results have been somewhat like those described: larger earning power, and supposedly a life with greater satisfactions.\n\nSenator William E. Borah used an argument from cause to effect in his speech before the Philadelphia Academy of Music, December 17, 1924. In substance, he said that if European nations are not ready to be governed by a code of international law, then war is inevitable.\nLord Cecil stated, \"We have not reached the state in international relations where it is desirable to attempt the codification of international law.\" This means the United States is not prepared to be governed by international law in a League of Nations. Why it is not desirable is unclear. It would seem at least desirable to be governed by law and courts rather than diplomacy, intrigue, imperialism, politics, and force. Europe has waited three thousand years. If the time has not come for Europe to acknowledge the reign of law and be governed by it in international affairs, then it is certainly not the time for the United States.\npeople of this country should be governed by European politics. We will hesitate to enter a game whose rules, if they exist at all, are in the caprice and ambitions of a few men.\n\nArgument from Effect to Cause. Suppose we are passing through a business depression. That is an effect of some cause or causes. We are trying to discover the causes. So complex are they that not even the greatest economic authorities can agree on them. Some think the flow of money, or the currency in some way, is a primary cause. Others think the business cycle accounts for depressions. Still others think it is primarily a matter of psychology; that if people would assume that good times are coming and buy freely, prosperity soon would perch on our banner. This is a good example of how difficult it may be to identify the root causes of complex phenomena.\nIn the Lincoln-Douglas debates, Douglas stated that he didn't care whether slavery was voted up or down. Lincoln took him at his word and used an effect-to-cause argument to show that Douglas' statement was preparing the public mind for making slavery a national institution. Douglas' willingness to see slavery become a national institution was the cause of his statement.\n\nChief Justice Charles E. Hughes drew conclusions from observed facts based on effect-to-cause inferences in his speech before the American Bar Association, September 1925.\nWhile with a different purpose, we observe the same spirit in efforts to interfere with instruction in our schools, not to promote the acquisition of knowledge, but to obstruct it. The Supreme Court of the United States has had occasion to deal with such an attempt to control teaching in private schools. Under a statute forbidding the teaching of any other than the English language to a pupil who had not passed the eighth grade, a teacher was subjected to criminal prosecution for teaching the German language. Even the court, with its necessarily limited judicial vision, could see what lay behind such an enactment and condemned it as an unwarranted interference with the constitutional guarantee of liberty.\n\n\"Evidently,\" said the court, \"the legislature has attempted materially to infringe upon the fundamental rights secured by the Constitution.\"\nThe statute interferes with modern language teachers, pupils' opportunities to acquire knowledge, and parents' control of their children's education. The statute, as applied, was deemed arbitrary and unrelated to any state competency end. The same principle was applied in the Oregon school case, where the statute in substance attempted to interfere with the privilege in private instruction. The Supreme Court stated, \"The child is not the mere creature of the state. Those who nurture and direct his destiny have the right coupled with the high duty to recognize and prepare him for additional obligations.\" Clearly, the statute's purpose was not to aid education but arbitrarily to interfere with the freedom of instruction.\nTests of Argument from Causal Relationship in testing the strength of this argument, it is well to ask:\n\n1. Is the cause sufficient to produce the effect?\n2. Could other causes have produced or helped to produce the effect?\n3. Is it possible to eliminate other causes than the one assigned?\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\n\nc. The Analogy. The analogy, as a form of support, occupies such an important place in argumentative speeches and debates that it requires special attention. We distinguish between the analogy as a form of argument and the analogy as a form of illustration.\n\nThe analogy is essentially an inference that, because two things are alike in certain known particulars, they are probably alike in certain unknown particulars. For instance, in a certain experiment with deep and shallow plowing for oats, it was found:\n\n1. The cause (deep plowing) was sufficient to produce the effect (higher yield).\n2. Other causes (weather conditions, soil quality) could have influenced the yield but were controlled for.\n3. It was possible to eliminate other causes than the one assigned (deep plowing) by isolating the variable in the experiment.\nA field plowed four inches deep yielded 27 bushels an acre, while another, plowed ten inches deep, yielded 70. If a farmer concluded that by plowing ten inches deep for oats, he too could raise as much as seventy bushels an acre, he would reason by analogy. The two undertakings would be alike in certain known particulars: the soil in the two places would be much the same; so would be the seed, climate, rainfall, time of planting, and other factors. These are the points of known resemblance. From these we infer that the two examples would be alike in the one unknown particular \u2014 namely, the large yield. In the same way, we might infer that, because in England the British Labor Party had made such rapid progress and won such signal success, the same could be expected in another place with similar conditions.\nA labor party organized in the United States in much the same way would be successful here, if conditions affecting its progress are alike in the two countries. If conditions in certain vital respects are essentially different - for example, if labor receives a fairer share of the national income here than in Great Britain - that would be a vital fact to reckon with and would affect the conclusion drawn. We infer by analogy that because the city manager plan has worked well in some cities, it will work well in others.\n\nThe argument is much like the generalization. Both are inductive arguments, based on examples. The difference is that in the argument by analogy we use specific similarities between two situations, whereas in the argument from generalization we make a conclusion based on the similarity of two or more objects or situations in regard to a particular attribute.\nThe assumption in inferring from multiple instances is based on the belief that what is true of observed instances is true of the whole class. In analogy, there are often only one or a few examples, and the inference is based on resemblances between them rather than general truths. Analogies can also compare relationships rather than facts, in which case they function more as illustrations than arguments. Webster used this form of analogy in his \"Reply to Hayne\":\n\nMr. President, when a mariner has been tossed for many days in thick weather and on an unknown sea, he naturally avails himself of whatever means he can to determine his position. In this case, he compares the shape and size of waves in different directions to infer the direction of the wind. This is an example of an analogy as an illustration rather than an argument.\nI. Pausing in the storm's first respite, with the sun's earliest glance, he determined his latitude and ascertained how far the elements had deviated him from his true course. Let us mimic this prudence and, before we sail further on this debate's waves, refer back to the point of origin. I request the reading of the resolution before the Senate.\n\nTests of the Argument from Analogy\n1. Are the two examples identical in all essential aspects, that is, aspects crucial to reaching a conclusion regarding the issue?\n2. Are the facts underlying the analogy accurate? If we argue that a certain state should institute an income tax because such a tax has been successful in another state, we must ensure that the tax has indeed been successful where implemented.\nArguments frequently rest on facts, and sometimes the facts are voluminous and involved. An orator keeps his feet ever on a fact, according to Emerson. An argument for or against chain stores must deal at length with the economies of that method of retailing and the social effects of replacing independent merchants. What economies are there in buying in large quantities, eliminating middlemen, larger volumes of retail sales, and the \"cash and carry\" system? On questions like these, facts speak. Such facts must come from authentic sources.\n\nRecently, in a speech, a student undertook to show that electric rates given by private utilities in the United States compared favorably with the rates given by the publicly owned utilities.\nOwned electric utilities in Ontario, Canada, with all factors considered. He presented figures derived from a study of the Ontario system by an official of one of the large electric companies in America, with which he was associated. Such a source is likely to be prejudiced and unreliable, and should be carefully scrutinized. In any event, popular distrust of statistics prepared by interested parties robs the data, however sound, of much effectiveness as support, and a speaker will do well to avoid them.\n\nAn argument on farm relief would be largely statistical. It would probably aim to show in graphic form the decrease in the purchasing power of the farmer. It would probably show the cost of production of different farm products.\nTo get an average of problems in different parts of the country, it's necessary to use surveys in farm production. The complexity of these figures is evident for many debated questions. Figures demand the same careful analysis and clear presentation as other ideas. Consider your audience's ability to follow and analyze intricate statistics. Provide only essential figures to make your point and simplify them. Comparisons and contrasts are effective, as are charts for public presentations, but use them cautiously in practice speaking.\n\n3. Testimonial Evidence. We've already discussed testimonial evidence.\nIn Chapter VII, money functions as a form of support. In argumentative speeches, the testimony of specialists or authorities is often crucial, particularly for questions involving broad interests and technical knowledge. The average person lacks the opportunity to familiarize himself with all aspects of a complex question, and there is a limit to the amount of logical argument an audience will tolerate. Therefore, we must rely on the opinions of authorities who have studied the question extensively.\n\nEdward Steiner, who has studied American immigrants for thirty years, offers a valuable perspective on immigration. A. Eustace Haydon of the University of Chicago has conducted an exhaustive study of the great religions.\nRoger Babson, known for his insights on the world, holds significant opinions in the field of American business. His views merit consideration. It's essential to emphasize that accepting ideas is the goal, not quoting authorities for their own sake. In debates, numerous authorities are frequently cited, making one almost think they are an end in themselves. They are not. They serve to support propositions. The most acceptable authorities to an audience are those who are well-informed, unbiased, and above all, acceptable to the audience.\n\nRestatement and repetition are employed more in argumentative speeches than in other contexts.\nTo effectively follow an argumentative speech, an audience must be told what the speaker intends to do, constantly reminded of the speaker's actions as they proceed, and informed when the speech has concluded. When beginning a speech or any main division of it, speakers usually indicate the direction by asking questions, such as \"Let us look at this a moment.\" As the speaker presents each main idea, they connect the speech materials to that idea to maintain purpose and thought continuity.\nOnly by doing so can we have a coherent speech. Finally, when we have covered the ground, we take a backward glance, make a brief survey of what we have said in the form of a summary. All this requires repetition; it also requires art not to make our method too obtrusive. Usually, there is too much perfunctory summarizing in an argumentative speech. There should be no more summarizing than is necessary for clear progress. We also repeat for emphasis as well as for clarity. To repeat a significant word or statement, or the substance of an argument, is to emphasize it, to make it occupy a larger place than other ideas in the consciousness of an audience. The human mind is so constituted that its tendency is to accept ideas presented to it unless there is considerable reason for doubt. Especially is this true of the mind in its native and unbiased state.\nCultivated minds even with trained minds, repetition tends to remove doubt if it is not too pronounced. In Dooley\u2019s version, \u201cIf you tell me a thing often enough, I will believe it.\u201d There is much good psychology in this; however, like most general statements, we have to accept it with some reservation. If doubt is pronounced, no amount of repetition will remove it from a cultivated mind.\n\nIllustrations have their place in argumentative speeches, although they are not likely to be used so freely here as in other types, especially in the process of establishing the truth of propositions. They are especially useful in establishing a common ground of interest and feeling through reference to experience. Henry Ward Beecher has the following to say on the subject.\nAn illustration is a window in an argument and lets in light. You may reason without an illustration; but where you are employing a process of pure reasoning and have arrived at a conclusion, if you can then by an illustration flash back light upon what you have said, you will bring into the minds of your audience a realization of your argument that they cannot get in any other way. I have seen an audience time and again follow an argument, doubtfully, laboriously, almost suspiciously, and look at one another, as much as to say, \u201cIs he going right?\u201d \u2014 until the place is arrived at, where the speaker says, \u201cIt is like \u2014 \u201d and then they listen eagerly for what it is like; and when some apt illustration is thrown out before them, there is a sense of relief, as though they say, \u201cYes, he is right.\u201d If you have cheated them, so much the worse for you.\nThe worse for you; but if your illustrations are as true as your argument, and your argument true as the truth itself, then you have helped them a great deal. So, as a mere matter of help to reason, illustrations are of vast utility in speaking to an audience.\n\nThis comment of Beecher's is suggestive of the difficulty the ordinary audience finds in following a logical argument. Even Beecher's audiences, who were more than ordinarily cultured, apparently were not sure of themselves until they had their views grounded in solid experience \u2013 the common meeting ground for us all. \"There is an inherent difficulty,\" as Walter Lippmann says, \"about using the method of reason to deal with an unreasoning world.\" Hence the value of illustrations to illumine the dark places in an argument.\n\nWhen Wendell Phillips expresses an idea that he wishes to convey.\nHe drives home directly, avoiding unnecessary arguments. He connects the new idea to the old, making it relatable. (Yale Lectures on Preaching. The Pilgrim Press: First Series, p. 158.)\n\nThe art of effective speaking:\nDwelling too long on the new and unfamiliar, without connecting it to the old and familiar, tires the mind and overburdens attention.\n\nIn the context of argumentative speeches, we must remember that they deal with two types of propositions: those based on facts and those based on policy. Or, to put it another way:\n\n(Considering this aspect of the subject, we must remember that argumentative speech, as a rule, deals with two kinds of propositions: those based essentially on facts, and those based on matters of policy.)\nAn argumentative speech deals with beliefs based on facts and desires. The same belief may be based on both fact and desire, and very often is. Let's make this clear by examples. Suppose one is arguing for support of the League of Nations and the advisability of the United States joining it. One of the propositions he would probably discuss is this: Has the League exercised salutary influence in preventing warfare? And if so, to what extent? This is first of all a question of fact, and as such, any motivation in regard to it is beside the point. What is needed is evidence and logical inference to establish the truth in regard to it, whatever that is. Suppose, now, that there is reasonably satisfactory evidence to show that the League has been instrumental in preventing conflict.\nIf it becomes proper to interpret the fact for the audience in terms of wants satisfied and desires fulfilled, this is an appeal to motives. Here's a proposition that requires support in the form of logical argument and motivation. The amount of each form of support needed would depend on the nature of the occasion and the audience. If the audience were hostile to the League, creating a \"desire system\" in regard to joining it would be extremely difficult. Motivation would be difficult in this case. Conversely, with an audience favorable to the League, motivation would be easy.\n\nSuppose we were to have a debate on the question: Resolved, that the League of Nations has been instrumental in preventing conflict among nations. When limited to this scope, the argument for the League would be:\n\n1. The League of Nations has promoted diplomacy and negotiation between nations, reducing the likelihood of armed conflict.\n2. The League has established mechanisms for resolving disputes peacefully, such as the Permanent Court of International Justice.\n3. The League has monitored and intervened in conflicts, preventing them from escalating into larger wars.\n4. The League has worked to address the root causes of conflict, such as economic instability and political tensions.\n5. The League has fostered international cooperation and collaboration, promoting peace and stability.\n\nThese points can be supported with logical arguments and evidence, making a strong case for the League's role in preventing conflict among nations.\nThe question is solely a matter of fact, providing no opportunity for appeals to motives. It is rarely that a question is so limited for debate. Usually, questions for debate or argumentative speeches are stated as questions of policy, offering ample opportunities for motivation. In argumentative speeches, as in impressive speeches, it is essential to link up your discussion with the interests of the audience. Your goal here is not only to gain acceptance for beliefs but also to make them influential in shaping behavior. The ultimate aim is the same as in impressive speeches.\n\nSome initial questions to consider in any argumentative speech are: What is the interest of my audience in this subject? What interest can I create in it? How does it affect their lives? What desires does it fulfill?\nEvery question worth discussing affects our lives, vitally and concretely in the long run. The problem is to discover how and make it vividly home to your audience. Refer to Chapter IX, \"Motivation: Want Appeal.\" Ask yourself as many questions as you can touching the interests of your audience in the subject, such as:\n\n1. Does it affect their property interests - touch their pocketbooks?\n2. Does it affect their safety, health; tend to prevent disease, accident?\n3. Does it affect family life, home, children, friends?\n4. Can you appeal to rivalry, pride, desire for power, personal worth, social recognition?\n5. Is the reputation of the members of your audience involved? Fear of ridicule or public censure?\n1. Are human rights involved? Is justice and liberty at stake?\n2. How does this question impact opportunities to experience art, drama, and in general, fulfill aesthetic preferences?\n3. Is patriotism a factor?\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\nThese are merely suggestions to expand your perspective. Human needs and desires are diverse. It's your responsibility to identify as many as possible and demonstrate how the belief or action you advocate for from your audience addresses these needs.\n\nMain Contentions and Motives. Every primary contention or leading proposition in your argumentative speech should be carefully chosen and phrased to allow for an appeal to motives when feasible. For instance, in a debate on the abolition of the jury, a question that was once used in a college debating league, those defending the jury system employed the following contentions:\nThe jury's origins and the intelligent common people composing it endure. Delays in trials stem from court procedures rather than juries. Judges are more politically influenced than juries.\n\nPropositions one, two, and three are viable, but superior alternatives exist. Consider:\n\n1. The jury safeguards common people's property rights.\n2. The jury is our foremost guardian of Anglo-Saxon liberties.\n3. The jury is less susceptible to sinister influences than any judicial body.\n\nPropositions one and two can be effectively used in a want appeal; proposition three less so, although not necessarily impracticable. It becomes clearer as your argument unfolds.\nUnder the first aspect, you could discuss the historical evolution of the jury, demonstrating that it is still necessary to protect property rights. In the second, you would have an excellent opportunity to demonstrate the significance of the jury as an instrument for preserving our liberties. In fact, during one debate on this topic, I heard a student present a powerful appeal on this very subject. I was made to forget that I was listening to a debate and was left only with the sense that here was a question of supreme importance, and that neither life nor property would be safe if the jury were abolished! The speaker delved at length into the price in blood and treasure paid for our liberties.\nIn arguing for the St. Lawrence waterway, it's a great mistake to begin with a technical argument on its feasibility. This approach would be tedious and tire any ordinary audience in a short time. The proper method is to show what the waterway will do for the people of the Northwest. Will it give farmers seven or eight cents more per bushel for their wheat, as claimed? If so, this is important not only to farmers but to all who do business with them. Will it lower carrying charges on goods from Europe and the East? That is vital too. First, show what the waterway will accomplish and what needs it will satisfy. When you have done that, you will find your listeners eager to hear arguments on the technical aspects of it.\nH. A. Overstreet, in his Influencing Human Behavior, states: \"No appeal to reason that is not also an appeal to a want is ever effective.\" This ought to dispose of a good deal of futile arguing.... Thought (reason) is, at bottom, an instrument of action; and action, whatever it may be, springs out of what we fundamentally desire. There is, indeed, a place in life \u2014 a most important place \u2014 for pure thought \u2014 thought, that is, which has no interest in immediate action. But for the most part, thought (reason) is, for us, an instrument of exploration; it enables us to see more clearly where we are going, and how we may best go. But where do we actually wish to go? If we are sure of that, then we gladly busy ourselves to find ideas which point the path and clear the way. 284 The Art of Effective Speaking.\nThe arguer must first arouse in his respondent a real want to know or a real wish to understand. If not, his argumentation is only words. Most arguers are too hurried in unloading themselves, forgetting that an eagerness to want must be awakened in the respondent first. This is the best advice for would-be persuaders, whether in business, the home, school, or politics: first, arouse in the other person an eager want. He who can do this has the world with him. He who cannot walks a lonely way. Getting on common ground is the aim of all speaking\u2014common ground of understanding and belief.\nThe aim of a speaker should be to find common ground of pleasant feeling, even in entertainment speeches. This is a perspective that a speaker should always keep in mind, serving as a guide for the selection and handling of materials. Logical argument is good only insofar as it helps bring policies and beliefs into line with the views and vital interests of the listeners. It is a laborious method that taxes mental effort to the maximum and should be used cautiously with mixed audiences, only with a liberal sprinkling of concrete speech materials.\n\nHere is the opinion of a platform genius after fifty years in the pulpit and on the platform: Most men are feeble in logical power. So far from being benefited by logical arguments, they are often confused by them.\nThe greatest number of men, particularly uncultivated people, receive their truth through facts placed in juxtaposition rather than in philosophical sequence. They lose the thread at the second or third step. The most effective way to convey truth to most audiences is through a line of fact or a series of parables, rather than a regular unfolding of a train of thought from the germinal point to the fruitful end. However, a select portion of an intelligent audience sympathizes with truth delivered in its highest philosophical forms. There is a distinct pleasure to them in the evolution of an argument. They rejoice to see a structure built up, tier upon tier, and story upon story. They glow with delight as the long chain is welded, link by link. (From \"The Argumentative Speech\" by John Chrysostom, trans. C. A. Patrides)\nAnd if the preacher himself holds such views and receives commendations from the most thoughtful and cultured of his people, it is natural that he will fall completely under the influence of this style of sermonizing, feeding one mouth while starving a hundred. To get on common ground of belief with your hearers, it's important that you understand what their beliefs are. A careful analysis of their views, prejudices, and preconceived notions is necessary to get the best results. When Beecher was in England, before hostile audiences that would not let him speak, he did not argue with them about the sacred right of free speech. He knew that Englishmen took pride in their practice of fair play, so he immediately struck that note. \"If I do not mistake the tone and temper of Englishmen,\" Beecher said.\n\"men,\" he said in his \"Liverpool Speech,\" \"they had rather have a man who opposes them in a manly way than a sneak that agrees with them in an unmanly way. An unusual example of the method of getting on common ground is that of Lincoln in the \"Cooper Union Speech,\" 1860. Lincoln, in the first half of his \"Cooper Union Speech,\" sought to show that the policy of the Republican Party with reference to slavery was in line with the policy of the framers of the government. Douglas sought to do the same thing. Because both knew that their followers had almost a reverential regard for the opinions of the founding fathers. Lincoln proved with reasonable conclusiveness that he was advocating the same policy as the founders, and the result was that thousands of people flocked to his standard, saying in effect, That policy\"\nHenry Ward Beecher: Yale Lectures on Preaching - The Pilgrim Press: First Series, p. 219.\n\nTHE ART OF EFFECTIVE SPEAKING\n\nLincoln did not argue the case on its merits at that time in his debate with Douglas. He sought to align his principles with an approved policy acceptable to his constituents. He compared the unaccepted to the accepted. In this way, he found common ground with his audience.\n\nConsider what a labored argument might be made on the question of whether our experiment in popular government is worthwhile. By a single illustration (analogy), Beecher not only sheds light on the subject but also goes a long way toward winning acceptance for his proposition.\n\nA worse thing is sometimes a great deal better than a better thing.\nWilliam has been at school for more than a year, and his teacher tells him one day, \"Now, William, I'm afraid your father will think I'm not doing well by you; you must write a composition - you must send your father a good composition to show what you're doing.\" Well, William never wrote a composition, and he didn't know how. \"Oh, write about something you do know about - write about your father's farm,\" and so being goaded to his task, William says, \"A cow is a useful animal. A cow has four legs and two horns. A cow gives good milk. I love good milk. William Bradshaw.\" The master looks over his shoulder and says, \"Poof! Your father will think you're a cow. Here, give me that composition, I'll fix it.\" So he takes it home and fixes it. Here it reads: \"When the cow gives milk, I love the good milk.\"\nThe sun casts off the dusky garments of the night and appearing over the orient hills, sips the dewdrops pendant from every leaf. The milkmaid goes afield chanting her matin song. Although the master's composition was unspeakably better than William's, as a part of William's education, his own poor scrawly lines are unspeakably better than the one that has been \"fixed\" for him. No man ever yet learned by having somebody else learn for him. A man learns arithmetic by blunder in and blunder out, but at last he gets it. A man learns to write through scrawling; a man learns to swim by going into the water; a man learns to vote by voting. Now we are attempting to make a Government; now we are attempting to teach sixty millions of men how to conduct a Government by self-government. (The Argumentative Speech)\nIt is better to have sixty millions of men learn how to govern themselves through their own mistakes, than to have an arbitrary Government with the rest of the people ignorant. When the audience is hostile, the argumentative speech has a large place in our life, yet it is a fact that outside of deliberative assemblies, the occasions are few when a speaker sets out to change other persons' views in the face of hostile opinion. An audience assembled to hear a speaker is almost invariably favorable to the speaker's views in overwhelming numbers. A Republican spellbinder generally speaks to a predominantly Republican audience. A Democrat speaks to a predominantly Democratic audience.\nA Democratic audience listens to a Socialist speaker whose views are similar. This is common in business, religious, and other circles. Exceptions occur in major crises with conflicting interests, but generally, the statement holds true. A speaker attempting to convert a hostile audience must bridge the gap using accepted propositions. Unwelcome propositions should not be used to win assent for other unwelcome ones. The most effective approach is to avoid such propositions.\nThe speaker must avoid stirring up contradictory ideas for anything that could cause issue with the audience, or in psychological terms. This can be done if the speaker has the art to do so. Differences in views and convictions among people are more due to misunderstanding and ignorance than to any differences in mental make-up, not to perversity. Most persons will act in the same way based on the same facts, although predispositions may influence their conduct. There are conflicts of interest, but people hold opinions because it is in their interest to do so, or at least they think so. However, for every real conflict of interests causing divergent views, there are a hundred instances where.\n\nThe text does not require extensive cleaning, but here are some minor corrections:\n\n1. \"anything that the audience can take issue with\" should be \"any issues the audience may have\"\n2. \"in psychological parlance, the speaker must scrupulously avoid stirring up contrariant ideas\" should be \"in psychological terms, the speaker must avoid stirring up contradictory ideas\"\n3. \"On the basis of the same facts, most persons will act in the same way although predispositions may influence their conduct\" should be \"Based on the same facts, most people will act in the same way, although predispositions may influence their conduct\"\n4. \"There are conflicts of interest, to be sure, and people hold opinions because it is to their interest to hold them, or at least they think so\" should be \"There are indeed conflicts of interest, and people hold opinions because they believe it is in their interest to do so\"\n5. \"But for every real conflict of interests causing divergent views, there are a hundred instances where\" should be \"However, for every real conflict of interests causing divergent views, there are hundreds of instances where\"\nDifferences in opinions result from ignorance and misunderstanding. The real problem, therefore, is to discover the sources of opinions and to understand on what foundations they rest. This may require a thorough understanding of the whole question and, what is more important still, a sympathetic understanding of the opinions and beliefs which you wish to change.\n\nLincoln has well expressed this attitude as follows:\n\nWhen the conduct of men is designed to be influenced, persuasion, kind and unassuming, should ever be adopted. It is an old and true maxim that a drop of honey catches more flies than a gallon of gall. So with men. If you would win a man to your cause, first convince him that you are his sincere friend. There is the drop of honey that catches his heart, which, say what he will, when once you have gained his friendship and his trust, you will find it much easier to influence him.\nYou will find little trouble in convincing his judgment of the justice of your cause if it is indeed just. On the contrary, if you dictate to his judgment, command his action, or mark him as one to be shunned and despised, he will retreat within himself, close all avenues to his head and heart. Even if your cause is naked truth itself, and you throw it with more than Herculean force and precision, you will be no more able to pierce him than to penetrate the hard shell of a tortoise with a rye straw. Such is man, and so must he be understood by those who would lead him even to his own best interests.\n\nEmerson, in his lecture on eloquence, has expressed what some will regard as an extreme view of what may be accomplished by way of influencing hostile opinion:\nThere is a statement possible for every man, of that truth which he is most unwilling to receive. It is a statement, so broad and so pungent, that he cannot get away from it, but must either bend to it or die of it. Else there would be no such word as eloquence, which means this. The listener cannot hide from himself that something has been shown him and the whole world, which he did not wish to see; and as he cannot dispose of it, it disposes of him. The history of public men and affairs in America will readily furnish tragic examples of this fatal force.\n\nStrategy of Approach. What approach should a speaker make to his audience is a matter of strategy. Suppose his audience is largely favorable, with a small element hostile. Should a political speaker, for example, aim to win over the hostile element?\nFew intransigents with logical arguments, authorities, and whatever persuasive means are at his command? Or should he aim to fire his large group of sympathizers with enthusiasm for the cause, in the hope that the enthusiasm will spread to as large a number in the community as possible? As a matter of hard, practical sense, the latter aim will probably be productive of the best results. That course is much easier, involves a much simpler process, assuming that the bulk of the audience is friendly. At any rate, we may feel sure that it is the course pursued by most political speakers, and others as well. As Phillips put it in the antislavery struggle, \u201cThere are far more dead hearts to be quickened than confused intellects to be cleared up: more dumb dogs to be made to speak than doubting consciences to be enlightened.\u201d In the choice of aims or\nA speaker is guided by an audience's character in achieving purposes. In conclusion, we likely make more decisions through the argumentative process than we're given credit for. When we weigh reasons for and against any opinion or course of conduct, whether in conversation, a club, political forum, convention, legislative assembly, congress, or parliament, we use the argumentative method. Therefore, we should be familiar with different types of logical arguments to scrutinize our thought processes. Logical argument establishes the truth of propositions or the correctness of opinions with varying degrees of probability.\nIn argumentative speech, only one type of support is necessary once the truth of a proposition has been established with some degree of probability. The challenge then lies in interpreting and conveying the emotional significance of the idea or proposition. This is accomplished through an appeal to motives and fundamental human desires \u2013 intellectual, material, and aesthetic. The issue here is identical to that in an impressive speech. The objective is to imbue ideas with deeper meaning through emotional appeals. Concrete speech materials, such as general and specific examples and all forms of illustrations, are essential for this purpose. The ultimate goal in an argumentative speech is always to influence action in some way. It may aim for an immediate and definite overt action.\nThe aim is to establish certain views or attitudes, which may result in action. The end goal is to make beliefs function in behavior.\n\nEXERCISES:\n1. Write a report on one assigned speech, covering:\na. Purpose and main divisions\nb. Prevalent forms of support\nc. Effective illustrations\nd. Comparison of unaccepted and accepted\ne. Motives appealed to\ng. Weaknesses and unconvincing points\nh. Greater problem: establishing truth or satisfying desires\n\n2. Discuss orally an argumentative speech in class.\nI. Criteria for Criticism:\n1. Discuss different types of logical arguments:\n   a. Generalization\n   b. Causal: cause to effect and effect to cause\n   c. Analogy\n   Test applications.\n2. Determine classmates' prejudices and mental attitudes on a current topic of debate.\n   a. Identify those who share your viewpoint.\n   b. Identify those who hold opposing views.\n   c. Understand reasons for disagreement.\n3. Prepare an argument for class presentation, targeting opposing viewpoints.\nThrough, obtain a frank expression from these hearers as to what effect your argument had. Do they still think and feel as they did, or are they persuaded to your views?\n\nReadings:\nSpeeches\n\"Columbus Speech,\" by Abraham Lincoln (Nicolay and Hay)\n\"Liverpool Speech,\" by Henry Ward Beecher {Beecher: IV}\n\"Reply to Hayne,\" by Daniel Webster (Vol. XI)\n\"Capital Punishment,\" by Wendell Phillips {Phillips, Vol. II}\n\"Speech on Government Ownership,\" by Herbert Hoover {O'Neill and Riley}\n\"Speech on Government Ownership,\" by Alfred E. Smith {O'Neill and Riley}\n\nReferences\nWilliam Phillips Sandford and Willard Hayes Yeager: Principles of Effective Speaking (Revised Edition, 1930), Chap. XIII.\nArleigh Boyd Williamson: Speaking in Public (1929), Chap. XIII.\nFrederick Hansen Lund: The Psychology of Belief. (Thesis: Columbia University, 1905.)\nChapter XVI The Entertainment Speech\n\nAn entertainment speech is one where the entertainment feature is predominant. The after-dinner speech is the most conspicuous example. To excel at this requires a vivid sense of humor and originality in treatment. While anyone can try, making a tolerable success of it is an accomplishment.\n\nHints for the After-Dinner Speaker:\n1. Observe the spirit of the occasion. The atmosphere naturally pervading such an occasion is one of geniality and good cheer. It is not an occasion for argument or airing prejudices. Controversial topics are usually regarded as contrary to the spirit of the event.\nAt a banquet celebrating the football season's victories, we do not criticize the coach and players adversely. If we have any, we reserve it for other times and places. We avoid anything that may sound like a discordant note.\n\nThe best after-dinner speeches have a message. While some after-dinner speeches are made for mere entertainment, the best ones have something more than mere humor in their composition. A good after-dinner speech will have an idea and develop it; and while the development may be partly in a light vein and humorous, it will be something more than that. Wholly humorous speeches are not necessarily the most interesting and entertaining. Originality in thought and style may be more captivating than any humor.\nIf you want to be a good after-dinner speaker, combine originality and humor. Careful preparation is necessary. Make careful preparation for a good after-dinner speech, just as for any other speech. Some may acquit themselves creditably without much preparation. However, for most, trusting to inspiration is too hazardous. Careful preparation in advance is the only insurance of comfort and safety. In preparing such a speech, reckon with all factors in the situation: the nature of the occasion, the number of speakers, the probable length of the speech, and what other speakers may say.\nAnd other essential matters. If one can weave one's own speech into a unified plan or pattern with the rest, much will be gained.\n\nCare must be exercised in the selection of forms of support. The most useful are likely to be personal experiences, concrete examples, the literary quotation, and the anecdote. If you can offer as supports for any point you may choose to develop one good example, a literary quotation, and an anecdote, the chances are good that your point will \"go over.\" If these forms of support are definitely determined, you may use them as islands and take a chance on swimming between. The amateur, however, will do well if he fortifies himself with some practice in swimming between.\n\nThe best humor is that which seems to grow out of the subject matter itself.\nThis applies to anecdotes: they should illustrate points connected to the subject and not give the impression of being dragged in for their own sake. The Art of Effective Speaking. Some men naturally use humor; others seem to force it. I recall going to a Shriners' noon luncheon with an oriental lecturer, at which he spoke for half an hour. He referred in his speech to a correspondent in China sent by a leading English newspaper, and took it upon himself to criticize this correspondent.\nFor his attitude on Chinese problems and his ignorance, he remarked, \"Why, that man does not know any more about China than a lawyer knows about the Bible.\" This statement, delivered so naturally and unexpectedly, caused the audience of about three hundred Shriners to erupt in convulsions of laughter. Later in his address, he advocated for better understanding among races and nations. \"When we come to understand each other a little better,\" he said, \"we shall find that the Black is not so black as he is painted; the Yellow, not so yellow; and White, not quite so white.\" This was originality! A good message spiced with humor and originality makes up a good after-dinner speech. Of all speeches, the after-dinner speech should be presented in this manner.\nWith the ease and informality of conversation, Thomas Wentworth Higginson suggests in his \"Notes on Speech Making\" a method to start off in a conversational mode and give an address an air of spontaneity. If people are shy and awkward about their speeches, how shall they gain an easy and unconstrained bearing? That is, how shall they begin their speeches in this way? For after the beginning, it is not so hard to go on.\n\nThere is one very simple method, as simple as swallowing a mouthful of water slowly to cure one's hiccup, and yet one which I have seldom known to fail. Suppose the occasion to be a public dinner. You have someone by your side to whom you have been talking. To him, your manner was undoubtedly natural.\n\nThe Entertainment Speech\nIf you can only bring the conversational flavor of your private talk into your public speech, the battle is won. How to achieve this result? In this easy way: Express to your neighbor conversationally the thought, whatever it is, with which you mean to begin your public speech. Then, when you rise to speak, say merely, \"I was just saying to the gentleman who sits beside me, that\" \u2014 and then you repeat your remark over again. You thus make the last words of your private talk the first words of your public address, and the conversational manner is secured. This suggestion originated, I believe, with a man of inexhaustible fertility in public speech, Rev. E. E. Hale. I have often availed myself of it, and have often been thanked by others for suggesting it to them.\nFive. Observe the time limit, whatever it is. It is important to address this because it is frequently abused. It is not uncommon for an event of this kind to last until late hours in the night or early hours in the morning, with half the audience gone and everyone tired out, simply because speakers do not know when to stop. Or, more accurately, they do not know how to stop. Therefore, it is significant to have the power and good sense to stop at the appropriate time. If a time limit is set, adhere to it and do not embarrass the chairman by making it necessary for him to ask you to conclude your speech. If no time limit is set, determine the amount of time you can reasonably occupy based on the number of speakers on the program and the lateness of the hour. If uncertain, give the benefit of the doubt to the audience.\n1. Read Beecher\u2019s speech \"Merchants and Ministers\" and submit a written critique, addressing as many points as possible. Does it have a clear message? Is the message relevant? What are the main sources of humor? Is there originality in thought and style? What are the primary forms of support? Is the style conversational? Does the speech convey spontaneity? Provide additional criticisms as needed. (See page 438 in this volume.)\n\n2. Report on a recent after-dinner speech with criticisms on its effectiveness and ineffectiveness.\n\n3. Deliver an oral or written report on two speeches assigned at the end of this chapter. Organize your criticism systematically, covering as many points as possible. To what extent is humor effectively used in each speech?\nTo what extent derived from the occasion? To what extent from the originality of the speaker?\n\nPrepare for a five-minute after-dinner speech in class, imagining an occasion suitable for such a speech. Do not rely too much on stories. Aim to be humorous without them.\n\nSpeeches:\n- \"The Yankee,\" by Irving Bacheller (Vol. I)\n- \"Liberty under the Law,\" by George W. Curtis (Vol. I)\n- \"The Pilgrims,\" by Wendell Phillips (Phillips, Vol. I)\n- \"The Mormons,\" by Charles Farrar Browne (\"Artemus Ward\") (Vol. XIII)\n- \"The Bench and the Bar,\" by Joseph Choate (Vol. I)\n- \"A 'Littery' Episode,\" by Samuel L. Clemens (\"Mark Twain\")\n- \"Woman,\" by Chauncey M. Depew (Vol. I)\n- \"The Music of Wagner,\" by Robert Ingersoll (Vol. II)\n- \"Andrew Carnegie \u2014 His Methods with His Men,\" by Charles M. Schwab (Vol. IX)\n\nReferences:\n- Thomas Wentworth Higginson: \"Hints on Speech Making,\" Modern\nCHAPTER XVII\nTHE OCCASIONAL ADDRESS\n\nIf you have mastered well the principles governing the preparation of the types of speeches already treated, speeches for special occasions should not present any great difficulties, except such as are met with in the preparation of any speech.\n\nWhen we come to analyze the aims of the various occasional addresses, we shall find that they are usually of the impression type, and governed by the same rules in regard to organization.\nThe choice of speech materials is true for the after-dinner speech, which is more than a string of stories and a succession of jokes. There are many forms of the so-called occasional address. The principal ones are: (1) the address of welcome; (2) the introductory address; (3) the anniversary address; (4) the eulogy; (5) the farewell address.\n\nThe Speech of Welcome. There are many occasions for speeches of welcome, not so much to individuals as to organizations. Conventions of all kinds assemble nowadays in large cities and small, made up of representatives from large areas, at times from the whole country, at other times from the whole world. Ordinarily, the mayor of the city or some local dignitary is called upon to address the gathering and extend the welcome of the city. These speeches are usually in a light, humorous tone.\nThe art of effective speaking: An address of welcome\n\nIt is seldom an occupation that lasts more than five minutes, consisting of a few appropriate pleasantries, making delegates feel \"at home\" during their deliberations and sightseeing. It is an art to do this well and handsomely, but it is difficult to give very definite rules as so much depends on the occasion and the originality of the speaker.\n\n298. The art of effective speaking\n\nAn address of welcome is essentially neither informative nor argumentative. It must primarily be either an impressive or an entertaining speech, and that is exactly what it is. Whether one element or the other predominates depends on the speaker and the occasion.\n\nVery often, addresses of welcome are predominantly in a humorous vein; and again, they may stress some idea or give expression to some sentiments that make them predominantly impressive.\nThe best welcome address is one that is impressive and entertaining, using speech materials to achieve both goals, much like a good after-dinner speech. To determine the most appropriate sentiments, consider the occasion and specifically the character, purpose, and accomplishments of the organization or individual being welcomed. What is its nature? What does it represent? What notable achievements has it made? How does it impact our lives? What is its future program? What is its connection to our community? From such queries, a speaker will find suitable ideas or sentiments to develop briefly. The more specific and concrete the treatment, the more effective. An address of welcome should aim to accomplish at least two things: (i) make the audience feel welcome and (ii) provide valuable information or insight.\nThe guests feel at home and assure them that the community takes pleasure in entertaining them and Pride in having them as guests. Strike a note or two of appreciation for the work being done by the organization and suggest concretely how vital it may affect individuals and the community. Liberal seasoning with humor and gracious sentiment through personal experiences, literary quotations, anecdotes, and other forms of illustration is appropriate and desirable.\n\nThe Introductory Address. Almost anything may be forgiven in an introductory speech if it is short enough. The record for brevity is very likely held by Shailer Mathews, who, in presenting President Woodrow Wilson on one occasion, said, \"Ladies and Gentlemen, the President.\" Robert Ingersoll improved on that slightly by doing without an introduction.\nA speaker may require an introduction to establish a intelligent and friendly relation between speaker and audience. For a well-known speaker, such as one who became famous in later years, this may not be necessary. However, for a speaker who is distinguished but virtually unknown to an American audience, an introduction is beneficial. The introducer will highlight the speaker's political and other accomplishments, presenting them with due impressiveness and sincerity. The better known the speaker, the briefer the introductory speech can be.\nAn audience is impatient of long introductory speeches unless they really say something vital and interesting relating to the speaker. It is bad form for one who introduces a speaker to launch into a speech of his own, no matter how brilliantly it may be done. It is also at times unbearably tedious and tiring on such occasions to have to listen to a half-dozen or so announcements, in most of which the audience has no interest. The members of the audience are there to hear the speaker, and unless there are some weighty reasons to the contrary, they should be allowed to hear him promptly and without unnecessary delay. Two or three minutes should be the time limit for an introductory speech.\n\nThe eulogy, as a rule, is predominantly an impressive speech. It may take several forms. It may be a tribute to the deceased, praising their virtues and accomplishments. It may be a historical account of their life and achievements. It may be a personal reflection on the relationship between the speaker and the deceased. Regardless of its form, the eulogy should be respectful, heartfelt, and meaningful. It should honor the memory of the deceased and provide comfort and closure to those who knew and loved them.\nThe address, in the form of a tribute at a man's death, such as Wendell Phillips' tributes to Lincoln, Garrett, Harriet Martineau, and others, provide fine models for this form. The art of effective speaking or the eulogy may be relatively short or lengthy, occupying an hour or more in delivery. There are two types of eulogies: the selective eulogy, like Phillips' eulogy of Daniel O'Connell and Toussaint L'Ouverture, where certain character traits are chosen and developed or historical movements dealt with in which the subject of the eulogy had a large part; and the biographical eulogy, which aims to give the life history of a man and point some moral from this life history. Such are usually congressional eulogies, delivered by a colleague when a Congressman dies. Edward Everett's is of this type.\nEulogy of Washington. No matter what form it takes, the eulogy is essentially an impressive speech. It may be informative also, but information is not the ultimate end. The primary aim of a eulogy is to hold up as examples to the living the virtues and accomplishments of the dead. The eulogy is a persuasive speech. It does not advocate any specific action, but it does aim to set up attitudes and action tendencies of a certain kind, so that we shall act in accordance with them when the occasion comes.\n\nEulogies on occasion are argumentative, although such eulogies are exceptions. Wendell Phillips\u2019 eulogy of Toussaint L\u2019Ouverture is of this kind. It was given at a time when the antislavery struggle was raging and the worth of the negro much discussed. Phillips made his speech both a eulogy and an argument for recognizing the worth of the negro race.\nOne of our greatest eulogies. Read it. The Anniversary Address. There are many occasions for the anniversary address, and correspondingly many calls for speeches to interpret and give freshness of meaning to such occasions. You are familiar with the observance of Memorial Day, Fourth of July, Labor Day, Armistice Day, Mothers\u2019 Day, Old Settlers\u2019 Day, the birthdays of distinguished men like Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson, Hamilton, and others. Then there are class reunions and anniversaries. Such occasions are legion and offer much opportunity for speaking.\n\nThe Occasional Address\n\nAll such speeches are of the impressive type, and are accordingly governed according to the choice of speech materials and organization. They are usually in serious vein and should have a definite message. The fact that the people who gather on such occasions are numerous.\nSpeeches should be light and include humor for a mixed audience, making them relevant with personal incidents, examples, quotations, anecdotes, and illustrations. A good message interpreting the occasion's meaning in relation to present-day problems is essential. Jane Addams' speech at the end of this chapter is an excellent example, as it has a good message and gives significance to certain character traits of the great Virginian by suggesting how he would react to present-day problems. Lincoln's \"Gettysburg Address\" derives its power and popularity from these elements.\nThe farewell address is an impressive type of speech on occasions when a distinguished citizen moves away, such as a candidate-elect for political office, a minister, a teacher, or other beloved community member. A banquet is prepared and speeches arranged. Speeches on such occasions are brief, showing moderation and good taste, and should be genuine. Lincoln addresses his Springfield friends with deep sincerity and affection on his departure for Washington.\nMy  Friends:  No  one,  not  in  my  situation,  can  appreciate  my  feeling \nof  sadness  at  this  parting.  To  this  place,  and  the  kindness  of  these \nTHE  ART  OF  EFFECTIVE  SPEAKING \npeople,  I  owe  everything.  Here  I  have  lived  a  quarter  of  a  century, \nand  have  passed  from  a  young  to  an  old  man.  Here  my  children  have \nbeen  born,  and  one  is  buried.  I  now  leave,  not  knowing  when  or \nwhether  ever  I  may  return,  with  a  task  before  me  greater  than \nthat  which  rested  upon  Washington.  Without  the  assistance  of  that \nDivine  Being  who  ever  attended  him,  I  cannot  succeed.  With  that \nassistance,  I  cannot  fail.  Trusting  in  Him  who  can  go  with  me,  and \nremain  with  you,  and  be  everywhere  for  good,  let  us  confidently  hope \nthat  all  will  yet  be  well.  To  His  care  commending  you,  as  I  hope  in \nyour  prayers  you  will  commend  me,  I  bid  you  an  affectionate  farewell. \nEXERCISES \ni.  The  following  speech  was  given  by  Jane  Addams,  world-famed  for \nher  work  at  Hull  House,  Chicago,  at  the  dinner  of  the  Union \nLeague  Club,  Chicago,  February  23,  1903.  Study  it,  and  then \neither  write  out,  or  be  prepared  to  give  orally,  a  criticism  of  the \nspeech,  touching  the  message,  the  method  of  treatment,  the \ncharacter  of  the  style,  and  the  forms  of  support.  Would  concrete \nmaterials  add  to  the  effectiveness  of  the  speech?  If  so,  what  ma\u00ac \nterials  would  you  suggest?  Note  the  careful  structure  of  the \nspeech. \nWASHINGTON\u2019S  BIRTHDAY \nWe  meet  together  upon  these  birthdays  of  our  great  men,  not  only \nto  review  their  fives,  but  to  revive  and  cherish  our  own  patriotism. \nThis  matter  is  a  difficult  task.  In  the  first  place,  we  are  prone  to \nthink  that  by  merely  reciting  these  great  deeds  we  get  a  reflected \nIn the second place, we are apt to think that we inherit the fine qualities of those great men, simply because we have a common descent and live in the same territory. However, we know full well that the patriotism of common descent is the mere patriotism of the clan - the early patriotism of the tribe. We know that the possession of a like territory is merely an advance upon that, and both of them are unworthy to be the patriotism of a great cosmopolitan nation whose patriotism must be large enough to obliterate racial distinction and forget that there are such things as surveyor's lines. When we come to the study of great men, it is easy to think only of their great deeds and not of their racial or territorial backgrounds.\nA great man is one who thinks deeply about the spirit of the times. What is a man who has left his mark on history? Every time, if we think deeply enough, he is a man who has looked through the confusion of the moment and seen the moral issue involved. He is a man who has refused to let his sense of justice be distorted. He has listened to his conscience until it becomes a trumpet call to like-minded men, gathering them about him, and together, with mutual purpose and mutual aid, they make a new period in history.\n\nLet us assume, for a moment, that if we are to make this day advantageous to us, we will have to adopt this definition of a great man. We will have to appeal to the present as well as the past. We will have to rouse our national conscience as well as our national pride, and we will all have to remember that it lies with the young people.\nIf we ponder over whether this nation will continue in any way worthy of its beginning, we must consider George Washington's actions if he bore our burdens and faced our problems at this moment. To understand this, we need to examine his life as a soldier, statesman, and a simple Virginia planter.\n\nFirst, as a soldier. What is it that we admire about the soldier? It is not that he goes into battle; rather, it is that he has the power to sacrifice his own life for a larger cause. He holds his personal suffering of no account and casts down in the battlefield his all, declaring, \"I will stand or fall with this cause.\" This, it seems to me, is the glorious thing we admire.\nIf we admire the soldier's spirit and wish to preserve it in civil life, we must foster similar pride in civil warfare, courage, and self-surrender. In our national perspective, isn't there a great menace that calls for patriotism? We see a spirit of materialism all around us \u2013 an excessive emphasis on material possessions, an inordinate desire to gain wealth, an inordinate fear of losing wealth, and an inordinate desire to please the wealthy. If we feel that this is a menace, let us rouse high-minded youth against this spirit of materialism with all our power and the spirit of a soldier.\nWe will say today that we will not count the opening of markets the one great field which our nation is concerned with, but that when our flag flies anywhere, it shall fly for righteousness as well as for increased commercial prosperity. We will see to it that no sin of commercial robbery is committed where it floats. We shall see to it that nothing in our commercial history will not bear the most careful scrutiny and investigation. We will restore commercial life, however complicated, to such honor and simple honesty as George Washington expressed in his business dealings.\n\nLet us take, for a moment, George Washington as a statesman. What did he do during those days when they were framing a constitution, when they were meeting together night after night, trying to adjust the rights and privileges of every class in the commonwealth?\nWhat sustained him during all those days, weeks, months, and years was the belief that we were founding a nation on the axiom that all men are created free and equal. What would George Washington say if he found that among us there were causes constantly operating against that equality? If he knew that any child thrust prematurely into industry had no chance in life with children who were preserved from that pain and sorrow; if he knew that every insanitary street and every insanitary house crippled a man so that he had no health and no vigor with which to carry on his life's labor; if he knew that all about us were forces making against skill, making against the best manhood and womanhood, what would he say? He would say that if the spirit of equality means anything, it means equal opportunity.\nIf we once lose such an opportunity, we lose the only chance we have towards equality throughout the nation. Let us take George Washington as a citizen. What did he do when he retired from office, afraid that holding office any longer might bring harm to himself and his beloved nation? We say that he went back to his plantation on the Potomac. What were his thoughts during the all-too-short days that he lived there? He thought of many possibilities, but, looking out over his country, did he fear that a crowd of men would rise up who held office not for their country\u2019s good, but for their own? Would he not have foreboded evil if he had known that among us were groups and hordes of professional politicians, who, without any blinking or without any scruples, would pursue their own interests above all else?\nHe would argue that they feigned otherwise, distributed the spoils of office, and regarded an independent man as a mere intruder or outsider. If he had recognized that the original meaning of office-holding and the function of government had become indifferent to us, that we were not using our foresight and conscience to discover this great wrong that was undermining self-government, he would tell us that anything which promotes better civic service, which promotes a merit system, which promotes fitness for office, is the only thing that can counteract this wrong, and that this is the wisest patriotism. What did he write in his last correspondence? He wrote that he felt very unhappy about the subject of slavery, that there was, in his mind, a great menace in the holding of slavery.\nA man who a century ago could free his slaves, would he be indifferent now to the great questions of social maladjustment around us? His letters breathe a yearning for a better condition for the slaves, as the letters of all great men among us breathe a yearning for the better condition of the unskilled and underpaid. A wise patriotism, which will take hold of these questions by careful legal enactment, constant and vigorous enforcement, because of the belief that if the meanest man in the republic is deprived of his rights, then every man in the republic is deprived of his rights, is the only patriotism by which public-spirited men and women can address these issues.\nA thoroughly aroused conscience can worthily serve this republic. We must say again that the lessons of great men are lost unless they reinforce upon our minds the highest demands we make upon ourselves. They are lost unless they drive our sluggish wills forward in the direction of their highest ideals.\n\nReport on an occasional address you have heard recently, with criticism as to effectiveness. Be specific.\n\nPrepare an eight- or ten-minute speech on one of the following in the form of selective or biographical eulogy. Aim to select interesting facts in the person's life and his distinctive character traits.\n\n306 The Art of Effective Speaking\n\nWoodrow Wilson\nThomas Jefferson\nTheodore Roosevelt\nCalvin Coolidge\nWilliam Jennings Bryan\nWilliam Lloyd Garrison\nJane Addams\nCarrie Chapman Catt\nJulia Ward Howe\nFlorence Nightingale\nFrances Willard\n[Selma Lagerlof, \"New Critics of Democracy\" by Nicholas Murray Butler, \"Abraham Lincoln\" by Henry Watterson (Vol. IX), \"Dedicating the George F. Baker Foundation\" by Owen D. Young (O'Neill and Riley), \"Toussaint L'Ouverture\" by Wendell Phillips (Vol. XIII), \"Wendell Phillips\" by Henry Ward Beecher (Beecher : I), \"The Glories of Duluth\" by James Proctor Knott (Vol. VIII), \"Adams and Jefferson\" by Edward Everett (Vol. IX), \"Charles Henry Woolbert\" by Andrew T. Weaver (O'Neill and Riley), \"The American Scholar\" by Ralph Waldo Emerson (Vol. VI), \"James A. Garfield\" by James G. Blaine (Vol. IX)]\nCHAPTER XVIII\nWHAT HOLDS ATTENTION\n\nIn preceding chapters, many references have been made to the problem of holding the attention of an audience during a speech. Especially has this been stressed in connection with the choice of speech materials. Some writers treat all speech materials from the point of view of their attention values.\n\nThe person who can capture and hold attention is the person who:\n\n\"Marcus Aurelius\u201d by Felix Adler (Vol. VII).\n\"First!\" by Henry Drummond (Vol. VII).\n\"Blaine \u2014 The Plumed Knight,\u201d by Robert Ingersoll (Vol. XI).\nNominating Alfred E. Smith for the Presidency (1928), by Franklin D. Roosevelt (1 O\u2019Neill and Riley).\n\nReferences:\nLorenzo Sears: \u201cThe History of Oratory,\u201d Modern Eloquence (Third Edition, revised in 1929), Vol. X, pp. xvii-xxxviii.\nLorenzo Sears: The Occasional Address. London (1897).\nwho  can  eSectively  influence  human  behavior,\u201d  says  H.  A. \nOverstreet.1  It  is  plain  that  a  speaker  must  hold  the  attention \nof  his  listeners  if  he  wishes  to  do  more  than  make  noise.  To \ncontinue  to  speak  to  the  members  of  an  audience  after  they \nhave  ceased  attending  to  what  the  speaker  is  saying  is  like \nadministering  medicine  to  the  dead.  But  should  a  speaker,  in \nchoosing  his  speech  materials  and  planning  his  speech,  center \nhis  thoughts  primarily  on  what  holds  attention,  or  on  what  will \ndrive  home  truth  and  accomplish  his  purpose?  That  is  worth \nconsidering. \nThe  question  is  how  best  to  regard  this  problem  of  holding \nattention.  Is  it  not  possible  that  centering  on  attention  as  a \ngoal  in  speaking  may  be  a  good  deal  like  centering  on  happiness \nas  a  goal  in  life?  We  all  wish  to  attain  happiness,  but  even  if \nwe  accept  a  hedonistic  interpretation  of  life  and  assume  that \nMen are motivated primarily by considerations of self-interest. It is still a question of how best to attain this goal. Do we necessarily attain it best by keeping it constantly before us and seeking it out? Or is it essentially a by-product of correct and purposeful living? Similarly, do we hold attention best by keeping the problem constantly before us? Or is attention largely the by-product of those speech processes which are effective in accomplishing a certain end? Do we use concrete examples because they have attention values, or because they tend to flood a subject with light? Do we seek the humorous, the unusual, the unique, because we want to hold attention, or because we want to entertain, or present interesting information? I think these questions answer themselves. (1925, p. 308) The Art of Effective Speaking.\nAttention is not the primary test of speech materials. May there not be, as a matter of fact, a serious objection to regarding attention as the primary aim in selecting speech materials? Is it not a fact that a newspaper man develops a \"nose for news,\" and a person who is much before public audiences is likely to develop a \"nose\" for materials that are strong in attention values? A lecturer observes, for instance, that a good story always grips the crowd and will immediately revive attention when it lags. Everyone knows how speakers constantly yield to the temptation of telling funny stories and jokes, even if they have no, or at best only the remotest, bearing on the subject at hand. They observe that a humorous incident of any kind is likely to make the audience prick up its ears. Dramatic.\nThe narrative will hold attention more effectively than usual, as will certain other forms of support. Is it not reasonable to assume that many such lecturers will follow the path of least resistance and ensure their lecture materials keep the crowd engaged, regardless of other shortcomings? Isn't this exactly what frequently occurs with lyceum lectures, as suggested? These lectures are interesting, entertaining, and humorous, but in terms of ideas, they can be quite thin. A little thought goes a long way. They may please the groundlings, but for the discerning, they are skim milk.\n\nThe issue is that lectures of this nature are centered around the thought of holding the attention of and entertaining lyceum audiences, and they do this very well. However, when it comes to conveying vital concepts, they fall short.\nAnd while some speech materials may be interesting or thought-provoking, they do not necessarily have great persuasive value. The fact that certain speech materials have strong attention values is no guarantee that they are persuasive for specific ends. In fact, the reverse is much truer: speech materials that have great persuasive force are likely to have good attention values.\n\nGlenn Frank expresses this view as follows:\n\nMany lecturers who began their careers with worthy standards have allowed the acid of applause to eat away at the value of their service. One night, the lecturer strikes a certain chord that resonates easily; thereafter, he finds it difficult to avoid striking that chord again and again, not because it provides the necessary note, but because he is assured of ready response from his audience. He discovers that the audience's approval, rather than the value of his message, has become his primary goal.\nAnecdotes gain a response more easily than analysis. He multiplies his anecdotes and finds it easier to stir emotions than to convince reason. He adds pathos to his technique. An epigram captures an audience's attention, so he peppers his lecture with epigrams, even if the average epigram is only half true. The dwindling of his audience would imperil his income. His audience is to him what the tiger is to its trainer; he must become either the master or the victim of its moods. Unconsciously, he allows the instinct of self-preservation to dictate his assertions. His mind becomes a weathercock, nervously sensitive to the automatic applause of flattered prejudice.\n\nOf exactly this type was a certain lecture I recently heard from a distinguished woman at a convocation hour. The lecture continued.\nThe text consisted almost wholly of a dramatic narrative of personal experiences, done with matchless skill. The speaker occupied about fifty minutes. While she spoke, you could have heard the proverbial pin drop in any corner of the audience room \u2013 which, by the way, seats five thousand people. Almost everything was there that we like to have in a lecture: interesting speech materials, charming personality, pleasing presentation, conversational mode with never a variation from it, humor \u2013 everything except stimulating thought moving towards a definite goal. In this respect, the speech was a disappointment to many persons. It was in fact a typical lyceum lecture of the lighter type.\n\nWe have to distinguish between ideas that merely hold the attention of an audience for the moment and ideas that tend to last.\nTo persist in consciousness and greatly influence behavior, a speaker can hold an audience's attention for an hour or more without using significant determinants of behavior or presenting anything truly interesting. When William James states, \"What-we-attend-to and what-interests-us are synonymous terms,\" he means that what we attend to has enough interest for us to attend to it. I may listen to a speech for an hour, and to that extent, I need only be interested in it in any deep or significant sense. In fact, I may have been bored every minute of the time. We must distinguish between different methods of holding attention, and the only method that can be seriously considered is the one that most advances the speech.\nA speaker who can stimulate ideas that grip and motivate audiences, dominating their consciousness, will command attention and thereby influence conduct. However, it's essential to distinguish between this method of holding attention and one that merely commands it for the passing moment, through appeals to fancy, novelty, or humor, or some shallow tricks of the declaimer.\n\nThis doesn't mean that the attention-holding power of speech materials isn't a factor in selecting them. Any form of support that effectively serves the specific purpose of a speech will be all the more valuable for being interesting. Of the two illustrations serving this function:\n\nReference: Psychology: Briefer Course, p. 48.\n\nWhat Holds Attention\nWhat makes a speech interesting? A speaker should give proper attention to the requirements of interest in any speech. To accomplish this, we must understand the sources of interest in a speech. Interesting things hold attention. So, what interests us?\n\nThe Vital: We are first interested in things that vitally affect our lives, as long as we can be made to see that they do so. This matter was treated in Chapter IX.\nThe ordinary imagination does not operate at long range. There are all kinds of questions that in the long run affect us vitality, but in which we have little interest. Our distance vision is very poor. It took us a long time to realize that clothes made in sweatshops might carry germs that would kill the wearer. Every worthwhile speech on a well-selected subject will touch the listeners\u2019 lives somewhere, vitality and concretely. The art of speaking is to show where and how. The struggle for existence is still severe enough that anyone who has ambition to succeed must avail himself of all possible sources of information and counsel. The businessman whose chief problem is to promote sales will listen with avidity.\nThe publicity specialist will draw farmers to a meeting to hear an agronomist discuss crop rotation. Ministers will flock to hear an outstanding figure in their profession for inspiration from his personality and counsel from his wide experience. College students will attend lectures for four or five years to prepare themselves for their professions. Occultists and \"personality power\" promoters attract large crowds because of the specific remedies they offer for health and happiness. We are all creatures of self-interest and desire, not of choice but of necessity. Human wants are almost infinitely varied, and many of them are almost insatiable or impossible to satisfy.\n\nThe successful speaker, therefore, will be a student of human nature.\nThe want and need to satisfy human desires are explored in the life of Edward Bok and his long tenure as editor of the Ladies' Home Journal. Bok's Life impresses with his genius for understanding and sympathetically addressing human wants and desires, and his ability to provide means of satisfaction through the magazine's pages. Russell H. Conwell's lecture \"Acres of Diamonds\" emphasizes the importance of sensitivity to human wants and resourcefulness in business success. Whatever promises to satisfy fundamental human desires captivates attention.\n\nThe Unusual and New. Everyday existence necessitates much of the humdrum and monotonous. The quest for something different provides an escape from the drab.\nWe are materially interested in novel experiences and facts that are striking and out of the ordinary. People who can afford it go to the ends of the earth to see new places and people, new scenery, new art galleries, to hear great singers, actors, and artists. For many fashionable folk, life is a grand search for the new, the novel, in apparel, architecture, house furnishings, amusements, and even friends. To describe anything as \"ordinary\" is to damn it to the lowest depths. The essence of fashion, whether it be in attire, automobiles, or anything else, is not that the new shall be more beautiful than what preceded, but something more striking.\n\nMention has already been made of the popularity of lectures on polar expeditions by men like Stefansson, Byrd, Amundsen. Stefansson gave fifteen or more lectures at the University of\nMinnesota attracted attention for approximately five weeks, and all of them were well-attended by lecture-hungry students. Lectures are intriguing because they provide new and fascinating information about parts of the world inaccessible to most of us. There is an allure of romance to them as well. When university professors administer examinations to students, no one considers it news. However, when students examine university professors, as a group of Columbia students did recently, every national news association in America jumps on it as first-rate news. It is unusual, novel, in fact unheard of.\n\nA prime example of the unusual is the following from Senator Irvine Lenroot's speech before the Inland Press Association, Chicago, 1923. Senator Lenroot was discussing the alertness and resourcefulness of Washington correspondents.\nThere was an important conference one evening at Senator Lodge's home attended by about a dozen Senators. When it broke up, it was agreed that nothing should be given to the newspapers concerning it. Later in the evening, I was called on the phone by one correspondent who stated that he had been told there was to be nothing given to the Press and would not ask what it was about, but would like to ask a simple question that could be answered by yes or no \u2014 and stated it. I saw no possible harm in answering, for standing alone, it could give him no information, and I did so. But the next morning, there was a very complete story of the meeting, and we afterwards found that each Senator present had been asked but one question; but no two questions were identical.\ntions  were  alike,  and  like  myself  the  other  Senators  had  answered, \nand  when  all  the  questions  and  answers  were  studied  together,  the \ncorrespondent  had  the  story.1 \nSo  a  speaker  who  can  present  information  that  is  out  of  the \nordinary  \u2014  new  discoveries,  new  inventions,  great  and  unusual \nachievements,  thrilling  adventures  \u2014  who  can  afford  a  measure \n1  Homer  Dorr  Lindgren:  Modern  Speeches  (Revised  Edition,  1930),  p.  40. \nTHE  ART  OF  EFFECTIVE  SPEAKING \nof  relief  from  the  ordinary,  the  drab  and  commonplace,  will \nget  a  hearing.  Speech  materials  of  this  order  have  great  at\u00ac \ntention  values. \nThe  attention  value  of  the  unusual  has  a  number  of  implica\u00ac \ntions  for  the  speaker.  Unusualness  in  thought  content  is  no \nmore  gripping  than  unusualness  or  originality  in  style  or  mode \nof  expression.  The  speaker  who  is  listened  to  is  the  man  who \nNot only does James Russell Lowell have original ideas, but he can express them in an original way. When Lowell remarked that the poorly informed have a tendency to spell \u201cevolution\u201d with an initial r, he did so in an unusual way. When Rochefoucauld coined his famous aphorism, \u201cYou can do anything with a bayonet except sit on it,\u201d he expressed his thought in a striking and original manner. This is discussed in greater depth in Chapter XI, \u201cThe Speaking Style.\u201d\n\nObserve how the unusualness of the ideas and the manner of expressing them capture attention in the following:\n\nThere is a very general tendency to deny that ideal forces have any practical power. But there have been several thinkers whose skepticism has an opposite direction. \"We cannot,\" they say, \"attribute external reality to the sensations we feel.\" We need not wonder that\nThis theory has failed to convince the unmetaphysical common sense of people that a stone post is merely a stubborn thought, and that the bite of a dog is nothing but an acquaintance with a pugnacious, four-footed conception. When a man falls down stairs, it is not easy to convince him that his thought simply tumbles along an inclined series of perceptions and comes to a conclusion that breaks his head; least of all, can you induce a man to believe that the scolding of his wife is nothing but the buzzing of his own waspish thoughts, and her use of his purse only the loss of some golden fancies from his memory. We are all safe against such idealism as Bishop Berkeley reasoned out so logically. Byron's refutation of it is neat and witty: \u2014\n\nWhen Bishop Berkeley says there is no matter,\nIt is no matter what Bishop Berkeley says.\nThomas Starr King: \"Substance and Show\"\n\nWhat Holds Attention\n\nVariety is a well-known psychological fact that we cannot attend to any one thing for any length of time. Fix your attention on some part of a picture or a page and observe how soon the field of vision becomes blurred. Center thought on the meaning of a word or phrase, and soon it ceases to have any meaning at all.\n\nA moving object, or an object that is doing something, or even a complex object that presents a number of parts to be examined in turn, can hold the eyes for some time. But it is almost impossible to hold them fixed for any length of time on a simple, motionless, unchanging object.\n\nAttention is mobile because it is exploratory; it continually seeks something fresh for examination. In the presence of a complex object or situation, it may be held longer, but it will not remain fixed. It will continually explore and seek new aspects or details to engage with.\nSights, sounds, and tactile stimuli tend to shift every second or two from one part of the situation to another. Even when lying in bed with eyes closed, the movement of attention still occurs in the rapid succession of thoughts and images. This is true not only of thought content but also of all agents of communication such as voice and bodily action. We know how deadly monotony can be in voice, whether in pitch, force, quality, or rate of utterance. Sameness fatigues. So with action. A gesture constantly repeated tires and distracts. No action, which is sameness, has a similar effect. We do not like to listen to a man who stands motionless in the same place all the time. We demand variety in voice and action. Attention demands variety in speech materials. A speech that uses logical argument to the exclusion of other forms of expression is monotonous.\nSupport exhausts an audience. It is too much of a strain on attention. The mental effort necessary to follow logical reasoning is much greater than the effort required for any other form of support. This is especially true for persons not used to sustained thinking, and very few people are. A closely knit argument will tire any audience in half an hour or so, although a lot depends on the presentation. A rapid rate of utterance will hasten the loss of attention, as the mental effort required to follow is too great; while a slow rate of utterance will retain attention longer. Any form of support, if used to the exclusion of others or nearly so, will tend to lose attention. Variety of speech is essential. (Woodworth: Psychology, 1929, p. 367)\nMaterials are absolutely necessary. Facts, testimony, reasoning, illustrations in the form of metaphor, simile, anecdotes, parables, must all be taken together to make truth palatable and a speech interesting. By the same token, a speech must have movement. There must be change from one point to another. Attention will best be sustained when a speech has a definite movement toward a definite goal, with many kinds of speech materials, and a pleasing variation in voice and bodily action. Variety is the keynote to holding attention. Humor is admittedly one of the great sustaining pillars of attention. All normal people recognize the value of humor in a speech. In fact, a lively sense of humor in a speaker is a gift of the gods. If you have a speculative turn of mind, you can delve into the problem of the nature of humor; and explore it further.\nYou will discover that few people truly understand the science of humor, and much of what is written about it lacks depth. However, it is not necessary to know much about humor to appreciate its importance and value in a speech.\n\nHumor provides the primary entertainment factor in speaking. It serves as the key to a receptive audience. One need only observe casually to be struck by the fact that being amused and entertained is one of life's major pursuits. Even when bankruptcy looms for many business enterprises, the amusement industry thrives. An audience comes to a lecture in part on the assumption that they will have a good time. Our usual comment: What holds attention?\nWe enjoyed the lecture very much, or it was a bore. The enjoyable element in a lecture is to be interpreted broadly. Humor is one factor, but it is a large one. Whatever interests or grips us is enjoyable, unless it is negative or detrimental to our welfare.\n\nVirtually all our great popular speakers had a lively sense of humor. Robert Ingersoll was a capital entertainer, one of the finest the platform has ever had, and unquestionably the biggest drawing card as a speaker. Not that entertainment was ever an ultimate end with Ingersoll \u2014 never, unless perhaps on some after-dinner occasions. In all his lectures \u2014 and he was on the platform for forty years \u2014 Ingersoll never went out of his way to be funny. He did not have to. Humor was bred in him.\n\nIf Hugh Walpole is right in saying,\n\"To those who feel, life is a tragedy; to those who think, life is a comedy - Ingersoll was a thinker, and to him, life was to a great extent a comedy. He was capable of the most devastating ridicule of which we have record. Beecher said of Wendell Phillips that he never slew an adversary except with a sunbeam. Ingersoll wrought the most devastating havoc among his adversaries with bubbling humor and ridicule.\n\nWhen Beecher was in England pleading the cause of the North in 1863, with every audience in part a howling mob, and with heavy responsibilities on his shoulders, he was able to relieve the tensest moments with flashes of wit and humor.\n\n\"In my own land,\" he remarks in his \"Glasgow Speech,\" \"I have been the subject of misrepresentation and abuse so long that when I did not receive it, I felt as though something was missing.\"\"\nOur conceptions of strength and endurance are so associated with visible implements and mechanical arrangements that it is hard to divorce them. Yet, the stream of electric fire that splits an ash is not a ponderable thing, and the way in which the lodestone reaches the ten-pound weight and makes it jump is not perceptible. You would think the man had strong molars that should gnaw a spike like a stick of candy, but a bottle of innocent-looking hydrogen gas will chew up a piece of bar-iron as though it were some favorite food. Mr. Faraday, the great chemist, claims to have demonstrated that each drop of water is the sheath of electric force.\nSufficient to charge eight hundred thousand Leyden jars. In spite of Maine liquor laws, the most temperate man is a pretty hard drinker, for he is compelled to slake his thirst with a condensed thunderstorm. The difference in power between a woman\u2019s scolding and a woman\u2019s tears is explained now. Chemistry has put it into formulas. When a lady scolds, a man has to face only a few puffs of articulate carbonic acid, but her weeping is liquid lightning. Humor runs through virtually all of Wendell Phillips\u2019 speeches and addresses. During the dark days of the antislavery crusade, the skies were never so black, the lightning flashes never so blinding, but that Phillips could find some humor in the situation. Even in the \u201cHarper\u2019s Ferry Address,\u201d delivered in Beecher\u2019s famous church in Brooklyn while John Brown\u2019s life was still in question.\nHanging in the balance, and when Phillips was in one of his ugly moods, he managed to draw peals of laughter from his audience more than once. It is proof of the fine composure of the man and his serene spirit that humor was always a ready outlet for even the tensest emotions. Henry Ward Beecher dared to use humor even in the pulpit and was criticized for doing so. In one of his lectures to Yale students, Beecher made some comment on the use of humor in a sermon. An auditor asked, \"Is it the proper thing to make an auditor laugh by an illustration?\" Beecher replied:\n\nNever turn aside from a laugh any more than you would a cry. Go ahead on your Master's business, and do it well. And remember this, that every faculty in you was placed there by the dear Lord God for his service. Never try to raise a laugh for a laugh's sake, or to make a cry for a cry's sake, but to illustrate the truth committed to your trust.\nMake men merry as a piece of sensationalism when you are preaching on solemn things. That is allowable at a picnic, but not in a pulpit. What holds attention where you are preaching to men in regard to God and their own destiny. But if mirth comes up naturally, do not stifle it; strike that chord, and particularly if you want to make an audience cry. If I can make them laugh, I do not thank anybody for the next move; I will make them cry. Did you ever see a woman carrying a pan of milk quite full, and it slops over on one side, that it did not immediately slop over on the other also?\n\nIt is significant that all these masters of the platform, who exercised powerful influence over their audiences, used humor freely in their speeches. It should be remembered that they talked mostly to mixed audiences. Not all speech situations are the same.\nA very popular lecturer of the day uses humor equally well in his speeches, requiring a sense of the divine proprieties. Rare are the occasions when a little humor is not appropriate. The concrete has distinct advantages in relation to attention. Its ease of understanding economizes mental effort in following a speech, and it often retains attention more effectively than involved abstractions. I recently heard a speaker open a lecture on \"American Education\" by saying:\nThe review was abstract and uninteresting, causing most people in the audience to stop listening after fifteen minutes. People think in terms of images and require information presented in such a way. Concrete examples and illustrations help make new ideas relatable, understandable, and memorable.\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking largely achieves this through the use of concrete examples and illustrations. Another advantage is that the concrete information sticks in the memory.\n\n1. Henry Ward Beecher: Yale Lectures on Preaching. The Pilgrim Press: First Series, p. 178.\nWe are influenced in the long run by the ideas that persist in consciousness. We are also influenced by subconscious ideas, but not as much, at least not in terms of overt action. It is the remembered and dominating ideas that are the most influential in determining behavior. Therefore, the speaker who wishes to influence conduct must learn to be concrete and talk in terms of pictures. The concrete is especially important in rousing feelings. As previously seen in Chapter XIV, \"The Impressive Speech,\" only the concrete has much effect on emotions.\n\nIt is possible to overestimate the inherent interest value of the concrete. A speaker may be concrete but intolerable.\nThe bore may not hold attention, depending on the nature of the concreteness. One can recount experiences, tell stories, and provide examples, but these may not keep an audience engaged. The true value of the concrete lies in making clear, vivid, and impressive ideas that assume the audience's interest. The unusual holds inherent interest value.\n\nAttention has been drawn to the considerable amount of concreteness in our great speeches. Most of them possess a sufficient framework of general ideas to support their examples and illustrations. Those who speak before large audiences learn more about attention through experience than from textbooks. The best way to comprehend the significance of the concrete in speaking is to become thoroughly familiar with it.\nWith the methods of men who know. Their names should be familiar to you by this time.\n\nWhat Holds Attention\n\nCuriosity and attention. Mental curiosity, some writers tell us, is at the bottom of much of our desire for education. It is certain that we often go to hear a speech largely out of curiosity. If the speaker is well known, we are curious to see and hear him and perhaps meet him. We are motivated powerfully also by a desire to know what he has to say. Will he give us some new ideas? Will he make new use of old materials, as Lincoln did in his \"Cooper Union Speech\"? Will he prove to be a real explorer in the realm of thought? A cultivated audience expects that. A mixed audience does not care for so much of the new. In either instance, the new must be judiciously mixed with the old to be acceptable.\nIt is curiosity that always rivets attention on a speaker for the first few minutes. This is his opportunity to get started right and make the audience feel that he has something for them that will be at least refreshing. In the course of a speech, a speaker enlists our curiosity in several ways besides that of original thinking. Every story or anecdote involves curiosity as to the outcome. If the plan of the speech is not revealed too fully at the outset, as it should not be, in general, the development of it may arouse some curiosity. We wonder what will come next. Dramatic narrative of unusual incidents or experiences keeps curiosity on edge. For example, a speaker, in talking about \u201cMeasuring Life,\u201d began by saying that life could not be measured by length of time, the number of years a man lived, or by his possessions,\nThe speaker's successes or achievements left us wondering about the measure of his accomplishments. This was ultimately revealed in the last ten minutes of his speech - it was growth. As the speaker moved from one point to another, we were kept guessing as to what was coming next, and much curiosity was aroused as to what his standard of measurement was. Advertisers often exploit this motive. At times, a whole streetcar card may display only a question mark in the middle. One wonders what it is all about. Then the word \"THE ART OF EFFECTIVE SPEAKING\" appears, and the more it arouses curiosity, the better. Then another word, and so on until the advertisement is complete. The trick draws attention to itself and causes many to see and read who otherwise might have paid no attention in its ordinary form. Novelty, in method, is also an element.\nCuriosity is aroused by well-selected lecture titles. \"Measuring Life,\" \"'From Capitalism to Freedom \u2014 not via Socialism,\" \"Superstitions of Advanced People,\" \"The Lost Arts,\" \"Making Democracy Safe for the World,\" \"To Hell in a Pullman,\" are examples that may pique interest through curiosity. The last one is somewhat sensational.\n\nThe Speaker and the Occasion as Sources of Attention\n\nA distinguished person with a wide reputation will be listened to even if his utterances do not assess very high. People will listen with breathless attention to a presidential candidate, almost irrespective of what he has to say. If he has a real message for his hearers, in the bargain, then the occasion will be one to be remembered. When Lincoln delivered his \"Gettysburg Address,\" he had an impressive occasion. It is said that\nThere was a complete hush among the vast assemblage, which continued for some time after the President had finished. This was one reason why Lincoln felt his address had not been well received. Webster addressed a hundred thousand people at the dedication of the Bunker Hill Monument. The occasion was impressive, rich in historic memories, which made it extremely favorable for holding the attention of those who could have heard. As a matter of fact, aside from two or three passages, the speech itself is weak in attention values, as it is made up largely of platitudes and lacking in concrete and interesting materials. The speaker and the occasion probably atoned for the deficiencies in the speech.\n\nThe Challenge Technique. We are all interested in a good \u201cscrap,\u201d especially if it involves the other fellow. Some there understood.\nWe have a sinister satisfaction in seeing people, or even animals, in conflict. The genetics of this racial propensity are not inquiry here, but we must acknowledge it. It is likely that interest in scandal derives largely from the fact that it always involves conflict. Great personages and statesmen, as well as great states, are among the major finds of the newspaper office. On a low level, one need only call attention to the respectable crowd that a good dog fight will draw. As we ascend the scale, we are impressed with the popularity of bullfight exhibitions in Spain and Mexico. At the top, we have those spectacular, white-gloved spectacles.\nModern times are known for their pugilistic encounters, referred to as prize fights, which surpass the glamour, dramatic interest, drawing power, and profit of ancient Rome's gladiatorial combats. A debate attracts a crowd where a speech does not. The Lincoln-Douglas debates drew crowds ranging from 6,000 to 20,000 people for each of the seven debates, compared to the individual campaign speeches of the participants. Drama and fiction derive their interest from portraying people in conflict.\n\nThe speaker can capitalize on human interest in the antagonistic. The preacher will aim to portray his battle as one for righteousness against the forces of evil, and call on his followers to enlist under his banner. The politician will highlight the forces aligned against him and rally his constituents against the ranks of error. Lincoln\nDouglas took particular delight in referencing the divisions within his own ranks, and made the most of it with his audiences. Meanwhile, Douglas sought to pour oil on the troubled waters. A dramatic narrative typically interests by depicting conflict of forces, whether human or otherwise. It is probable that men like Wendell Phillips and Robert Ingersoll derived their popularity in part from the fact that each flung a challenge to a powerful social institution; the first to slavery, the second to Christianity. There was something bold and daring and venturesome in their challenge that captured the imagination and drew the crowd.\n\nThere is a challenge to party adherents to buckle on their armor for the fray, in the following from Franklin D. Roosevelt's speech nominating Alfred E. Smith for President in 1924:\nFour years ago, lying opponents claimed that the country was tired of ideals. They waged a campaign based on an appeal to prejudice, on the dragging out of bogies and hobgoblins, and the subtle encouragement of false fears. America has not lost her faith in ideals; idealism is part of her very heart's blood. Tricked once, we have been \u2013 millions of voters are waiting today for the opportunity next November to wreak their vengeance on those deceivers. They await the opportunity to support a man who will return America to the fold of Decency and Ideals from which she has strayed, and who will bring the government back to the people. This is our candidate \u2013 he will do so; his is the quality of militant leadership.\n\nThe alert speaker will be on his guard to seize opportunities to enlist the antagonistic factor in speech-making. It may:\nTake many forms and involve forces both animate and inanimate. The conflict may include the speaker as one of the antagonists, or it may be one simply related by the speaker. If the challenge is one thrown out by the speaker, it must have the semblance of reality. He cannot put up straw men for the mere pleasure of knocking them down.\n\nIn conclusion, this does not pretend to be an exhaustive treatment of all the sources of attention. Enough has been said to center thought on the problem and to suggest how it may best be dealt with. The attainment of a purpose seems to be the primary aim of a speech. This aim is best accomplished by careful search and selection of materials that serve the specific end of the speech, whatever that may be.\n\nHomer Dorr Lindgren: Modern Speeches (Revised Edition, 1930), What Holds Attention.\nA speaker's ability to effectively use materials and adapt them to intended ends has been discussed in depth in the chapters on various types of speeches. If a speaker possesses compelling ideas, enlightening illustrations, clear language rich in imagery, and a touch of originality, the issue of maintaining audience attention will largely resolve itself. However, it is advantageous for a speaker to monitor the attention value of all speech materials and present them in a way that maximizes audience interest. Factors influencing this problem have been briefly addressed in this chapter. Additionally, a speaker can, beyond what has been suggested, provide new or unusual information and maintain variety in both content and delivery.\nArouse mental curiosity with the progress of his speech, leaven the whole with humor and genial good nature. If he has an impressive occasion and perhaps individual prestige, the stage is set favorably for holding the interest and attention of his listeners.\n\nEXERCISES:\n1. Hand in a written criticism of one of the lectures assigned for reading. \"The Lost Arts,\" \"Acres of Diamonds,\" and \"Substance and Show\" are all good specimens of popular platform speaking in America, although not equally great. Analyze at least one of them carefully for sources of interestingness. If you have time, make a comparative study of them. The first two lectures mentioned were delivered to American audiences for about half a century. Try to discover the sources of their remarkable popularity. Consider the message, style, speech materials, use of illustrations, etc.\n2. Comment on a speech you recently heard which held your attention well. Aim to discover reasons in terms of criteria suggested.\n3. Prepare to give a ten-to-fifteen minute speech with special regard for attention values. Do not forget that your first aim will be to accomplish your speech purpose, but aim also to make the speech interesting and enjoyable.\n326 The Art of Effective Speaking\nReadings\nSpeeches\n\"Memories of the Lyceum,\" by James B. Pond (Vol. XIII)\n\"The Lost Arts,\" by Wendell Phillips (Vol. XIII)\n\"Acres of Diamonds,\" by Russell H. Conwell\n\"Substance and Show,\" by Thomas Starr King (Mod. El.: I, Vol. V)\n\"Big Blunders,\" by T. DeWitt Talmage (Mod. El.: I, Vol. VI)\n\"Shakespeare,\" by Robert Ingersoll (Vol. XIII)\n\"The Rescue of Emin Pasha,\" by Henry M. Stanley (Mod. El.: I, Vol. VI)\n\"Dollar Chasing,\" by Roe Fulkerson (Lindgren)\nCHAPTER XIX\nACTION: GESTURE, POSTURE, MOVEMENT\n\nAll time and money spent in training the voice and body is an investment that pays a larger interest than any other. \u2014 William E. Gladstone\n\nTradition has it that someone once asked Demosthenes, the greatest of Greek orators, \"What is the first requisite of good speaking?\" and the famed orator replied, \"Action!\"\nA person asked, \"Is the second requisite 'Action?'\" The answer was, \"Yes.\" \"What about the third requisite?\" Again, the answer was, \"Action!\" A free, unfettered personality. What did Demosthenes mean? One cannot become a successful speaker by merely uttering words with one's speech organs. Instead, we desire to see a free, unfettered personality in a speaker, completely forgetful of self and completely dominated by the message to be delivered or the purpose to be achieved. Emerson's definition of an orator is relevant here: \"a man drunk with an idea.\" A speaker should not only have a firm grip on his subject; the subject should have a firm grip on the speaker. When a man can surrender himself completely to the message in hand and devote all his powers to the attainment of his goal, and...\nThe purpose of bodily activity is largely self-sufficient in speaking. This does not mean that gestures and bodily movements are necessarily graceful or quite equal to giving adequate expression to thought and feeling, but it does mean that the entire personality is speaking. The importance of bodily activity in speaking can best be appreciated by observing a person on the platform who merely utters words, standing firmly fixed to the floor like a marble statue, with a blank face and no gestures of any kind. It will be found that a monotonous voice and a total lack of variety in emphasis usually go with that kind of speaking. Most of us are only too familiar with such deadly performances. On the other hand, observe a speaker who is animated.\nFrom head to foot, whoever moves about the floor from time to time, and always with a purpose, uses appropriate gestures to reinforce the expression of thought and feeling, and enlists his whole personality in the speaking process. Such presentation is much more effective and pleasing to the listeners.\n\nWhat bodily activities mean in a play was made impressive by the success of silent movies. Here, no one said anything that could be heard. We got a few captions or headlines to indicate the progress of the play. Aside from that, all we got came through the eye. What we see is apparently of much more consequence than what we hear, even in spoken drama. Thus, we usually say, \u201cLet us go and see the play.\u201d We saw Irving in Shylock, Sothern in Hamlet, Joe Jefferson in Rip Van Winkle. This is eloquent testimony.\nIn the broad sense, the value of appeals to the eye and the importance of action and gestures accurately expressing what we try to say are significant. Observe any ordinarily animated conversation to be impressed with the role action plays in speaking. All bodily agents of expression are alert and in action \u2013 head, eyes, arms, hands, fingers. It is only on the public platform that persons stand like Egyptian mummies, wrapped in linen, without moving a muscle or a joint, except for what is absolutely necessary to mumble the words. Overcoming bodily inertia, caused in part by nervous tension and in part by not knowing what to do, and freeing the body for animated and effective expression is a very important part of training in any beginning course in speech.\n\nACTION: GESTURE, POSTURE, MOVEMENT (329)\nLack of action is a common fault in speaking. In class speaking as a rule, and even in speech contests, students exhibit only a fraction of the radiating power they possess. The reason is that no one has revealed to them their possibilities, by catching a vision of what they can do and holding it before them. They speak mostly without action, with only a faint consciousness of a listening audience. Only on rare occasions does the spirit surge and seek to find a free and untrammeled outlet.\n\nRecently, I had occasion to hear a regional declaratory contest, with three groups competing in oratorical, dramatic, and humorous selections. Four boys appeared in oratorical selections with work that did not rise above the level of mediocrity. No selection received anything approaching adequate expression. Gestures were few, and physical reinforcement of any kind was largely absent.\nIn the humorous division, one boy competed with three girls. The work here was of a much higher order, and action was conspicuous. All contestants appeared animated from toe to crown, all bodily agents finding the freest expression. Especially was this true of the boy, who impersonated a number of Chautauqua performers, including a Congressman. The manner of utterance was of a kind to give one pause. He absolutely dominated the situation, with a profusion of action appropriate to the sentiments uttered, and so held the audience spellbound. The thought which impressed one at the time was that if this boy had delivered one of the oratorical selections, he probably would have done much the same as the other boys did \u2014 utterly failed to give any adequate expression to it. He would have failed there to realize his powers and to have had an opportunity to display them.\nThe revealed voice and actions of a truly animated personality can do wonders in speech making. In an oratorical selection, an orator would likely use fewer gestures, but if he displayed the same alertness and responsiveness to thought and feeling as he did in mimicking a Congressman, the effect would be electrifying, compared to others. The supreme importance of action and animation holds for speech making as well as for declarations. A speech is judged by its immediate effect. We should always remember that a speech or a debate is to be judged by the effect it makes on an audience, and only by that effect. A speech is made to be heard, not read.\nHenry Ward Beecher believed that discourses, particularly sermons in the pulpit, could bury or sacredly mask ideas if presented inappropriately. He asserted that only the ideas and feelings that evoke a vivid response in the audience matter in speaking. Meticulously composed speeches may easily become the funeral of great subjects if insufficient attention is given to presentation.\n\nA girl recently won an oratorical contest at a Midwest university. Several speech teachers in the audience deemed her speech weak. However, her presentation was exceptional - alert and animated.\nAggressive \u2014 her actions spoke so loudly that you hardly heard what she said. Later, in a contest with several Midwest universities competing and with heads of speech departments as judges, she won first place again.\n\nPosture. By posture, we mean the position which a speaker takes on the platform. It has reference not only to the feet, but also to the hands and arms when in repose or not engaged in gestures, to the legs, head, and body in general. There are many ways of taking a position on the floor \u2014 especially a poor one. One may slouch forward, with shoulders stooped, lean limply on the speaker's desk with one hand and arm, stick the other hand in the pocket and begin to jingle coins that may be heard all over the room, cross one's legs, look out of the window or up at the ceiling, and begin to speak.\n\nACTION: GESTURE, POSTURE, MOVEMENT 331\nNot overdrawing many a picture one sees on the platform, in describing a correct or effective position on the platform, one must not become too dogmatic or rigid in one's rules. Since many beginning students feel a real problem in how to comport themselves on the floor, a few suggestions may be given. It is not necessary that the feet shall be exactly six inches apart and that the heel of the left foot shall point directly at the instep of the right, at an angle slightly acute, as the older texts used to have it. However, that is not at all a bad position. The feet should not be too far apart nor too close. Perhaps four to six inches will be found the proper distance for most persons. The so-called military position, in which the heels come together at an acute angle, should be avoided.\nOne of inferiority and stiffness should not be present in a standing position on the platform. The feet should not be completely parallel to each other, although they may come close to that position. Anyone with a little practice can determine what is a comfortable and graceful standing position for themselves.\n\nRegarding the distribution of body weight, a good way to discover this is through experimentation. In animated speaking, as all speaking should be, the weight will shift more or less from one foot to the other, and from the balls of the feet to the heels. The weight will typically be much more on one foot than the other, and much more on the balls of the feet than the heels. The weight will likely be on the right foot more than the left for the same reason that we gesture more with the right hand.\nThe art of effective speaking:\n\nWe are generally right-footed and right-handed. An alert and animated speaking position finds the weight largely on the ball of one foot, with the other serving as auxiliary support. In a more relaxed position, the weight will likely shift more to the heels. There will be frequent changes in position if a speaker adopts an aggressive attitude in delivery and is bent on accomplishing something with his audience.\n\nThe general bodily position, at the outset at least, is one of fullness of stature, with chest well forward, shoulders straight, and head erect. The speaker will look at his audience and not through a window, unless he is willing to lose the confidence of his listeners. He will not be in too much of a hurry to begin to speak, but will wait until quiet has settled over the audience.\nThe room's occupant's posture will change for variety as he speaks. He will bend forward and use appropriate gestures when conveying something of interest or during dramatic moments. A speaker who warms up requires less concern for posture, but grace, ease, and power should always be sought.\n\nBy \"action,\" we mean the speaker's total bodily activity \u2013 the complete visual appeal. \"Gestures\" refer to movements of the arms, hands, head, and shoulders, as well as facial expression.\n\nThere are no set rules for gestures, but there are guiding principles. Much is left to the speaker's individuality. It can be safely said that the plane or level of gestures should be appropriate to the content and the speaker's personality.\nThe gestures of a speaker roughly correspond to the plane or level of the ideas and sentiments expressed. For instance, a speaker seeking to give expression to lofty sentiments and ideals, concerning what is just, right, noble, or holy, would likely gesture in a high plane and in an ascending direction. Conversely, if he wished to give expression to thoughts or feelings of a low order, suggesting the vile, base, contemptible, or degrading, he would very likely gesture on a low plane and in a descending direction. Matters of fact, of everyday life, of history or science, he would probably place on a medium plane. This holds true whether for one hand or for both hands used together. Again, the principle of gravitation applies to gestures. A speaker who wished to suggest something light, airy, ethereal, would likely gesture in an upward and expansive manner.\nWe probably make gestures with an upward movement of the hands and arms; if he wished to suggest something weighty or ponderous, he would use a downward gesture. (Gesture, Posture, Movement 333)\n\nWe speak of symmetry in gestures and position on the floor. If you make a gesture, for example, with your right arm extended toward the side, the tendency is to move the body in the direction of the gesture. Instead, the body should move slightly in the opposite direction to preserve symmetry in relation to the center of gravity. Otherwise, the position on the floor seems unsteady, and too much on one side.\n\nSo, too, gestures vary in regard to the direction outward from the body. We may gesture directly in front of the shoulder, or toward the side approaching an angle of 90\u00b0, or anywhere in between. Thoughts or objects present in time or space, those that require our attention or action.\nWe are likely to gesture forward for things close to us and the audience, and toward the side for those remote in time or space. Side gestures with both arms extended suggest large bodies or vast expanses. Gestures directly in front of the body should be avoided. The right hand should be used for gesturing on the right, and the left hand for gestures on the left. Cultivate the use of both hands, the left as well as the right. It is very seldom that we have occasion to gesture with hands in front of the body. There are exceptions, such as attitudes of devotion or prayer, or dramatic gestures. But for ordinary speaking, the rule holds.\n\nIn gesturing with either hand, use the hand as a whole.\nEnsure you vitalize the hand fully. A limp hand conveys nothing but limpness. Avoid it, as well as all hand contortions \u2013 for example, keeping the thumb and two first fingers open, and the other two closed. While the hand should not be limp, neither should it be stiff with fingers straight out and close together. Cultivate a graceful hand gesture. You can determine what a graceful hand gesture is through practice, especially practice under your instructor's guidance. All hand and arm gestures should originate from the shoulder as a pivot, rather than from the elbow. A gesture from the elbow alone is awkward, as you can easily observe by trying it out. The elbow joint will be used more or less, but only in conjunction with movement from the shoulder.\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\nIt is customary to speak of a gesture having three parts or movements: preparation, execution, and devitalization. This does not imply that a gesture is deliberate. Gestures, as a rule, are unconscious, and in all public performances ought to be. By executing a gesture, especially of the emphatic type, we mean that the hand and arm make a decided movement on the emphatic word or phrase. Without such a movement or stroke, the gesture may have no meaning. Before that can be done, the hand is unconsciously brought into readiness to do it. When a gesture has been executed, the hand and arm drop \"dead\" to the side, unless they become engaged in another gesture.\n\nYou will observe, also, that in a graceful gesture of the arm and hand, the hand is likely to move in something approaching a semicircle.\nA movement in a curve rather than a straight line is more appropriate for gestures. A hand moving in a straight line from the body side looks incorrect and is less effective. With practice, you will discover what is reasonably graceful and correct, and what is awkward and wrong in all aspects of gesturing. A few hand positions may be noted for advantage; that is, positions the hand may take when executing the gesture. Ordinarily, the hand assumes a fixed position for only a moment, either moving into another gesture or else dropping to the side.\n\ni. The Hand Supine\nThis means the hand is in a plane that approaches the horizontal, with the palm up. In fact, the so-called hand supine, instead of being horizontal or nearly so, will on most occasions be more nearly at an angle.\nThe gesture of presentation is an angle of approximately 450 with the horizontal. You can easily test this. This is the most common gesture, used to present approved ideas \u2014 accepted truths. \"This is our view.\" \"I present this for your consideration.\" \"It was an interesting occasion.\"\n\nThe hand prone, palm down and at an angle, denies, suppresses, disapproves; it expresses dislike, disgust \u2014 negative attitudes. \"I disagree with you.\" \"Let us keep this quiet.\" \"Let us have done with all such nonsense!\" In proportion as the negative feeling is intense, you will find that the hand will assume a position approaching the vertical with palm toward the audience. This position not only denies and disapproves but does so vigorously.\nThe gesture of intense rejection can take two forms. If the hand is prone with the index finger only moderately prominent, it is a descriptive gesture used to point out objects, people, or scenes. This is used much in drawing vivid pictures. If the index finger is firm and pointed straight ahead, and the others closed more or less tightly, it becomes an intellectual gesture used to rivet attention to a point or fact. When directed at a person, it becomes a gesture of accusation. \"I want you to be sure to get this.\" \"Did you notice the admission that my opponent made?\" \"I accuse you of unfair tactics.\" \"You are a coward!\"\n\nThe clenched fist is another gesture. When we use it, as we often do in making a pledge or expressing determination, it symbolizes strength and resolution.\nThe clenched fist suggests deep emotion, often charged with defiance, contempt, or righteous indignation. It expresses moral certainty and deep conviction. \"I scorn ridicule.\" \"I defy accusation. Here I stand. Let them come forth!\" \"It is my sincere belief.\" \"I would not for this right hand of mine.\" \"May my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth!\"\n\nGestures should be practiced, preferably before a mirror. You will never learn to gesture if you do not try, any more than you will ever learn to swim if you do not try. Graceful and appropriate gestures do not just happen; they come only as a result of practice, and all practice is mechanical.\nYou will know if you ever play tennis how simple and easy it seems to swing the racquet just right \u2013 until you try it. Your first attempts will be awkward and mechanical. You will look like a wooden Indian. But you will soon get over the awkward stage, and when you do, you will feel a new source of power that you may not have dreamed you had.\n\nMovement refers to changes in position on the floor. Every movement which the speaker makes carries some meaning. If the movement is an aimless one, it may simply detract attention from the speech and serve no good purpose. If it is made to serve the speaker\u2019s end, then it becomes a positive factor in purposeful speaking.\n\nThere are several ways in which movement on the floor may serve the speaker's purpose. We should remember that while a speaker's:\n\n- gestures can emphasize points and help to clarify meaning,\n- pacing can be used to build tension or create emphasis, and\n- facial expressions can convey emotion and help to engage the audience.\n\nTherefore, a speaker's movement should be deliberate and purposeful, enhancing the overall impact of their speech.\nA writer can indicate transitions and progress in thought through paragraphs, sections, and chapters. A speaker, however, has no such devices at his disposal. One way a speaker may suggest transition is by changing position on the floor. Some kind of movement on the floor, accompanied by a pause, is a common way of signaling to the audience the end of one line of thought and the beginning of another. The construction of the speech may serve the same purpose. Young speakers are often inclined to neglect all methods for signaling transition and progress to their listeners. A speech should \"march,\" says H. A. Overstreet, and this is a picturesque way to describe it. One way to make a speech march is to use appropriate movements at the right moments on the floor. Movement on the floor can help a speech flow smoothly.\nA speaker may suggest movement towards a goal through gesture, posture, and movement (337). Emphasis can also be achieved through steps forward. This is a common form of emphasis; I recall Robert Ingersoll, who would take several steps forward to the stage's front when driving home a favorite point. This forward movement, combined with other appropriate forms of emphasis, made the thought stand out for the audience. Every movement on the floor carries meaning. The significant thing is to ensure it carries the desired meaning and helps us accomplish our purpose. There is ample room for variety and individuality in behavior here. A great deal depends on the speaker and the context.\nSome speakers will extensively use the stage and be effective; others will use it little and be almost equally effective. I recall a convocation speaker who moved back and forth, slowly, over a distance of at least forty or fifty feet on the platform and still did not offend with his movements. He was an unusually engaging speaker, free from all inhibitions, and used gestures profusely. A Catholic priest of tall stature stood on the left of the desk with his right hand resting on it, and with virtually no variation from that position during an hour's lecture. He was effective, too, but the lack of variety in movement and gesture probably detracted somewhat from his effectiveness. A distinguished woman speaker stood on the right.\nThe rabbi, with left arm and hand resting on the desk, held an audience of 5000 students spellbound for fifty minutes, hardly varying from that position. Rabbi Abba Hillel Silver of Cleveland, standing behind the desk for approximately the same length of time, captivated his audience with a presentation that left little to be desired.\n\nThere are no broad rules that can be laid down and made to apply to all people. For most speakers, the golden mean will probably serve best - that is, an occasional change of position.\n\nThe gentleman who paced the floor for long distances gained nothing by it. Neither did he lose much by it; but only persons with complete abandon on the stage can do that. The presentation of the woman speaker, as well as that of Rabbi Silver, was effective.\nThe Catholic priest's speech, for me at least, was slightly marred by a lack of movement and monotony of position. Yet, both were effective. Speakers who walk much and speak slowly are likely to inflict considerable suffering on their listeners. Common sense must rule. Large audiences will probably inspire more movement than small ones; informal occasions more than formal ones. Imaginative and dramatic speakers will, as a rule, use much more stage movement than those of the more intellectual and abstract type. Movement on the floor, like gestures, will be, or at least become, largely unconscious. In the beginning, practice under guidance is helpful.\n\nIt is a broad principle, but one worth remembering, that whatever mannerisms on the platform call attention to themselves detract just that much attention from the thought, and so should be avoided. The outlandish should be minimized.\nThings that one may do on the platform to distract attention are legion, and only a few specific warnings can be given. The highest platform art is to comport oneself in such a way as to leave manner of utterance in the background and give to one's message or purpose at all times the center of attention. Avoid monotony in any kind of action \u2014 in movement, gesture, or posture. The speaker who paces the floor back and forth, like a lion in a cage, will soon have every person in the audience watching his gait and engaging in a walking match with him. This gets very tiresome to the audience, for the reason that every person in the room tends to do the very things the speaker does. You have observed that when you watch a football game, you frequently find yourself unconsciously doing the very things the players are doing.\nIf team is pushing opponents toward right, chances are pushing person next to you in same direction. If see accident at distance, jerk back as if to avoid it. Watching foot race, muscles speed up with runners. Understanding empathic tendency to action important for speaker, as all unrelated action distracts and tires audience. Just as moving about too much is bad, same for not moving at all. Standing in same place, same position all time tires speaker.\nAll action should be purposeful. Monotony in gestures, as in no gesture, should be avoided. Monotony in negative action - no action at all - may be almost as bad as monotony in positive action. To \"punch\" the air constantly with the right hand, or left, tends to distract an audience. Emphasizing constantly with a vertical hand - meat-axe gesture - has the same effect. So with any other gesture: it gets tiresome if overdone. All such action tends to direct attention to the behavior of the speaker and away from what he is saying. Not to gesture at all is equally bad. Variety and moderation serve our purpose best. All action should be purposeful.\nThe whole body, though not tense, should be attuned to the accomplishment of an aim. All movements that do not contribute to that end or hinder it should be sedulously avoided. Holding hands behind the back is not against the law, but if done for any length of time, it limits a speaker. Thrusting one hand into a pocket is not a felony, but the hand is useless or worse while there. Running fingers through one's hair has no persuasive power and may annoy an audience if persisted in. Leaning against a desk too much, crossing one's legs in a standing position, holding a pencil in one hand, jingling money in one's pocket, are so many things to be avoided. Vocalizing when not speaking is a habit many platform speakers have: \"Now \u2014 er \u2014 I wish to say something \u2014 er \u2014\"\nAvoid carrying out \"about\" or similar gestures excessively. It may become an intolerable nuisance if taken to an extreme. If you have trouble following this advice, know that you can still be a successful speaker even if you don't adhere to it exactly. One of the most engaging speakers on the American platform today begins his speech by putting both hands in his pockets and keeps them there most of the time until he is finished speaking. He is an effective speaker despite this mannerism, not because of it. Lincoln was awkward on the platform and distributed his weight equally between both feet. He was effective not because of that habit, but in spite of it. Your speaking will gain in effectiveness through graceful and appropriate actions.\nA good speaker without all the graces. Exercises 1. Take a comfortable and graceful position on the floor. Observe the position of your feet and your general bodily posture. Practice this in your study. In the classroom, let this be done under guidance of your instructor. 2. Aim to use appropriate gestures with the following utterances. Pay particular attention to the hand. a. \"It looks very much like a cloud.\" b. \"I want to call your attention to this\" c. \"Please be quiet.\" d. \"I will have nothing to do with such a proposal.\" e. \"This vast throng before me.\" / \"I defy the gentlemen. I defy their whole phalanx. Let them come forth.\" Action: Gesture, Posture, Movement 341 3. Tell a simple story with appropriate action about \"a memorable hunting trip,\" \"an auto accident,\" or some similar subject.\nDeliver \"Grattan\u2019s Reply\" speech with great freedom of gesture, but without exaggeration. Practice the following gestures:\n\nUpper plane:\na. \"These are the ideals for which we live and die.\"\nb. \"We declare before God that our intentions are just.\"\nc. \"He towers above them all in his fearless integrity.\"\n\nLower plane:\na. \"That slinking, cowardly fool.\"\nb. \"I abhor such trickery.\"\nc. \"Just forget such ideas.\"\n\nMiddle plane:\na. \"We must consider both sides.\"\nb. \"Yes, I agree with you.\"\nc. \"Now, wait a minute!\"\n\nPractice daily for several weeks to develop graceful gestures. Suit gestures to any selection. Remember, every gesture involves total bodily action.\nWilliam H. Herndon's Description of Lincoln's Appearance and Manner as a Speaker\n\nLincoln, despite numerous handicaps, gained worldwide fame as a speaker, and his speeches remain among our best models. This fact should inspire those aspiring to become speakers.\n\nLincoln's appearance and manner on the stump are worth describing. He stood at six feet four inches tall. Lean in flesh and ungainly in figure, he had a sad, pained look due to habitual melancholy. His face had no characteristic or fixed expression. He was thin through the chest, resulting in slightly stooped shoulders. (Abraham Lincoln, Vol. II, p. 405.)\nWhen he arose to address courts, juries, or crowds, his body inclined forward slightly. At first, he was very awkward, and it seemed a real labor to adjust himself to his surroundings. He struggled for a time under a feeling of apparent diffidence and sensitivity, and these only added to his awkwardness. I have often seen and sympathized with Mr. Lincoln during these moments. When he began speaking, his voice was shrill, piping, and unpleasant. His manner, his attitude, his dark, yellow face, wrinkled and dry, his oddity of pose, his diffident movements \u2014 everything seemed to be against him, but only for a short time. After having arisen, he generally placed his hands behind him, the back of his left hand in the palm of his right, the thumb and fingers of his right hand clasped.\nHe played with the combination of awkwardness, sensitiveness, and diffidence around his left wrist at the wrist for a few moments. As he proceeded, he became animated, and to keep in harmony with his growing warmth, his hands relaxed their grasp and fell to his side. Presently, he clasped them in front of him, interlocking his fingers, one thumb chasing the other. His speech now requiring more emphatic utterance, his fingers unlocked and his hands fell apart. His left arm was thrown behind him, the back of his hand resting against his body, and his right hand seeking his side. By this time, he had gained sufficient composure, and his real speech began. He did not gesticulate as much with his hands as with his head. He used the latter frequently, throwing it with vim this way and that. This movement was a significant one when he sought to enforce his statement.\nHe had a cool, considerate, reflective demeanor in his speeches. His style was clear, terse, and compact. In argument, he was logical, demonstrative, and fair. He was careless of his dress, and his clothes hung loosely on his giant frame. As he moved along in his speech, he became freer and less uneasy in his movements; to that extent, he was graceful. He had a perfect naturalness and strong individuality, making him dignified. He despised glitter, show, set forms, and other affectations.\nHe spoke effectively, moving judgments as much with gesture, posture, and movement as with the emotions of men. The long, bony finger of his right hand dotted ideas on the minds of his hearers. To express joy or pleasure, he raised both hands at an angle of about fifty degrees, palms upward, as if desirous of embracing the spirit of that which he loved. If the sentiment was one of detestation - denunciation of slavery, for example - both arms, thrown upward and fists clenched, swept through the air, and he expressed an execration that was truly sublime. This was one of his most effective gestures, signifying most vividly a fixed determination to drag down the object of his hatred and trample it in the dust. He always stood squarely on his feet.\nHe stood with feet even, never putting one foot before the other. He neither touched nor leaned on anything for support. He made few changes in his positions and attitudes. He never ranted, never walked backward and forward on the platform. To ease his arms, he frequently caught hold of the lapel of his coat with his left hand, keeping his thumb upright and leaving his right hand free to gesticulate. The designer of the monument recently erected in Chicago happily captured him in this attitude. As he proceeded with his speech, the exercise of his vocal organs altered the tone of his voice. It lost in measure its former acute and shrilling pitch and mellowed into a more harmonious and pleasant sound. His form expanded, and despite the sunken breast, he rose up.\n\"splendid and imposing figure. In his defense of the Declaration of Independence \u2014 his greatest inspiration \u2014 he was tremendous in the directness of his utterances. He rose to impassioned eloquence, unsurpassed by Patrick Henry, Mirabeau, or Vergniaud, as his soul was inspired with the thought of human right and Divine justice. His little gray eyes flashed in a face aglow with the fire of his profound thoughts; and his uneasy movements and diffident manner sank beneath the wave of righteous indignation that came sweeping over him. Such was Lincoln the orator.\n\nCHAPTER XX\nVOICE: PRONUNCIATION, ENUNCIATION\nThe living voice; the greatest force on earth among men.\n\nA story is told of Helena Modjeska, the great Polish actress, who was a favorite on the American stage for many years. Once when she had received repeated calls from her audience, she stepped forward and addressed them, saying:\n\n'Ladies and gentlemen, I am deeply moved by your kind expressions of approval. But I must ask you to allow me a moment's respite, that I may gather my strength and prepare myself for the task which lies before me. I shall endeavor to give you a performance worthy of your appreciation.'\"\nA woman, not knowing the English language, resolved to meet a situation by repeating the Polish alphabet, moving her audience to tears with beautiful effect. If accurately reported, the voice alone carried the meaning. We are all familiar with the quality of voice used in expressing joy, grief, anger, affection, and other emotions. The distinguished actress used the appropriate vocal quality for expressing a feeling of pathos or sadness, intense enough to draw tears from her listeners. This underscores the importance of the voice in speaking. We do not aim to present an exhaustive treatise on voice here, but rather to offer a few suggestions for those in need.\nA pleasing and adequate voice is one of the greatest gifts a speaker can have. A thin, strident, or raucous voice is an unfortunate handicap. A good voice should be firm and strong, with good breath support; possess a rich and resonant tone; and manifest variety in tonal elements. A voice that moves in monotone, with unvarying emphasis and rate of speed, carries no distinction of meaning either in thought or feeling, and soon tires the listener. A voice of good texture, well modulated, moving easily from one pitch to another and from one tonal quality to another, and varying the amount of stress in accordance with the emphasis desired, is always a delight to hear. The majority of young speakers do not possess these qualities.\nHave any great difficulty with their voices. This does not mean, however, that voice training will not improve their voices and make them much more efficient instruments. There are, moreover, some in every group whose voices, for one reason or another, are either disagreeable or wholly inadequate for effective expression. Since the foundation of a good voice is correct and adequate breathing, some attention may properly be given to that first.\n\nCorrect Breathing. Breathing is one of those things that we are likely to take for granted, like so many other aspects of speech. But there is correct breathing and there is incorrect breathing. The proper method of breathing is the active diaphragmatic method. This means that the proper action of the diaphragm and of the abdominal muscles is the basis of sound and efficient breathing. The diaphragm, as you may know, is the large muscle that separates the chest cavity from the abdominal cavity. It plays a crucial role in the respiratory system, allowing us to breathe in and out. When we breathe in, the diaphragm contracts and moves downward, expanding the chest cavity and allowing air to enter the lungs. When we breathe out, the diaphragm relaxes and moves upward, compressing the chest cavity and forcing air out of the lungs. By focusing on using the diaphragm effectively during speech, singers and speakers can improve their breath control, volume, and overall vocal efficiency.\nThe diaphragm is the strong muscle that separates the abdomen from the chest. When we breathe correctly, there is movement of expansion throughout the entire trunk or torso. The impulse to expand will take effect first through the waist and later through the chest. If expansion is primarily through the chest, you may know that you are breathing incorrectly. The floating ribs should move outward and the abdominal wall forward, and there should be expansion both through the waist and through the chest. When you place your hands flat on the floating ribs at your side and take a deep breath, your hands should be pushed outward at the same time that the abdominal wall moves forward. A few exercises taken regularly for thirty or sixty days will establish this method. There are few things of more vital importance.\nThe importance of adequate breathing to a speaker surpasses that of inadequate breathing. It is crucial for motor power in effective expression, not just for voice production but also for health. The technique of efficient and adequate breathing should be taught to every child. In normal breathing, only about one-third of the lung capacity is filled. This means that many lung cells are not vitalized by fresh air, except when we take deep breaths, making them susceptible to disease-breeding germs, such as tuberculosis. It requires conscious effort to fill the lungs to capacity and bring fresh air to all their parts. Doctors generally agree that consistent deep breathing of outdoor air several times a day, especially in cold weather, is the best preventive measure for all pulmonary ailments, including colds, coughs, and tuberculosis.\nFor efficient voice production, the most important requisite is an open and relaxed throat. A few primitive grunts, such as \"ugh, ugh, ugh,\" with throat open and relaxed, will likely engage the diaphragm and provide the vocal column with the right start. It is more important to take a few simple exercises regularly than a large number irregularly. Regular practice until correct habits are formed is the key.\n\nExercises for Deep Breathing:\n1. Place your hands flat against your floating ribs at the side. Inhale slowly through your nose, filling your lungs completely, pushing your hands out and your abdominal wall forward. If done correctly, there should be a gradual expansion through the waist and chest. Exhale slowly, as if you were gently blowing out a candle flame. Repeat five times. This exercise should be taken several times a day until correct.\n1. Breathing habits are formed.\n2. Same position as in 1. Inhale rapidly through nose, filling lungs as well as you can. Exhale slowly on \"ah.\" Keep the flow of air steady and prolong as much as you can. Repeat several times.\n3. Fill lungs slowly as in 1. Expel breath in a whisper without vocalizing, using aspirated h before vowels: e.g., hay, he, hi, ho, who. Keep throat open and relaxed. Repeat many times.\n4. Fill lungs full, breathing through nose. Count 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, etc., as far as you can in a whisper; that is, without vocalizing. If you can count from 55 to 65 distinctly, you have good breath control.\n5. Fill lungs full. Pant, \"ha, ha, ha, ha, ha,\" etc. Observe action of diaphragm.\n\nVoice: Pronunciation, enunciation 347\n\nThe breath is vocalized in the larynx.\nAs it passes over the vocal cords, producing sound. Tones formed are enriched and amplified through resonance. Resonance is the foundation of all tone production, whether originated by the vocal cords in the human body or any other sound instrument.\n\nExamples of resonators include the piano's sounding board, harp, and violin, as well as the organ pipe, flute, and other wood instruments. If we pluck a taut violin string with no sounding board nearby, the string produces a barely audible sound. On the violin, this same string, when the bow is drawn over it, may produce a loud, rich, and clear tone. The difference is due to resonance.\n\nFrom a physics perspective, sound is simply vibrating air. The violin is constructed in such a way that the sound resonates.\nWaves set in motion by vibrating strings strike the sounding board of the instrument and cause harmonious vibrations which greatly augment the loudness of the tone. The same principle holds for the sounding board of any instrument. The bony structure of the body acts as a sort of sounding board for amplifying vocal sounds, especially the sternum and the head. It is well known that a taut string, when plucked, vibrates not only as a whole but also in segments. The principal tone is produced by the vibration of the string as a whole, while the quality of the tone, or timbre, depends largely on the vibrations of the segments that produce the overtones. A familiar example of resonance to all students of physics is that produced by holding a tuning fork over a tube or column of air.\nThe vocal column passes through the pharynx and mouth for most sounds, with the exception of the consonant sound \"ng.\" In forming this sound, the vocal column passes largely or entirely through the nasal cavities. For the sounds \"m\" and \"n,\" the uvula is partly closed, sending part of the breath through the nasal cavities while the resonance is probably largely in the mouth. Resonance for different pitches is primarily regulated by the length of the column of air in the pharynx and mouth.\nThe lower the pitch, the larger the air column necessary to support it and produce resonance. The higher the pitch, the shorter the air column needed. Observe what occurs in the pharynx when you alter the pitch of your tones. For lower pitches, the vibrating air column occupies a much larger space; for higher pitches, it is much more restricted. We make these adjustments unconsciously to suit the different pitches.\n\nNasal twang is caused by allowing part of the air column to pass through the nose on sounds that are not at all nasal. Nasal tones m, n, and ng are produced by directing either a part or all of the air column through the nasal cavities. When we form these tones, the soft palate is lowered to meet the back of the tongue, thus partly or wholly closing the passage into the pharynx.\nPRONUNCIATION, ENUNCIATION: Nasal twang or disagreeable nasality is caused by allowing a part of the air column to go through the nose on sounds that should have no nasal sound. This is a defect in vocalization and should be remedied. To detect noticeable nasal quality in your voice, try saying words without nasals, such as these, while pinching your nose with thumb and forefinger to close the nasal passage. This is the hour for rehearsal. We are pleased with the results. Then repeat them with the nasal channels open. There should be no nasal sound on these words.\nExercises for Voice:\n\n1. Inhale through nose, filling lungs. Exhale slowly, vocalizing principal vowel sounds - ah, awe, oh, e, oo - in the same breath. Do this on different pitches. Aim to use lips freely and keep them flexible.\n2. Fill lungs as above. Prolong vowel sound ah for several seconds on different pitches. Do the same for the other vowel sounds - awe, oh, e, oo. Use lips freely.\n3. Inhale, filling lungs. Take the vowel sounds in turn - ah, awe, oh, do, e - giving each an upward inflection. Make range of pitch as wide as possible. Use words also, what, where, who, why, etc., in the same manner, and give each vowel a downward inflection.\n4. Put \"h\" before vowel sounds and vocalize vigorously, all in one breath: hay, he, hi, ho, who. Keep throat open and muscles relaxed. Start slowly and increase speed.\n5. Put vocal organs in position to say \"ng.\" Prolong sound, opening and closing mouth as you do so. Observe that vocal column passes through nose.\n350. The Art of Effective Speaking\n6. Count up to \"io\" explosively; that is, with a fair degree of vigor. As you repeat, gradually increase force.\n7. Count up to 10 explosively; that is, with great vigor, reducing time element to a minimum. Repeat, increasing vigor gradually.\n8. Express vowel sounds, a, e, i, o, u, explosively; explosively.\n9. Give proper expression to these sentences. Shout.\na. Away, and quit my sight!\nb. Ahorse! Ahorse! A kingdom for a horse!\nc. Forward, the Light Brigade!\nd. Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!\nDaily Drill: Deep breathing - one minute. Vocalizing on vowels - two minutes. Shouting - two minutes. Reading oratorical selections - five minutes, paying particular attention to voice, enunciation, and pronunciation. Exercises, if properly taken, will render a voice rich, mellow, and flexible.\n\nThe Vocal Elements: There are four aspects or elements of voice to be considered: (1) vocal quality; (2) force; (3) time; (4) pitch. Let us look at each of these in turn, briefly.\n\n1. Vocal Quality: For expressing emotion, vocal quality is all-important. Through long racial experience, we have come to associate certain qualities of voice with emotional states. We know the voice in grief, fear, anger, love, joy, ridicule, the sneer, the laugh, the cry. The voice alone expresses these different moods and emotions, and many others. The effective use of vocal quality can greatly enhance a performance.\nA speaker must adjust his voice to convey varying mental states. Observe a great actor on stage and you'll be impressed by the role the voice plays in emotion expression. Often, the wrong voice quality for a specific emotion renders words meaningless. For instance, a student might read Hamlet's soliloquy in an ordinary conversational tone, as if discussing egg prices. The words sound ridiculous. Only a deep, low-pitched voice and slow utterance rate can express Hamlet's despondent mood in the following soliloquy:\n\nTo be, or not to be: that is the question:\nWhether 't is nobler in the mind to suffer\nThe slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,\nOr to take arms against a sea of troubles,\nAnd by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;\nNo more; and by a sleep to say we end\nThe heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks\nThat flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation\nDevoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;\nTo sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;\nFor in that sleep of death what dreams may come\nWhen we have shuffled off this mortal coil,\nMust give us pause: there's the respect\nThat makes calamity of so long life;\n\nFor who would bear the whips and scorns of time,\nThe oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,\nThe pangs of despised love, the law's delay,\nThe insolence of office and the spurns\nThat patient merit of the unworthy takes,\nWhen he himself might his quietus make\nWith a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,\nTo grunt and sweat under a weary life,\nBut that the dread of something after death,\nThe undiscover'd country from whose bourn\nNo traveller returns, puzzles the will\nAnd makes us rather bear those ills we have\nThan fly to others that we know not of?\n\nThus conscience does make cowards of us all;\nAnd thus the native hue of resolution\nIs sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,\nAnd enterprises of great pitch and moment\nWith this regard their currents turn awry,\nAnd lose the name of action.--Soft you now!\nThe fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons\nBe all my sins remember'd.\nOr to take arms against a sea of troubles,\nAnd by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;\nNo more; and by a sleep to say we end\nThe heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks\nThat flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation\nDevoutly to be wish'd.\n\nA delicate, high-pitched, tender voice will express\nthe emotion Robert Burns felt when he wrote the poem\n\"To a Mouse.\"\n\nWee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie,\nO, what a panic's in thy breastie!\nThou need na startle so,\nWi' bickering brattle!\n\nI would not rin and chase thee,\nWi' murd'ring pattle!\n\nI'm truly sorry man's dominion\nHas broken nature's social union,\nAnd justifies that ill opinion,\nWhich makes thee startle,\nAt me, thy poor, earth-born companion,\nAnd fellow-mortal!\n\nThere are certain specific vocal qualities, or kinds of voice,\nThe orotund, the aspirate, the pectoral, and the guttural are types of voices. The orotund is a full, well-rounded voice suitable for expressing earnest, vigorous, and dignified thought. Before a large audience, one will use this voice much of the time. One may practice it on any good oratorical selection or a poem like Byron\u2019s \u201cApostrophe to the Ocean,\u201d especially the second stanza.\n\nThe aspirate quality of voice is the one used in a whisper. This is not a quality of voice in the sense of vocalized breath. There is no vocalization, strictly speaking. Whispering is simply breath formed by the organs of articulation into vowel and consonant sounds. In speaking, we may use a whisper for emphasis.\nA whisper expresses a state of fright or terror, and is most often used to express secrecy. The pectoral quality is a deep, hollow-sounding voice associated with chest resonance, although the resonance is probably mostly in the pharynx. It is used mostly in impersonation. Those familiar with the Seth Parker hour on the radio will recall that the impersonation of Cephas depends almost wholly on a pectoral quality of voice. The guttural quality of voice is, as its name implies, a throaty voice. In ordinary conversation and platform speaking, it is to be avoided, although it may occasionally be used to express scorn and anger. It is used most in acting and impersonation. Try the following with clenched teeth and a guttural voice: \"Many a time and oft.\"\nIn the Rialto you have rated me about my moneys and my usances. I have borne it with a patient shrug. For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. You call me misbeliever, cut-throat, dog, and spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, and all for use of that which is mine own. Well then, it now appears you need my help: Go to, then; you come to me, and you say, \"Shylock, we would have moneys.\" You say so; over your threshold: moneys is your suit.\n\nForce. Voice is air or breath in vibration. The vibrations are set in motion by the vocal cords when air is pumped through the larynx by the breathing mechanism. Vocal force, in terms of physics, has to do with the amplitude and frequency of these vibrations.\nThe greater the amplitude or distance a string vibrates, and the greater the frequency of vibrations, the greater the intensity of the tone. Vocal force depends largely on the pressure exerted by breathing muscles on the air column as it is forced through the larynx, since this determines the amplitude of the vibrations. Volume of voice is a term used somewhat loosely to indicate the amount of breath that passes through the larynx. It will depend on the size of the opening in the larynx through which the air column passes and the amount of pressure exerted on it. Volume varies somewhat directly with the lowness of pitch. That is, the lower the pitch, the greater the volume. We must be on our guard against thinking that the use of an amplifier increases the volume of the voice.\nAn intense or voluminous voice does not necessarily signify forceful or effective expression. A loud, sonorous voice, if used without variation in degree of force, soon becomes tiresome and painful to an audience. Sameness of vocal force suggests sameness of values and an utter lack of discrimination in meanings. The effective speaker is the one who cultivates all degrees of force; a soft and low voice as well as a loud, voluminous one. It is contrast and variety in force that really give emphasis. A good way to appreciate this is to listen to good speakers and observe how they vary the degree of force they use. I once heard Norman Thomas address a convocation of about thirty-five hundred students. His most striking and effective form of emphasis was a sudden drop from a loud, full voice to a soft, low one. The effect was striking.\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\nA soft voice may not seem electrical, but it can be effective with a large audience, especially for those gifted with a voice of good carrying power. A soft voice often carries almost as far as a loud one, depending on the resonance quality. We recognize roughly three varieties of force: (1) the effusive, (2) the expulsive, (3) the explosive. For the student of speech training, it is convenient to understand these terms.\n\nThe effusive form of voice is one of moderate volume and intensity, supported by a gentle, steady pressure of the breathing muscles, giving it a smooth flow. It is used to express calm emotions, such as awe, reverence, wonder, and the sublime.\n\nAn effusive voice would be appropriate for the following stanza:\n\nWith deep affection\nAnd recollection\nI often think of\nThose Shandon bells,\nWhose sounds so wild would,\nIn the days of childhood,\nFling round my cradle\nTheir magic spells.\n\nThe expulsive form of voice has a medium degree of volume and intensity, such as we use in ordinary animated conversation, and most often in platform speaking before audiences of moderate size. It is considerably more abrupt and energetic than the effusive form, and is supported by a sharper attack of the abdominal and intercostal muscles. We would use the expulsive form of voice in the following:\n\nAnd what is so rare as a day in June?\nThen, if ever, come perfect days;\nThe heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,\nAnd over it softly her warm ear lays;\nWhether we look, or whether we listen,\nWe hear life murmur, or see it glisten;\nEvery clod feels a stir of might.\nAn instinct within that reaches and towers, grasping blindly above it for light, climbs to a soul in grass and flowers. The explosive form of voice is the product of a sudden, sharp, intense vocalization that reduces the time element to a minimum. We use it when shouting and before large audiences, for there are times when one almost has to shout to be heard. It is always heard in college yells. We also use it to express sudden and somewhat violent emotions. When used with discretion and when under control, it may be a very powerful form of emphasis.\n\nThere is not much doubt that vocal force, used with taste and discretion, has a peculiar persuasive effect on audiences. Many of our great speakers have had voices of catapultic power. Forceful expression suggests strong conviction on the part of the speaker.\nThe speaker's tone, which is transferred to the audience, is more effectively comprehended when thoughts and feelings are adequately expressed. Three aspects of time in speech include the rate of utterance best suited to an audience, prolonging syllables for emphasis, and retardation in speaking as a form of emphasis. There is no single rate of utterance suitable for all persons. The rate of speaking is partly temperamental, with some people naturally speaking fast and others speaking slowly. Floyd Gibbons on the radio must speak at an appropriate pace for his audience.\nThe speaker's rate of speaking is close to two hundred words a minute. He speaks distinctly and \"gets away with it.\" To many persons, it is not a pleasing rate of speaking. On the other hand, it is entirely possible to move too slowly, especially if a man has not much to say. A slow, ponderous, hesitant presentation may be distracting to an audience and anything but effective. The rate of utterance is affected by the size of the audience. The larger the audience, the more slowly the speaker will move. No average can be struck, suitable for all speakers and all audiences. It is probable, however, that a rate of about 125 words a minute will be suitable for the majority of speakers and pleasing to most audiences. The weightier the thought and the deeper the emotions, the more slowly one will move; conversely, the lighter the vein in delivery.\nOne speaks faster than the other, except for individual differences. It is safe to affirm that one should speak slowly enough to enunciate distinctly and be heard clearly and easily by those who listen. Young speakers invariably tend to speak too fast and enunciate in a slovenly manner.\n\nIn speaking or reading, we do not dwell on all syllables for the same length of time. Some syllables are long, some short, due to language development. We naturally observe this in speaking. Some syllables are accented; some are not. We dwell longer on accented syllables than on unaccented ones. The chief differences in tone duration, or the time one takes to utter a syllable, depend on the emotional content of the thought or our personal attitude.\nOne may give almost any turn to a thought by dwelling longer on a certain syllable or word than on the rest. Lengthening the time element - retardation - is usually accompanied by other forms of emphasis, such as greater or less force. When Hamlet soliloquizes, \"To die; to sleep; no more. Perchance to dream: aye, there's the rub,\" he very likely dwells much longer on the italicized words than on the others. This is a most effective form of emphasis. When Webster, in his Dartmouth College argument, said, \"I would not for this right hand of mine have her turn to me and say,\" we can imagine he spoke very slowly and deliberately. When Wendell Phillips, in \"The Scholar in a Republic,\" uttered a somewhat radical sentiment about the Russian government,\n\"and he followed it with the statement: \"I at least can say nothing else and nothing less. No, not if every tile on Cambridge roofs were a devil hooting my words\" he probably uttered the last statement very slowly, almost with a pause between the words. He may have used more force also and combined the two forms of emphasis.\n\nTake the following from O\u2019Connell: \"Gentlemen, God knows I speak for the saddest people the sun sees; but may my right hand forget its cunning and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if to help Ireland \u2014 even Ireland \u2014 I forget the Negro one single hour.\" Say this rapidly and see how ridiculous it sounds. It is strong language and must be spoken slowly.\n\n4. Pitch, as a tonal element, serves primarily to express distinctions in meaning, both intellectual and emotional \u2014\"\nA finely modulated voice moves through a wide range of pitch easily and smoothly to express delicate refinements of meaning. Only through variety in this vocal element can we suggest discriminations in values. A voice that moves in a monotone is incapable of suggesting such distinctions. It is also true that a voice lacking variety in pitch is likely to lack variety in all other tonal elements - quality, force, and time. One need only listen to a person partly or wholly deaf to observe the deadly monotony in all tonal elements. On the other hand, one need only listen to an animated discussion to note the variety in pitch and other vocal elements - the easy \"swing\" of conversation. It is largely in its pitch transitions.\nThe trained voice of the actor provides distinct modifications. Variety in pitch gives emphasis, which can take two forms: the inflection or slide, and sudden, abrupt transitions from one pitch to another. The downward slide is a common form of emphasis. It marks the difference between merely enumerating objects and giving them individuality. For example, \"There was Boston, Concord, Lexington, and Bunker Hill,\" can be said with a sustained inflection, merely naming them as towns or cities. If emotional meaning is put into these places, each one will probably have a marked downward inflection. Again, a somewhat abrupt change from a high pitch to a low pitch, or the opposite, gives emphasis. In the selection from:\n\n(Note: The text appears to be complete and does not contain any meaningless or unreadable content, ancient English, or OCR errors. Therefore, no cleaning is necessary.)\nO\u2019Connell. Emphasis may be had with perfect naturalness by using a much lower pitch of voice for the last clause, \"if I forget the Negro one single hour.\" Try it.\n\nEnough has been said to impress upon you how all-important it is to have variety of tonal elements in your voice. When we speak naturally, and without the inhibitions of appearance in public, there is not much difficulty about variety and emphasis. Even a child of tender age knows how to emphasize. If his mother asks him to do something, perhaps wash his face, and if he is in the right mood, he may answer, \"I will not\"; using all the voice he can and prolonging each word as he utters it, so that it will sound something like this, \"I w-i-l-l N-O-t.\" This is a perfectly sound method of emphasizing, involving as it does both force and retardation, probably the most common.\nThe youngster can do this right because he is not bothered by inhibitions and has the proper emotional urge to resist his mother's suggestion. Mental content is important. A speaker who moves in a monotone voice throughout a ten-minute speech has nothing in his mind except words. His personality has not properly reacted to the ideas and feelings he is trying to express. If it had, emphasis would largely take care of itself. The four-year-old reacted fully to his mother's suggestion, resulting in his high degree of effectiveness in emphasis.\n\nPrinciple: Voice, pronunciation, enunciation (359)\n\nThe mind reacts to the thought and feeling content of a given sentence or selection and comprehends it with a fullness of meaning.\nA proper expression will result from an adequate voice and free bodily agents of expression, given proper emphasis, variety, and effectiveness. Mechanical approaches should be avoided when striving for effective expression in one's own speech or when interpreting and expressing a selection. While technical knowledge of voice and tonal elements is worthwhile as it enables us to discuss such matters intelligently, it does not necessarily provide the best method for understanding meanings.\nWe do not get the best results by focusing on emphasizing specific words and using certain pitches of voice. This method is likely to result in just words and specific pitches. Keeping such things in mind during utterance introduces extraneous elements into the mental content. Remember, it is the mental content that matters. In the long run, you will express what is in your mind. If you are thinking about words and forms of emphasis, all you will express are words and forms of emphasis. The question to ask is: What does this mean? What ideas and feelings is the author trying to convey? Meaning has two aspects: intellectual and emotional. Words in their ordinary meaning express the former, while the latter is concerned with feelings.\nThe meaning of the Macbeth passage \"If it were done when 'tis done, 'twere well it were done quickly\" is clear in terms of word meaning. However, there is disagreement among actors and interpreters regarding the author's personal attitude towards this and its emotional meaning. The passage can be rendered with various meanings by emphasizing different words. The emotional meaning and personal attitude are the subjects of dispute, which is common when interpreting differences of opinion.\n\nWhen preparing selections, a few suggestions can be given:\n1. Obtain the factual or historical background of the selection.\nWhat were the circumstances under which the author wrote it? What motivated him? What was his purpose?\n\nGet at meanings and values, not just symbols. We do not get at values through proper emphasis. We get at proper emphasis through understanding values or meanings, especially emotional ones. Within limitations, the voice will express what you really think and feel.\n\nVisualize pictures as vividly as you can. Vivid images arouse feelings and help you get at values.\n\nMemorize the selection as a whole, rather than in parts. Experiments seem to have shown that this is the most economical and effective method.\n\nEnunciation refers to a clear and distinct utterance of words. This may sound simple, but it is one of the most difficult objectives to achieve in speech. When we reflect.\nThe organs of speech \u2014 tongue, lips, teeth, palate \u2014 must form between 500 and 750 articulate sounds in one minute, an average of ten to twelve per second. It would be a miracle if all were executed with precision. The miracle seldom happens. Most people form careless and slovenly habits of speech utterance instead. Vowel sounds are not properly brought out, consonant sounds are slurred or even disregarded, and whole syllables are sometimes omitted or clipped off. Distinct enunciation is necessary for clarity; it also adds charm and effectiveness to speech.\n\nTake the following words, much used these days. All have four syllables. How often do you hear them so given?\n\naerial aeronaut aeroplane\n\nTake the sentence 'from \"Toussaint L\u2019Ouverture\": Go to\n\"Haiti.\" A large number of students will say this without using the t sound at all. The sound actually given for t approaches hr. Substitute this for s, and you will get it as usually given. A combination much abused is the ending sts. Usually, the t is simply omitted. So, for interests we have interess; for trusts, truss; etc.\n\nTo those who have a propensity to slur the sts ending, the following old stanza may prove useful. Memorize it, and get the consonant sounds right.\n\nAmidst the mists and coldest frosts,\nWith stoutest wrists and loudest boasts,\nHe hits his fists against the posts,\nAnd still insists he sees the ghosts.\n\nThere is no panacea for slovenly enunciation, unless it be the will to enunciate clearly and distinctly. It is a matter of habit formation. If you are not willing to put forth the effort necessary.\nSpeak distinctly, no amount of direction will help you if you are unwilling to concentrate on this. Make a thorough study of vowel and consonant sounds in words, practice getting them right. The dictionary and your teacher will guide you. Distinct utterance should be insisted on in every course in speech.\n\nLet it be said that distinct enunciation is not an end in itself. It is only a means to an end. It may be overdone and make speech pedantic. The same is true of using the lips. Some persons mouth their words. The tendency, however, is usually in the other directions \u2014 careless enunciation and stiff lips. The golden mean is the proper goal.\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\nPronunciation. In its broad aspects, the problem of pronunciation is:\nThe pronunciation of words varies in different parts of the country and in different English-speaking countries. What is correct in Minneapolis is not necessarily correct in New York, and what is correct in New York is often not good form in London. English people insist on pronouncing \"i\" long in words ending in \"ization\" - like civilization, organization. In the United States, we make it short. The dictionary is the most dependable source of information on pronunciation, but it has its limitations. The same consonant sounds and vowels with their diacritical marks do not mean the same thing to people in different sections of the country. The Middle-Westerner looks at the word \"girl,\" puckers his lips, and pronounces it \"gurl,\" thinking that this is in accordance with the dictionary. The Easterner looks at the same word.\nThe same word, pronounced without puckering lips or only slightly, gives it a vowel sound between e in met and u in church, virtually omitting the r sound, and affirms he is pronouncing it according to the dictionary and best usage. The same symbols mean different things to these two groups. This is true of several symbols. Again, the values or characters of certain symbols, especially vowel sounds, as given by dictionaries, are deliberately disregarded by whole sections of the United States. The vowel in certain words, such as laugh, mast, class, is, in certain sections of the country, particularly the Middle West, not so pronounced, except perhaps by a few professional teachers of speech and by persons who have come from the East or abroad. The question may be asked: Should the student of speech try to give these pronunciations?\nA person acknowledges the values of vowel sounds and pronounces them according to the dictionary? He will not do so, as he is more likely guided by the usage of the majority of cultured people in his community or section of the country. A teacher of English, with a reputation as a critic on both sides of the Atlantic, used to say that no one should adopt new vowel sounds after the age of fifteen. With some reservations, this may be sound advice. Usage that runs counter to the cultural standard is hard to inculcate. (VOICE: PRONUNCIATION, ENUNCIATION 363) A few who have brought more correct usage from another section of the country may influence him, but he will not follow them.\nThis should not mean, however, that certain errors shall not or cannot be corrected. Some errors are much easier to correct than others, for the reason that correction of them does not sound so affected in other instances. The preferential pronunciation of the vowel sound in haunt, taunt, laundry, staunch, etc., is the same as for the a in arm. In the Middle West, at least, it is almost invariably given as the vowel sound in lawn. A student of speech may correct this without seeming affected. A still more important error, common in many parts of the United States, is the prostitution of the long u sound to the sound of \"oo,\" giving us constitution, soot for suit, noo for new. One may correct this without seeming affected, and it is the consensus, I believe, that the language gains immensely by observing the best usage.\nA student of speech should not tolerate anything but an adequate bringing out of this important vowel sound. There is a noticeable improvement in this respect, at least in the Middle West, probably due to speech training and the standard set in radio announcing. With some reservations, mostly of a character already pointed out, the dictionary is the safest guide we have for pronunciation. This may be supplemented by the usage practiced by the majority of cultured people. With some sectional differences, there is a fair uniformity of pronunciation in the United States. For example, there is only one way to pronounce most of the following words. Consult the dictionary and see what it is. A few words permit of more than one pronunciation, and in such cases it is important to know what they are.\n\n364. The Art of Effective Speaking.\na, article, abdomen, absent (v.), address (v.), address (in.), adult, aerial, aeronautics, ally, almond, architect, amateur, aunt, ay (yes), aye (always), betrothal, biography, Celtic, chauffeur, combatant, comely, comparable, condolence, creek, culinary, data, despicable, discourse, discern, docile, draught, ennui, exquisite, forehead, gala, granary, grimace, harass, hygiene, impious, inclement, indisputable, indissoluble, long-lived, margarine, maritime, mediaeval, new (not nod), nude, pianist, prairie, presentation, romance, status, suit (not soot), thither, tomato, vagary\n\nThe dictionary is not necessarily a final authority on pronunciation, but it is usually correct, and the best available guide we have. If you pronounce words according to the dictionary (latest edition), you will be forgiven any errors you may commit. The trouble is that we take pronunciation, like so many other things, for granted.\nThe educated man does not take things for granted, including the pronunciation of words. Why accept the pronunciation of a word when we can settle it for life in fifteen seconds? Students of speech should adopt a critical attitude toward pronunciation and cultivate habits in accordance with the best usage.\n\nCorrect and distinct utterance adds greatly to the charm of cultivated speech. Practice it diligently and you will be building up an enduring personality trait.\n\nHow much squandering there is of the voice! How little is there of the advantage that may come from conversational tones! How seldom we use the power of the voice to its fullest extent. - Henry Ward Beecher\nA man dares not acquit himself with pathos and fervor. Men, who are most afraid of the artificial training given in schools, often demonstrate the lack of oratory skills in their work. Sweetness of voice is remarkable in a mother, a father, and in the household. The music of chorded instruments cannot match the music of familiar affection spoken by brother and sister or father and mother. Conversation itself belongs to oratory. Where is there a wider, more ample field for the impartation of pleasure and knowledge than at a festive dinner? Men, having well eaten and drunken, are often well qualified to keep the conversation going.\nSilence, and utterly disqualified to speak! How rare it is to find felicity of diction on such occasions! How seldom do we see men who are educated to a fine sense of what is fit and proper at gatherings of this kind! How many men there are who are weighty in argument, who have abundant resources, and who are almost boundless in their power at other times and in other places, but who when in company among their kind are exceedingly unapt in their methods! Having none of the secret instruments by which the elements of nature may be touched, having no skill and no power in this direction, they stand as machines before living, sensitive men. A man may be a master before an instrument; only the instrument is dead; and he has the living hand; and out of that dead instrument, what wondrous harmony springs forth at his touch! And if you can electrify one.\nAudience by the power of a living man on dead things, how much more should that audience be electrified when the chords are living and the man is alive, and he knows how to touch them with divine inspiration!\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\n\nHow many men are there that can speak from day to day, one hour, two hours, three hours, without exhaustion, and without hoarseness? But it is in the power of the vocal organs, and of the ordinary vocal organs, to do this. What multitudes of men wear themselves out because they put their voice on a hard run at the top of its compass! \u2014 and there is no relief to them, and none, unfortunately, to the audience. But the voice is like an orchestra. It ranges high up, and can shriek betimes like the scream of an eagle; or it is low as a lion\u2019s roar.\nThe tone has a unique quality at every point, with the mother's whisper and father's command, warning and alarm, sweetness, mirth, and gayety. It glitters, though not seen with all its sparkling facets. It ranges high, intermediate, or low in obedience to the will, unconsciously to him who uses it. Men listen for hours, wondering it's so short, unaware they've been bewitched out of their weariness by the charm of a voice, not artificial or prearranged in the man's thought, but assiduously trained to be his second nature. Such a voice answers to the soul and is its beating.\n\n\"But, doesn't the voice come by nature?\" Yes, but is there anything that comes by nature which stays as it comes if it is not...\nWe receive one talent and make it five; we receive five talents and make them ten. There is no thing in man that he has in perfection till he has it by culture. In respect to everything but the voice, is not the ear trained to acute hearing? Is not the eye trained in science? Do men not school the eye and make it quick-seeing by patient use? Is a man, because he has learned a trade and was not born with it, thought to be less a man? Because we have made discoveries of science and adapted them to manufacture, because we have developed knowledge by training, are we thought to be unmanly? Shall we, because we have unfolded our powers by the use of ourselves for that noblest of purposes, the inspiration and elevation of mankind, be less esteemed? Is the school of human training to be disregarded?\nA. Suggestions for Criticism of Speeches\n\n1. What type is the speech: informative, persuasive, argumentative, or entertaining?\n2. If persuasive, what is the purpose: central idea, sub-ideas? Analyze every speech.\n3. Consider the audience and occasion. Speaker's relation to subject and audience? Subject's relation to audience?\n4. Is the speech well begun? Related to audience's interests? Speaker clear about topic?\n5. What speech materials or forms of support are used? Effective considering audience and occasion? Which forms predominate?\nAre propositions adequately supported?\n1. This is only a guide. It does not pretend to cover all points.\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\n\n1. Does the speech hold attention? Does it possess sufficient variety in speech materials? Does it exemplify the leading factors of interestingness, such as the vital, the unusual, conflict, or challenge technique?\n2. Is the speech brought to a close effectively?\n[Conclusion] Is the conclusion too long and scattered in its appeal? Is there a summary and emotional appeal? Is the final appeal properly related to the message of the speech?\n\nDelivery or Presentation:\n1. Does the speaker use the conversational mode, as if speaking to or with a group of friends? Or does he speak at his audience? Does he show any tendency toward ranting?\n2. Does the speaker use his voice well? Does he use enough voice for all to hear comfortably, without using too much? Does his voice possess variety in tonal elements - quality, force, pitch, rate? Is his voice well modulated? Or is there a tendency toward monotony?\n3. Is the speaker's attitude toward his audience good or persuasive? Does he display geniality, humor, modesty, tact, confidence, moral earnestness, and tolerance of the views of other persons?\nSOCIAL VERSUS BIOLOGICAL INHERITANCE by Clifford Kirkpatrick\n\nIs he egotistic, unduly aggressive, antagonistic or negative? Is his enunciation distinct, especially in difficult consonant combinations like sts? Or is his enunciation overdone, so that it calls attention to itself? Does he pronounce words correctly? Are his vowel sounds correct? Does he pronounce soot and suit the same way?\n\nSPECIMEN SPEECHES\n\nInformative: \"Social versus Biological Inheritance,\" by Clifford Kirkpatrick, page 372\nImpressive: \"Acres of Diamonds,\" by Russell H. Conwell, page 379\n\"Get Facts; Look Far; Think Through,\" by William C. Redfield, page 413\n\"The Usurpations of Society,\" by Oscar W. Firkins, page 421\nArgumentative: Lincoln\u2019s \"Springfield Speech,\" ... page 426\nEntertainment: \"Merchants and Ministers,\" by Henry Ward Beecher.\nWhat is the social heritage or culture, as it is now commonly called? For our purposes, it may be simply defined as an accumulation of socially acquired objects and impressions in a given group. Locomotives, steel rails, tools, and machines are socially acquired objects. They are socially acquired since they are made by men rather than occurring in nature, as do cliffs and lakes. These useful objects are made possible by socially acquired impressions, for the habits and ideas involved in smelting and working iron are impressions passed from one generation to another.\n\nHowever, we can best grasp the significance of the atmosphere of culture in which we live, move, and have our being by attempting to imagine a group of humans without a social heritage.\nIt is apparent that culture in the scientific sense is much broader in scope than traits such as good table manners, a well-modulated voice, a knowledge of foreign languages, and a familiarity with literature, which are considered signs of culture in the popular sense. Let us suppose that a score or more of infants are selected from the homes of artists, doctors, teachers, wealthy business men, and statesmen. These children are transported to a fertile island in the South Seas, previously uninhabited, and are there abandoned. If left with an initial supply of food, they might survive, but would be absolutely lacking in the social heritage that would have been theirs had they remained in the United States. An explorer visiting the island twenty or thirty years later would probably report the discovery of the lowest tribe of civilized people.\nSavages around the world lack the customs, ideas, beliefs, skills, knowledge, tastes, values, morals, and language they would have acquired in their native land. They would have no inheritance of material objects such as tools, machines, buildings, libraries, museums, theatres, railways, electric lights, telephones, schools, churches, and the like. Even the use of fire might be unknown to them. A social heritage or culture consists of all the things that would be lacking under these circumstances - socially acquired objects and impressions.\n\nLet us consider for a moment the traits that distinguish man.\nMan's unique characteristics leading to tool use and civilization:1. Man's upright posture leaves forelimbs free for object manipulation, improving vision and stimulating forelimb use.\n2. The human hand's unique thumb and finger position, and general adaptability, enable complex movements like tool use.\n3. The large human brain, with well-developed association areas in the front portion, is crucial. Known as the organ of civilization, its development may have been furthered by hand use.\n4. Man's capacity for language and other forms of communication plays a significant role.\nUseful communication is probably the result of his large brain. It is also likely that this trait developed under the stimulation of social life, as man probably lived in groups from the beginning. Group life in itself, however, is not sufficient, as other social animals do not have language. Man's four distinctive traits - upright posture, flexible hand, large brain, and linguistic ability - lead to a fifth characteristic. Man is a culture-building animal; that is, his culture accumulates far beyond the simple group habits of beavers or apes.\n\nLet us now see just how the possession of a social heritage separates man from the lower animals. In the first place, man has a great deal added to his biological inheritance while the lower animals have but little. For example, in a hill of ants, there is:\n\n(Note: The text seems to be in good shape and does not require extensive cleaning. Only minor corrections for typos and formatting were made.)\nThere is practically nothing but biological inheritance that determines the social organization, cooperation, and complex activities of ants and bees for the most part. The same is true of ants and bees. An entire society is potential within the queen bee. Her offspring are able to gather honey, build a hive, and perform many varied tasks; yet she did not teach them: they were born with these instinctive capacities. Some higher animals learn from each other. For example, birds acquire the song of those of another species with whom they are associated. Yet man alone has an actual stream of socially acquired objects and impressions flowing from generation to generation. Man profits by what others learn and do, as well as from his own biological inheritance.\n\nIn the second place, the possession of a culture means that man:\n\n(Note: No cleaning was necessary for this text as it was already in modern English and free of meaningless or unreadable content, introductions, or other modern additions.)\nMan's changes occur through social adaptation rather than biological. The beast grows a fur coat, but man invents heat. Biological inheritance of lower animals may be slowly altered, but it is knowledge and wealth, in other words, man's social heritage, that varies. He makes inventions and achievements that accumulate over time, thus giving him artificial control over nature. As a great sociologist puts it, \"The environment transforms the animal, while man transforms the environment.\" Man is preeminently a culture-building animal, and we owe much to those far-off ancestors who first lit the torch of civilization and passed it from hand to hand, ever growing brighter through new inventions and more splendid achievements. Can it be that culture makes us human beings? The infant man\nSocial Versus Biological Inheritance: 375\n\nCertainly, a human being is born with a structure and potentialities characteristic of the human species. However, equipped only with this original human nature, he is the most helpless of creatures. Merely original human nature in itself does not make an organism a human being like those around us. If we imagine an adult stripped of all the culture he has acquired as a member of a group, he is reduced to an essentially animal status. There are several recorded cases of infants growing up in isolation or with animals such as wolves, bears, and baboons. These children remained at an animal level of existence. The primitive traits and behavior of these creatures tended to persist even after being restored to civilization. Some of these children may have been feeble-minded in the first place.\nBut it would be a strange coincidence if this were true of all of them. In general, man becomes human by contact with a social heritage. Culture is transmitted by education, but not solely the formal education of the classroom. While the science of chemistry that has accumulated for generations may be passed on to the student in the school, he may also learn from his contemporaries. Learning from one's own generation might be called horizontal education in contrast to the vertical education that is transmitted down through the centuries from one generation to another. Culture, therefore, not only descends vertically with the passage of time, but it also diffuses horizontally through space. There is a process of informal horizontal education whenever one personality is modified by another. The average college student\nA person is as fully educated by fraternity brothers as by professors, who seek to transmit the culture of the past. Culture is made continuous by education, while biological continuity depends on the union of germ cells from two parents. Social immortality is due to education after birth, and the process must be repeated in each generation, for the germ cells are not affected by changes in the nervous system. It is apparently no easier to learn English now than formerly, despite generations of ancestors who learned to speak that language. If all education, direct and indirect, formal and informal, should cease for a generation, the continuity of the social heritage would be broken and it would cease to exist, just as a species becomes extinct when a single generation fails to produce offspring. If our species were to fail in this regard, it would be no easier for the next generation to revive the culture and knowledge that had been lost.\nschools were blown up and left in ruins for a few decades. Civilization would take on a very different appearance if the continuity remained broken. As it is, the continuity remains unbroken, and the average high school student knows far more about the universe than the greatest ancient philosophers, thanks to the richer social heritage they have absorbed.\n\nThere is great danger of confusing social with biological inheritance; and where no actual confusion exists, a lively controversy rages over the relative importance of heredity as compared with culture. For example, are instincts really inborn, or are they partly habits? Are athletes born or trained? Are Negroes of different ability as compared with whites? Are men insane because they drink, or do they drink because they have a hereditary taint of insanity? Is a person good-natured because of their nature, or do they become good-natured due to their upbringing?\nOf happy circumstances or because he was born that way? Is a student indifferent because his work is uninteresting or because he is dull? Is it possible to keep a good man down? Did the child contract tuberculosis through infection by the parent or because it inherited the parent\u2019s weak lungs? These questions are involved in the heredity versus environment controversy, but are not matters which can be settled in this brief talk. We must content ourselves with noting that social and biological inheritance are always in combination and that they are often confused in regard to:\n\n1. Traits of the individual personality,\n2. Sex differences,\n3. Race differences, and\n4. Relations of biological and social change.\n\nIn the first place, then, there is danger of confusion in regard to the individual. John Doe\u2019s native traits have interacted.\nWith his social heritage shaping his personality as John Doe. If he becomes a criminal, we might be inclined to say he was born bad and by nature a criminal. But investigation would probably show that his particular social heritage was poor. His parents may have been ignorant and vicious, his house a shack, his playground the street, his companions a gang, his schooling inadequate. Evil conduct does not always mean evil nature originally, nor does ignorance always mean stupidity.\n\nIn the second place, there is a tendency to confuse social and biological inheritance in considering the differences between men and women. Women, for instance, are supposed by the popular mind to be interested in personal affairs, to be inclined to gossip.\nAnd women have less regard than men for details of the truth, which might be true but should not be accepted as such until the influence of culture has been exhausted. Regarding interest in personal affairs, it should be noted that women's activity was at least historically restricted to the sphere of the family, centered around husband, children, and social relations. If women gossip, it may not be innate malice that impels them, but rather a desire to escape boredom when recreational channels open to men are denied them. If women are deceitful, it should be remembered that for centuries they occupied an inferior social status and were forced to do so.\nTo gain their ends by indirect means since direct aggression was impossible. In the third place, it may be pointed out that social and biological inheritance are often confused in connection with questions of race. An American businessman does not speak English, use the multiplication table, pound a typewriter, and attend baseball games because he has a white skin. If transported as an infant to a Chinese family, he would be exposed to different customs, usages, ideals, and a different art and literature. His plastic mind would be bent to a Chinese pattern of life just as that of a Chinese boy in this country becomes essentially American. We are inclined to consider certain races as by nature inferior, when their culture differs from our own, especially if it is more simple. It may be, however, that they are not inherently inferior but merely different.\nNever had a chance to borrow culture from others as we have. Our material civilization of steam and electricity is merely due to the fact that we developed a mode of thinking known as the scientific method and a systematic body of knowledge called science. When we say that the splitting of a tree by a bolt of lightning is due to electricity rather than an angry spirit, we are reflecting our social heritage just as much as the savage is, and we are not necessarily more intelligent.\n\nFinally, care must be exercised that biological and social change not be confused. Organically, man is almost identical to the cavemen who lived in western Europe. Furthermore, there is reason to believe that his intelligence was equal to our own. Members of the race who decorated the caves of France with their painting some twenty-five thousand years ago might have been as intelligent as we are.\nMembers of Phi Beta Kappa and football stars if living today. The invention of wireless telegraphy by Marconi probably required no greater mental ability, given the contribution of Hertz, Lodge, and others, than that of the unknown genius who long before the dawn of human history invented the bow and arrow. Culturally, man stands on the shoulders of his ancestors, but is of no greater mental stature in his own right than the hunters who pursued the wild horse in Europe many thousands of years ago. Civilization is an accumulated social heritage rather than a sudden increase in mental ability.\n\nOur social destiny depends upon using our relatively fixed abilities to accumulate a knowledge of social relations that can more nearly keep pace with the transformations and problems created by mechanical inventions.\n\nAcres of Diamonds\nBy Russell H. Conwell\nRussell H. Conwell, born February 15, 1843, in South Worthington, Massachusetts, was a renowned clergyman and platform orator. He was pastor of the Baptist Temple in Philadelphia and president of Temple College. \"Acres of Diamonds\" is his most famous series of popular lectures. The title of this lecture originated in 1869 during a trip down the Tigris River. We hired a guide from Bagdad to show us to the Arabian Gulf. This guide resembled the barbers we find in America in certain mental characteristics. He believed it was not only his duty to guide us down the river but also to entertain us with stories. Curious stories.\nAnd there was one tale I recall tonight. The guide grew irritable over my lack of appreciation and, leading my camel by the halter, introduced his story by saying, \"This is a tale I reserve for my particular friends.\" I then gave him my close attention. He told me that near the shore of the River Indus, toward which we were then traveling, there once lived an ancient Persian named Al Hafed. He owned a large farm with orchards, grain fields, and gardens; had money at interest; and was a wealthy and contented man. Content because he was wealthy, and wealthy because he was contented. One day, this old Persian farmer was visited by one of those:\n\nThere lived an ancient Persian named Al Hafed by the River Indus's shore,\nHis farm was large with orchards, grain fields, and gardens galore,\nHe had money at interest and a beautiful wife,\nHis children were lovely, and he lived a contented life.\nWealthy because contented, and contented because wealthy, he abode.\n\nOne day, an unexpected visitor came to his abode.\nThe ancient Buddhist priest told A1 Hafed that this world was once a great bank of fog. The Almighty thrust his finger into this bank of fog and began to move it around, increasing the speed until he whirled the bank of fog into a solid ball of fire. As it rolled through the universe, burning its way through other banks of fog, it condensed the moisture, causing floods of rain to fall upon the heated surface of the world. The internal fires, bursting the cooling crust, threw up the mountains, hills, and valleys of this wonderful world.\n\"And the old priest said, \"If this internal melted mass burst forth and cooled very quickly, it became granite; if it cooled more slowly, copper; if it cooled less quickly, silver; less quickly, gold; and after gold, diamonds were made.\" The old priest said, \"A diamond is a congealed drop of sunlight.\" That statement is literally true. The old priest also said something very curious. He said that a diamond was the last and highest of God's mineral creations, as a woman is the last and highest of God's animal creations. That is the reason, I suppose, why the two have such a liking for each other. (Applause.) The old priest told A1 Hafed that if he had a diamond the size of his thumb, he could purchase a dozen farms like his. \"And,\" said the priest, \"if you had a handful of diamonds, you could\"\nA1 Hafed desired a country and, if he possessed a diamond mine, he could purchase kingdoms and seat his children on thrones through the influence of his great wealth.\n\nA1 Hafed had learned of the diamonds that night and retired to bed impoverished. He longed for an entire mine of diamonds. Early in the morning, he sought out the priest and roused him. I know, from experience, that a priest is irritable when awoken early.\n\nACRES OF DIAMONDS\n\nA1 Hafed inquired, \"Will you tell me where I can find diamonds?\"\n\nThe priest questioned, \"Diamonds? What use have you for diamonds?\"\n\nSaid A1 Hafed, \"I wish to be enormously wealthy.\"\n\n\"Well,\" the priest suggested, \"if you seek diamonds, all you need do is locate them, and then they will be yours.\"\n\n\"But,\" A1 Hafed protested, \"I do not know where to look.\"\n\n\"If you find a river that runs over white sands,\" the priest advised.\nThe priest said, \"High mountains, in those white sands, you will always find diamonds.\"\n\nA1 Hafed asked, \"Do you believe there is such a river?\"\n\nThe priest replied, \"Plenty of them; all you have to do is go where they are.\"\n\nA1 Hafed said, \"I will go.\"\n\nHe sold his farm, collected his money at interest, left his family in charge of a neighbor, and set off in search of diamonds. He began his search at the Mountains of the Moon. Later, he came through Palestine and then wandered into Europe. When his money was all gone and he was in rags, poverty, and wretchedness, he stood on the shore at Barcelona, Spain. A great tidal wave swept through the Pillars of Hercules, and the poor, afflicted stranger could not resist the awful temptation.\nThe old guide told me this story as we rode on, and he sank into the incoming tide, never to rise in this life again. I asked myself why he reserved this story for his particular friends. But when he returned to take up the camel's halter once more, I found it was the first story I'd ever heard where the hero was killed in the first chapter. He went on into the second chapter as if there had been no break.\n\nThe man who purchased Al Hafed's farm led his camel out into the garden to drink. As the animal put its nose into the shallow waters of the garden brook, Al Hafed's servant appeared and struck the man down.\nA successor noticed a curious flash of light from the white sands of the stream. Reaching in, he pulled out a black stone containing a strange eye of light. He took it into the house as a curious pebble and placing it on the mantel that covered the central fire, went his way and forgot all about it.\n\nBut not long after that, the same old priest came to visit the successor. The moment he opened the door, he noticed the flash of light. He rushed to the mantel and exclaimed: \"Here is a diamond! Here is a diamond! Has A1 Hafed returned?\"\n\n\"Oh no, A1 Hafed has not returned and we have not heard from him since he went away,\" the successor replied. \"And that is not a diamond. It is nothing but a stone we found out in our garden.\"\n\n\"But, I know a diamond when I see one,\" the priest insisted.\n\"Then they rushed out into the garden and stirred up the white sands with their fingers, and beautiful, valuable gems came up. The guide said, \"This is how the diamond mines of Golconda, the most valuable diamond mines in ancient history, were discovered.\" When the guide had added the second chapter to his story, he took off his Turkish cap and swung it in the air to call my attention to the moral. Arab guides always have morals to their stories, though the stories are not always moral. He said to me, \"Had Ali Hafed stayed at home and dug in his own cellar or underneath his own wheat field instead of wretchedness, starvation, poverty, and death in a strange land, he would have had acres of diamonds.\"'\nA man in California owned a ranch there in 1847. He heard they had discovered gold in Southern California, though they had not. He sold his farm as a result.\nColonel Sutter, who put a mill on the little stream below the house. One day his little girl gathered some sand in her hands from the raceway and brought it into the house. While she was sifting it through her fingers, a visitor noticed the first shining scales of real gold that were ever discovered in California. Acres and acres of gold. I was introduced, a few years ago, in California, to the one-third owner of the farm, and he was then receiving one hundred and twenty dollars in gold for every fifteen minutes of his life, sleeping or waking. You and I would enjoy an income like that, now that we have no income tax.\n\nProfessor Agassiz, the great geologist of Harvard University, told us at the Summer School of Mineralogy that there once lived in Pennsylvania a man who owned gold on his land.\nA man had a farm in Pennsylvania, and he did with his farm what I should do if I had one. He sold it. (Applause.) Before selling it, he decided to secure employment collecting coal oil. He wrote to his cousin in Canada expressing his desire to go into that business. His cousin replied, \"I cannot engage you, as you do not understand the oil business.\" \"Then,\" he said, \"I will understand it,\" and with commendable zeal, he set himself to the study of the entire coal oil theory. He traced its origins back to the second day of God's creation. He discovered that once there was another sun that shone on this world, and that there were immense forests of vegetation. He found that the other sun was put out, and that this world, after a time, fell into the wake of the darkness.\nThe sun rose. It was then locked in blocks of ice. Mighty icebergs rose, human imagination cannot grasp, and as those mountains of ice rode stormy seas, they beat down original vegetation, planed down hills, topped over mountains, and everywhere buried this original vegetation, which has since been turned by chemical action into primitive beds of coal. Coal oil is found in paying quantities only in connection with this.\n\nHe found out where oil originated. He studied it until he knew what it looked like, what it smelled like, how to refine it, and where to sell it.\n\n\"Now,\" he said to his cousin in a letter, \"I know all about the oil business, from the second day of God's creation to the present time.\"\n\nHis cousin replied, \"Come on.\" So he sold his farm.\nIn Pennsylvania for $833 - he had sold the farm for that amount, no cents. After he had left, the farmer who had bought his place went out to arrange for watering the cattle. He found that the previous owner had already made arrangements for this matter. There was a stream running down the hillside behind the barn. Across that stream, from bank to bank, the previous owner had put in a plank laid edgewise at a slight angle, for the purpose of throwing over to one side of the brook a dreadful-looking scum. The cattle would not put their noses in it, although they would drink on this side below the plank. Thus, that man, who had gone to Canada and had studied all about the oil business, had been damming back for twenty-three years a flood of coal oil which the state geologist said in 1870 was worth to our state a hundred millions of dollars.\nA Hundred Millions! The city of Titusville stands bodily on acres of diamonds that farm now. And yet, though he knew all about the theory, he sold the farm for $833 \u2014 again, I say, \u201cno sense\u201d (Applause).\n\nI need another illustration. I find it in Massachusetts. The young man went down to Yale College and studied mines and mining, and became such an adept at mineralogy that during his senior year in the Sheffield School they paid him as a tutor fifteen dollars a week for the spare time in which he taught. When he graduated they raised his pay to forty-five dollars a week and offered him a professorship. As soon as they did that, he went home to his mother! If they had raised his salary to fifteen dollars and sixty cents, then he would have stayed. But when they made it forty-five dollars a week, he said: \"I won't\"\nA man with a brain like mine working for forty-five dollars a week! His mother said, \"Now, Charley, it is just as well to be happy as it is to be rich.\" He replied, \"Yes, it is just as well to be rich and happy too.\" (Applause.) They were both right. As the only son and a widow, she let him have his way. They sold out in Massachusetts and went not to California but to Wisconsin. He entered the employment of the Superior Copper Mining Company there, earning fifteen dollars a week again. However, he was given an interest in any mines he discovered for the company. I don't believe he\nI have discovered a mine in that area. Yet, I have often felt apprehensive when mentioning this fact in northern Wisconsin, fearing the possibility of the discoverer being present and feeling angered by my account. However, this is the fact, and it seems unfortunate that it may hinder a good illustration. But I don't believe he ever found any other mine. I know nothing about that end of the line. I know that he had scarcely left Massachusetts when the farmer who had purchased his farm was bringing in a large basket of potatoes through the gateway. You know in Massachusetts, our farms are almost entirely stone wall. (Applause.) Hence, the basket hugged very close in the gate, and he dragged it in on one side and then on the other. As he was pulling that basket through the gateway, the farmer noticed in it.\nA professor of mines and mining and mineralogy sat on an eight-inch square block of native silver, located at the upper and outer corner of a stone wall next to the gate, during a bargain sale of his homestead in Newburyport, Massachusetts. Born on that farm, he had rubbed the silver with his sleeve until it reflected his countenance, making it seem as if it was offering him a hundred thousand dollars hidden in the rocks. However, he refused to take it. He disbelieved in the presence of silver in Newburyport, stating, \"There is no silver in Newburyport. It is all away off, \u2014 well, I don't know where.\"\nI don't enjoy these blunders made by \"Professors\" as much as I claim. Elsewhere, there was a Professor of Mineralogy. I'd rather spend my time recounting such errors. But there's another side to consider. The more I ponder, the more I'm curious about what he's doing in Wisconsin tonight. I doubt he's discovered any mines. Instead, I believe he spends his evenings by the fire, with friends gathered around, sharing tales like this:\n\n\"Have you heard of Conwell in Philadelphia?\"\n\"Yes, I have.\"\n\"And what about Jones in [redacted]?\"\n\"Yes, I've heard of him too.\"\nHe begins to shake with laughter and says, \"They have both done the same thing I did precisely!\" But this ruins the joke, as you and I have done it as well. Yet nearly every person here will say, \"Oh, no, I never had any acres of diamonds or any gold mines or any silver mines.\" But I say to you that you did have silver mines, gold mines, and acres of diamonds, and you have them now. I want to speak with great care lest my eccentric manner mislead my listeners and make you think I'm here to entertain more than to help. I want to hold your attention on this oppressive night with sufficient interest to leave my lesson with you. You have an opportunity to be rich, and to some of you, it has been a hardship to purchase a ticket for this lecture.\nYou have no right to be poor. It is your duty to be rich. You have no right to be poor. It's all wrong. I know well that there are some things higher, sublimer than money! Yes, there are some things sweeter, holier than gold! Yet I also know that there is not one of those things but is greatly enhanced by the use of money.\n\n\"Oh,\" you will say, \"Mr. Conwell, can you, as a Christian teacher, tell the young people to spend their lives making money? \"\n\nYes, I do. Three times I say, I do, I do, I do. You ought to make money. Money is power. Think how much good you could do if you had money now. Money is power and it ought to be in the hands of good men. It would be in the hands of good men if we comply with the Scripture teachings, where God promises prosperity to the righteous man. That means more.\nI. Being good means the all-around righteous man. You should be a righteous man, and if you were, you would be rich. (Applause.)\n\nI need to guard myself here. One of my theological students came to me once to debate heresy, as I had said that money is power.\n\nHe said, \"Mr. Conwell, it's my duty to tell you that the Scriptures say, 'money is the root of all evil.' \"\n\nI asked him, \"Have you been spending your time making a new Bible instead of studying theology?\" He replied, \"That is the old Bible.\"\n\nI said, \"I would like to have you find it for me. I have never seen it.\"\n\nHe triumphantly brought a Bible and, with the bigoted pride of a narrow sectarian who founds his creed on some misinterpretation of Scripture, threw it down before me and said:\n\"You can't trust another denomination to read the Bible for you. Young man, please read it yourself and remember 'emphasis is exegesis.' So he read: \"The love of money is the root of all evil.\" The love of money, rather than the love of the good it secures, is a dangerous evil in the community. The desire to get hold of money and to hold on to it, \"Hugging the dollar until the eagle squeals,\" is the root of all evil. But it is a grand ambition for men to have the desire to gain money, that they may use it for the benefit of their fellow men. (Applause) You may never have the opportunity to charge at the head of your Nation's troops on some Santiago's heights.\"\nYoung woman, you may never be called to go out in the seas like Grace Darling to save suffering humanity. But each one of you can earn money honestly, and with that money, you can fight the battles of peace; and the victories of peace are always grander than those of war! I say then to you, that you ought to be rich.\n\n\"Well,\" you say, \"I would like to be rich, but I have never had an opportunity. I never had any diamonds about me!\"\n\nMy friends, you did have an opportunity. And let us see where your mistake was.\n\nAcres of Diamonds\n\nWhat business have you been in?\n\n\"Oh,\" some man or woman will say, \"I keep a store on one of these side streets, and I am so far from the great commercial center that I cannot make any money.\"\n\n\"Are you poor? How long have you kept that store?\"\n\n\"Twenty years.\"\n\n\"Twenty years, and not worth five hundred thousand dollars\"\n\"There's something wrong with you, not the side street. It's with you.\"\n\n\"Oh, now,\" you might say, \"anyone knows that you must be in the center of trade if you're going to make money.\"\n\nThe man of common sense will not admit that this is necessarily true at all. If you are keeping that store and you're not making money, it would have been better for the community if they had kicked you out nineteen years ago.\n\nNo man has a right to go into business and not make money. It is a crime to go into business and lost money, because it is a curse to the rest of the community. No man has a moral right to transact business unless he makes something out of it. He also has no right to transact business unless the man he deals with has an opportunity also to make something. Unless he makes a profit, he is not only a failure in business, but he is a menace to the community.\nlives and lets live, he is not an honest man in business. There are no exceptions to this great rule. (Applause.) You ought to have been rich. You have no right to keep a store for twenty years and still be poor. You will say, \"Now, Mr. Conwell, I know the mercantile business better than you do.\" My friend, let us consider it a minute.\n\nWhen I was young, my father kept a country store, and once in a while he left me in charge. Fortunate for him, it was not often. When I had it in my charge, a man came in the store and said: \"Do you keep jack-knives?\"\n\n\"No, we don't keep jack-knives.\" I went off and whistled a tune, and what did I care for that man? Then another man came in and said:\n\n\"Do you keep jack-knives?\" \"No, we don't keep jack-knives.\"\nI then went off and whistled another tune, and what did I care for that man? Then another man would come in the same door and ask, \"Do you keep jack-knives?\" \"No, we don't keep jack-knives. Don't you suppose we are keeping this store just for the purpose of supplying the whole neighborhood with jack-knives?\" Do you carry on your business like that? Do you ask what was the difficulty with it? The difficulty was that I had not then learned the foundation principles of business success and of Christianity itself. It is the whole of every man's life to be doing for his fellow men. And he who can do the most to help his fellow men is entitled to the greatest reward himself. Not only does God's holy book say so, but so does every man's business common.\nIf I had run my store on a Christian or successful plan, I would have had a jackknife for the third man when he requested it. But you argue, \"I don't manage my store that way.\" If you haven't made any money, you're conducting business that way, and I can predict what you'll tell me tomorrow when I enter your store.\n\nI approach you and inquire, \"Do you know neighbor A?\"\n\"Yes, he lives in the next block. He trades here at my little store.\"\n\"Well, where did he come from when he arrived?\"\n\"I don't know.\"\n\"What business is he in?\"\n\"I don't know.\"\n\"Do his children attend school?\"\n\"I don't know.\"\n\nAcres of Diamonds\n\n\"What ticket does he vote?\"\n\"I don't know.\"\n\"What church does he attend?\"\n\"I don't know, and I don't care.\"\nDo you answer me like that tomorrow morning, in your store? Then you are carrying on your business just as I carried on my father\u2019s business in Worthington, Massachusetts. You don\u2019t know where neighbor A came from and you don\u2019t care. You don\u2019t care whether he has a happy home or not. You don\u2019t know what church he goes to, and you don\u2019t care! If you had cared, you would have been a rich man now. You never thought it was any part of your duty to help him make money. So you cannot succeed! It is against every law of business and every rule of political economy, and I would give five dollars myself to see your failure in the \u201cLedger\u201d tomorrow morning. What right have you to be in business taking no interest in your fellow men and not endeavoring to supply them with what they need? You cannot succeed.\nThat  merchant,  who,  in  the  City  of  Boston,  made  his  fifteen \nmillions  of  dollars,  began  his  enterprises  out  in  the  suburbs \nwhere  there  were  not  a  dozen  houses  on  the  street;  although \nthere  were  other  stores  scattered  about.  He  became  such  a \nnecessity  to  the  neighborhood  that  when  he  wished  to  move  into \nthe  city  to  start  a  wholesale  house,  they  came  to  him  with  a  great \npetition,  signed  by  all  the  people,  begging  that  he  would  not \nclose  that  store,  but  keep  it  open  for  the  benefit  of  that  com\u00ac \nmunity.  He  had  always  looked  after  their  interests.  He  had \nalways  carefully  studied  what  they  wanted  and  advised  them \nrightly.  He  was  a  necessity;  and  they  must  make  him  wealthy; \nfor  in  proportion  as  you  are  of  use  to  your  fellow  men,  in  that \nproportion  can  they  afford  to  pay  you. \nOh,  my  friend,  going  through  this  world  and  thinking  you  are \nUnjustly dealt with! You are poor because you are not wanted. You should have made yourself a necessity to the world, and then the world would have paid you your own price. Friends, The Art of Effective Speaking. Learn that lesson. I would speak tenderly and kindly to the poor; but I sometimes need to speak decidedly. Young man, remember if you are going to invest your life or talent or money, you must look around and see what people need and then invest yourself, or your money, in that which they need most. Then will your fortune be made, for they must take care of you. It's a difficult lesson to learn. Some young men will say to me: \"I cannot go into that mercantile business.\" \"Why not?\" \"Because I have no capital.\" Capital! Capital! Capital! Capital! is the cry of a dudish generation which cannot see over its collar. (Laughter and applause.)\nWho are the rich men now? The poor boys of fifty years ago. You know it. The rich men of your town, in whatever profession or calling they are, as a rule were the poor boys of forty or fifty years ago. If they had not been poor, they wouldn't be rich now.\n\nThe statistics of Massachusetts say, and I presume it holds good in your State, that not one rich man's son in seventeen ever dies rich. I pity the rich man's son. He is not to be praised for his magnificent, palatial home, not to be congratulated on having plenty of money, or his yachts, carriages, and diamonds. Oh no, but rather to be commiserated. It is often a misfortune to be born the son of a rich man. There are many things a rich man's son cannot know, because he is not passing through the school of actual experience.\n\nA young man in our college asked me: \"What is the happiest state or condition of human beings?\"\nThe happiest hour in a man's life is when he takes his bride for the first time over the threshold of his own earned home and says to her, \"Wife, I earned this home myself!\" Oh, that is the grandest moment a man may know. But the rich man's son cannot know that. He may go into a more beautiful house, but as he takes his wife into his mansion, he will go through it and say, \"My mother gave me this.\" \"My mother gave me that.\"\nI pity such a young man as that. It is said that the elder Vanderbilt, when a boy, went to his father and said:\n\n\"Father, did you earn all your money?\"\n\nAnd the old Commodore said: \"I did. I earned every penny of it.\"\n\nAnd he did. It is cruel to slander the rich because they have been successful. It is a shame to \"look down\" upon the rich the way we do. They are not scoundrels because they have gotten money. They have blessed the world. They have gone into great enterprises that have enriched the nation, and the nation has enriched them. It is all wrong for us to accuse a rich man of dishonesty simply because he secured money. Go through this city and your very best people are among your richest people. Owners of property are always the best citizens.\nIt is all wrong to say they are not good. The elder Vanderbilt went to his father and asked, \"Did you earn all your money?\" And when the Commodore said that he did, the boy replied, \"Then I will earn mine.\" He insisted on going to work for three dollars a week. If a rich man's son will go to work like that, he will be able to take care of his father's money when the father is gone. If he has the bravery to fight the battle of poverty like the poor boy, then of course he has a double advantage. But as a rule, the rich father won't allow his son to work; and the boy's mother would think it a social disgrace for her poor, weak, little, lily-fingered, sissy sort of a boy to earn his living with honest toil. I say it is not capital you want. It is not copper cents, but common sense. (Applause.)\nA.T. Stewart had $1.50 to begin life. He lost 87.5 cents on his first venture. How did he lose it? He purchased needles, thread, and buttons to sell, but people did not want them. He said, \"I will never do that again.\" Then he went around to the doors of houses and asked people what they wanted. When he found out what they wanted, he invested his remaining 62.5 cents and supplied a \"known demand.\"\n\nWhy does one merchant go beyond another? Why does one manufacturer outset any other? It is simply because that one has found out what people want and does not waste money buying things they do not need. That is the whole of it.\nA. T. Stewart said, \"I am not going to buy things people don't want. I will take an interest in people and study their needs.\" He pursued this until he was worth forty million dollars. \"But,\" you will say, \"I cannot do that here.\" Yes, you can. It is being done in smaller places now, and you can do it as well as others.\n\nBut a better illustration was John Jacob Astor, the elder. They said that he had a mortgage on a millinery store. I never reach this point without thinking that \"Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.\" (Laughter.) But John Jacob Astor had a mortgage on a millinery store, foreclosed it, and went into business with the same people who had failed on his hands. After he entered into partnership, he went out and sat down on a bench in the Park. What was he doing there?\nA successful merchant, in partnership with those who had recently failed, had the most important and pleasant part of that business out there. He watched ladies as they passed by. Where is the man who wouldn't get rich at that business? As he sat upon that bench, if a lady passed with her shoulders thrown back and head up, looking straight ahead as if she didn't care if all the world gazed on her, John Jacob Astor studied the bonnet she wore. Before it was out of sight, he knew the shape of the frame, the curl of the lace, and the crimp of the feathers, and other intricate details of the bonnet that I cannot describe. He then went to his millinery store and said, \"Now put in the show.\"\nA man described a bonnet to his assistant, as he had just seen a lady wearing it. He then sat down again. A second lady with a different form and complexion entered, wearing a different style of bonnet. The man described this one as well and had it put in the window. He didn't fill his show window with hats in the back of the store and lament because people went elsewhere to trade. He didn't have a hat or bonnet that some lady didn't like. This has since been the wealthiest millinery firm on earth. Seventeen million dollars and over have been taken out of the business by retired partners. Not a dollar of capital have they ever put into the business, except what they turned in from their profits to use as capital. John Jacob\nAstor made the fortune of that millinery firm not by lending them money, but by finding out what ladies liked for bonnets before they wasted any material in making them up. And if a man can foresee the millinery business, he can foresee anything under Heaven. (Laughter and applause.) But perhaps a better illustration may strike closer to home. You ought to go into the manufacturing business. But you say there is no room here. Great corporations which have gotten possession of the field make it impossible to make a success of a small manufacturing business now. I say to you, young man, that there was never a time in your history and never will be in your history again when the opportunity for a poor man to make money in the manufacturing business is so clearly apparent as it is at this very hour.\nA young man spoke to me, saying, \"But I have no capital.\" Oh, capital! Do you know of any manufacturer around here who wasn't born poor? Capital! I want to illustrate again, for the best way to teach is through illustration.\n\nThere was a carpenter in Hingham, Massachusetts, who was out of work. He sat around the stove until his wife told him to \"go out of doors\"; and he did, as every man in Massachusetts is compelled to do by law, he obeyed his wife. He went out and sat down on the shore of the bay and whittled an oak shingle into a wooden chain. His children quarreled over it that evening. So he whittled another to keep peace in the family. While he was whittling the second toy, a neighbor came and said to him, \"Why don't you whittle toys and sell them? You can make money.\"\nThe carpenter said, \"I couldn't whittle toys, and if I could, I wouldn't know what to make!\" This is the crux of the matter. It's knowing what to make that counts. You can apply this in the ministry, in law, in mechanics or labor, in professional life, or anywhere on earth \u2013 the fundamental question is what to make of yourself for others. \"What to make\" is the great challenge.\n\nHe said he wouldn't \"know what to make.\" His neighbor suggested, with good New England common sense, \"Why don't you ask your own children what to make?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" he replied, \"my children are different from other people's children.\"\n\nI used to see people like that when I taught school. But he consulted his children later and whittled toys to please them.\nHe found that other people's children wanted the same things. He called his children around his feet and whittled acres of diamonds from firewood - the Hingham tops, the wooden shovels, the wooden buckets, and such things. When his children were especially pleased, he then made copies to sell. He began to earn a little capital of his own, securing a lathe, then a room, then a factory, and then power; and so he went on. The last law case I ever tried in my life was in the United States Courtroom at Boston, and this very Hingham man who had whittled those toys stood upon the stand. He was the last man I ever cross-examined. Then I left the law and went into the ministry - left practicing entirely and went to preaching exclusively. But I said to this man as he stood upon the stand: \u2014\n\"Said to me, \"When did you begin to whittle those toys?\" I replied, \"In these seven years, how much have those toys become worth?\" He answered, \"Do you mean the taxable value or the estimated value?\" I said, \"Tell the honor the taxable value, that there may be no question about it.\" He answered from the witness-stand under oath: \"Seventy-eight thousand dollars.\" Seventy-eight thousand dollars in only seven years, beginning with nothing but a jack-knife (and a few hundred dollars of debts he owed other people), and so his fortune was worth at least $100,000. His fortune was made by consulting his own children in his own house and deciding that other people's children would like the same thing. You can do the same thing if you will. You don't need to go out of your house to find out where the diamonds are. You don't need to go out of your own room.\"\nBut your wealth is too near. I was speaking in New Britain, Connecticut, on this very subject. A lady sat five or six rows from me. I noticed the lady at the time, from the color of her bonnet. I said to them, what I say to you now, \u201cYour wealth is too near to you! You are looking right over it!\u201d She went home after the lecture and tried to take off her collar. The button stuck in the buttonhole. She twisted and tugged and pulled and finally broke it out of the buttonhole and threw it away. She said, \u201cI wonder why they don't make decent collar buttons?\u201d Her husband said to her, \u201cAfter what Conwell said tonight, why don't you make a collar button yourself? He didn't he say that if you need anything, others need it too; so if you need a collar button, there are millions of people needing it. Get up and make one.\u201d\nA woman could make a collar with buttons and become wealthy. \"Wherever there is a need, there is a fortune.\" (Applause.) She made up her mind and invented the \"Snap button,\" a type of button that snaps together from two pieces through the button hole. With this invention, a woman could afford to go over the sea every summer in her own yacht with her husband. If he were dead, she would have enough money left to buy a foreign count or duke. (Laughter and applause.) My lesson: \"Your fortune is too near to you! So near that you are looking over it.\" She had to look over it, as it was right under her chin.\n\nIn East Brookfield, Massachusetts, there was a shoemaker.\nHe sat on the ash barrel in the back yard, his wife having driven him out with a mopstick to allow her to mop around the stove. Nearby, a mountain stream ran by. I have sometimes wondered if, as he sat there, he thought of Tennyson's beautiful poem:\n\n\"Chatter, chatter, as I flow,\nTo join the brimming river,\nMen may come and men may go,\nBut I go on forever.\"\n\nHe likely did not think of it, as it was not a poetical situation on an ash barrel in the back yard. (Laughter.) But as he sat on that ash barrel, he looked down into the stream and saw a trout flash up and hide under the bank. He leapt down and caught the fish in his hands, bringing it into the house. His wife sent it to a friend in Worcester.\nThe friend wrote back that they would give five dollars for another such trout. The shoemaker and his wife immediately started out to find one. They went up and down the stream, but not another trout to be found. Then they went to the preacher. But that is not as foolish as some other things young people go to a preacher for. That preacher could not explain why they could not find another trout. But he was true to his profession; he \"pointed the way.\" He said: \"Secure Seth Green\u2019s book on the 'Culture of Trout,' and it will give you the information you need.\" They got the book and found that if they started with a pair of trout, a trout would lay 3600 eggs every year, and that every trout would grow an ounce the first year, and a quarter of a pound every succeeding year.\nIn four years, a man could secure four tons of trout annually to sell. They said, \"We don't believe such a great story. But if we could raise a few and sell them for five dollars each, we might make money.\" So they purchased two little trout and put them in the stream with a coal sifter downstream and a window screen upstream to keep the trout in. They later moved to the banks of the Connecticut River and then to the Hudson. One of them has been on the United States Fish Commission, contributing significantly to its preparation for the World's Fair in 1900 in Paris. However, he sat that day on an ash barrel in the backyard, next to his twenty acres of diamonds, but he didn't see them. He had not seen his fortune despite living there for twenty years.\nthree years, until his wife drove him out there with a mopstick. It may be that you will not find your wealth until your wife assumes the sceptre of power! But nevertheless, your wealth is there. (Applause)\n\n400\n\nTHE ART OF EFFECTIVE SPEAKING,\n\nBut the people who make the greatest mistakes are the farmers. When I could not keep my father\u2019s store, he set me to work on the farm, knowing that as the ground was nearly all rock, I could not do much harm there. (Laughter)\n\nI know by experience that a very ordinary man can be a lawyer. I also know that it does not take a man with a gigantic intellect to be a preacher. It takes a greater man than either to be a successful farmer today. The farmer will be more successful when he gives more attention to what people want and not so much to what will grow, though he needs them both.\nBut now the whole time of most farmers is taken up with finding out what will grow. I was going up through Iowa a while ago and saw the wheat decaying in mud, and I asked a farmer: Why is it that all this grain here is decaying?\n\nOh, he said, it's the 'awful' monopoly of the railroads. He didn't use the word 'awful,' but he used a word that he thought was more emphatic. (Laughter.)\n\nI got into the train and I sympathized with the poor downtrodden farmer. The conductor came along and I asked him: How much dividend does this railroad pay on its stock?\n\nHe looked at me and said: It has not paid any for nine years, and it has been in the hands of the receiver most of the time.\n\nThen I changed my mind. If that farmer had raised what the people wanted, not only would he have been rich, but the railroad situation would have been different.\nI was at Evansville, Indiana, when a man drove up in his beautiful carriage and told me, \"Eighteen years ago, I borrowed two hundred dollars and went into farming. I began the first year to raise wheat, rye, and hogs. But the second year, I decided to raise what the people wanted, so I plowed the ground over and put in small fruits. Now, I own this farm and a great deal more.\" They told me at the hotel that he owned two-thirds of the stock in the bank of which he was president.\n\nAcres of Diamonds\n\nHe had made his money all because he planted what people wanted.\n\nLet me go down through the audience now and ask you to show me the great inventors here. You will say, \"That doesn't mean me.\" But it does mean you. Great inventors that are here.\nI. The Simplest Minds Are the Great Inventors\n\nYou may argue that we have no inventors here, as they all reside elsewhere. But who are these great inventors? They are the simplest and plainest men. The great inventor possesses a simple mind and invents the simplest machine.\n\nHave you ever pondered over the simplicity of the telephone and the telegraph? The simplest mind is indeed the greatest. Have you ever encountered a truly great man? If so, you could approach him and ask, \"How are you, Jim?\" Reflect upon the great men you have met, and you will find this to be true.\n\nI embarked on writing the biography of General Garfield and discovered him surrounded by a crowd. I went to a neighbor's house to wait until they had left. However, the neighbor advised me that if I wanted to have a chance to see him, I should go over immediately.\nHe offered to introduce me. He took his old hat and stuck it on the back of his head, climbing over the fence and went to the back-door of the house, shouting, \"Jim! Jim! Jim!\"\n\nVery soon, \"Jim\" came to the door; and the neighbor said, \"Here is a man who wants to see you.\"\n\nI went into the house of one of the grandest men America has ever raised. To his neighbors, he was \"Jim,\" a plain man, a simple man. (Applause.)\n\nI went to see President Lincoln one time when I was an officer in the War of 1861. I had never seen him before, and his secretary sent me in to see him as one would enter a neighbor's office. Simple, plain \"old Abe.\" (Applause.)\n\nThe simple men are the greatest always. Did you ever see a man strut proudly along, puffed up in his individual pride, not the greatest?\nA willing observer to consider an ordinary mechanic? Do you truly believe he is great? He is but a puffed-up balloon, anchored by his large feet. Greatness may reside in self-respect, yet there is no greatness in feeling superior to one's fellow men. (Applause.)\n\nOnce in Minnesota, I posed a question to a class: who were the great inventors? A girl stood up and declared, \"Columbus.\" (Laughter.) Columbus was indeed a great inventor. Columbus wed a woman who owned a farm, and he managed it just as I did my father's. He took the hoe and went out to work on the farm. But as Columbus sat on a rock on the Island of Porto Santo, Spain, he was thinking. I was not. That was a significant difference. Columbus, holding a hoe-handle, gazed out upon the ocean and saw the departing ships.\nships sink into the sea, and the tops of the masts went down out of sight. Since then, some \"other Spanish ships have sunk into the sea\"! (Applause.) Said Columbus: \"This world is like a hoe-handle, the further off the further down, the further off the further down, \u2014 just like a hoe-handle. I can sail around to the East Indies.\" How clear it all was! Yet how simple the mind! It is the simplest minds that observe the very simplest things, which accomplish the greatest marvels.\n\nI went up to New Hampshire and when I came back I said I would never go to New Hampshire to lecture again. And I said to a relative of mine, who was a professor at Harvard: \"I was cold all the time I was there and I shivered so that my teeth shook.\"\n\nSaid he: \"Why did you shiver?\"\n\n\"Because it was cold.\"\n\n\"No, that is not the reason you shivered.\"\nI said, \"I shivered because I didn't have enough bedclothes.\"\n\n\"That's not the reason,\" he replied.\n\n\"Well, Professor, I'm not a scientific man. I'd like a scientific opinion as to why I shivered.\"\n\nHe rose in a facetious manner and said, \"Young man, you shivered because you didn't know any better! Didn't you have a two-cent paper in your pocket? A Herald and a Journal?\"\n\n\"Yes, I had them,\" I replied.\n\n\"That's it. You had them in your pocket, and if you had spread one newspaper over your sheet when you went to bed, you would have been as warm as the richest man in America under all his silk coverlets. But you shivered because you didn't know enough to put a two-cent newspaper on your bed, and you had it in your pocket.\" (Applause)\nIt is the power to appreciate the little things that brings success. How many women want divorces and ought to have them, but how many divorces originate like this? A man rushes home from the factory, and his wife hurries in from the kitchen with the potatoes that have been taken out before they seem done. She puts them on the table for her husband to eat. He chops them up and eats them in a hurry. They go down in hard lumps; he doesn't feel good, and he is filled with crankiness. He frets and scolds, perhaps swears, and there is a row in the family right there. And these hearts that were almost divinely united will separate to satanic hatred. What is the difficulty? The difficulty is that that lady didn't know what all these ladies do know - that if with potatoes raised in lime soil, they should not be taken out of the water until they are fully cooked.\nShe had put in a pinch of salt when she put them in the kettle,\nand could have brought them forth at the right time, making them ready to laugh themselves to pieces with edible joy. He would have digested them readily, and there would have been love in that family, just for a little pinch of salt.\n(Applause.)\nNow, I say, it is the appreciation of these things that makes the great inventors of the world. I read in a newspaper the other day that no woman ever invented anything. Of course, this didn't refer to gossip; but machines and improvements.\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\n(Laughter.)\nIf it had referred to gossip, it would have applied better to that newspaper than to women. (Renewed laughter.)\nWho invented the Jacquard loom? Mrs. Jacquard.\nWho invented the printer's roller? A woman.\nWho invented the telegraph?\n(No response.)\nMrs. Green; although a patent was taken out on an improvement in Mr. Whitney\u2019s name for the cotton-gin. Who invented the sewing-machine? A woman. Mrs. Howe, the wife of Elias Howe. If a woman can invent a sewing-machine, if a woman can invent a printing roller, if a woman can invent a cotton-gin, we men can invent anything under Heaven! (Laughter and applause.) I say that to encourage the men. Anyhow, our civilization would roll back if we should cross out the great inventions of women, though the patents were taken out often in the names of men.\n\nThe greatest inventors are those who see what the people need and then invent something to supply that need. Let me illustrate only once more. Suppose I were to go through this house and shake hands with each of you and say: \u201cPlease introduce me to the great men and women in this hall tonight.\u201d\n\"You would say: \"Great men! We don't have any here. There are none in this audience. If you want to find great men, you must go to some other part of the world! Great men always come from somewhere else.\" How many of your men with vast power to help your city, how many with great genius, or great social power, who might enrich and beautify and elevate this, their own city, are now taking their money and talents and spending them in some foreign place, instead of benefiting their own people here? Yet here is the place for them to be great. There are as great men here as in any other place of its size. But it is so natural for us to say that great men come from afar. They come from London, from Rome, from San Francisco, from New York, from Manchester, or anywhere else. But there are just as great men here.\"\"\nI. Speak to me tonight as others do, and yet, who,\nAcres of Diamonds,\nbecause of their simplicity, are not now appreciated. But \u201cthe world knows nothing of its greatest men,\u201d says the great philosopher; and it is true. Your neighbor is a great man, and it is time you appreciated it. If you do not appreciate it now, you never will. The only way to be a true patriot is to be a true patriot at home. A man who cannot benefit his own city should never be sent to Washington. Towns and cities are cursed because their own people talk them down. A man who cannot bless his own community, the place in which he lives, should not be called a patriot anywhere else. To these young men I want to utter this cry with all my force. Here is the place for you to be great, and here are your great men.\nBut we teach our young people to believe that all great people are away. I heard a professor in an Illinois college say, \"Nearly all the great men are dead.\" We don't want him in Philadelphia. (Laughter.) They don't want him anywhere. The greatest men are living now and will only be exceeded by the generations to come. He who appreciates that fact will look around him and will respect his neighbor and his environment. I have to say to-night that the great men of the world are those who appreciate that which is next to them, and the danger now to our nation is that we belittle everything at home.\n\nHave you heard the campaign speeches this year? I heard a man at the Academy of Music say that our nation is going to ruin; that the Ship of State is drifting upon the rocks and will soon be wrecked unless we change our ways.\n\"soon will be shattered into ten thousand fragments, and this republic will be no more; that there will be founded an empire, and upon the empire we will put a throne, and upon the throne will be placed a tyrant, he with his iron heel will grind the people into dust. It is a lie! (Applause.) Never in the history of God\u2019s government of mankind was there a nation stepping upward more certainly toward all that is grand and beautiful and true than is the Nation of America today! Let the politicians say what they will for personal greed, let them declaim with all their powers, and try to burden the people; you and I know that whichever way the elections may go, the American people are not dead, and the nation will not be destroyed. It is a living body, this mighty Republic, and it cannot be killed.\"\nby a single election. And those who belittle our nation are not patriots. Let the land be filled with hope. Some young men will say: \"Oh well, the nation is having a hard time.\" But it is not. The Bible says: \"It is good for me that I was afflicted.\" We are getting down to where we can consider and take account of stock. In the next five years from this 1893, you will see the most flourishing institutions; all through this land will be united in a prosperity such as this nation never knew before. Whatever the result of the election, don't belittle your own nation.\n\nSome young man is saying: \"There is going to be a great man here, although I don't know of any now.\"\n\n\"Young man, when are you going to be great?\"\n\n\"When I am elected to some political office, then I will be great.\"\n\nOh, young man, learn right now, in these exciting times, that\nTo hold a political office under our form of government is no evidence of greatness. Why, my friends, what would become of this nation if our great men should take office? Suppose you select the greatest men of your city right now and ask them to leave their great enterprises and go into some political office. My friends, what a ruin would be left if the great men were to take political offices! The great men cannot afford to take political office, and you and I cannot afford to put them there. To hold a political office is to be a servant of the people. And the Bible says, \"He that is sent cannot be greater than he who sends him,\" and \"the servant cannot be greater than his master.\" The office-holder is the servant of others. He is sent by the people, he cannot be greater than the people. You think you are electing a master, but you are only choosing a servant.\nA great man is not made by being elected to political office. Greatness is intrinsic, in the personality. If you are not great as an individual before you go into the office, you may rattle around in it after you get in, like a shot in a tin pan. There will be no greatness there. You will hold the office for a year or more and never be heard of again. There are greater things than political office. Many a young man's fortune has been made by being defeated when he was up for political office. You never saw a really great man in office who did not take the office at a sacrifice to himself. Another young man says, \"There is going to be a great man here.\" \"When?\" \"When there comes a war! When we get into another conflict with Spain over Cuba; with England over the Monroe Doctrine,\".\nYoung man, remember greatness does not consist in holding office, not even in war. The office does not make the great man. But alas, we mislead the young in teaching history. If you ask a scholar in school who sank the \"Merrimac,\" he will answer \"Hobson\" and tell seven-eighths of a lie. For eight men sank the \"Merrimac\" at Santiago. Yet where are the women here to night who have kissed the other seven men? (Laughter.)\n\nA young man says: I was studying the history of the War of the Spanish Succession.\nThe other day I read about Generals Grant, Meade, Beauregard, Hood, and these great leaders. Were you read anything about their predecessors? There is very little in history about them. If the office had made their predecessors great, you would not have heard of Grant, or Sherman, or McClellan. But they were great men intrinsically, not made so by the office. The way we teach history leads young people to think that when people get into office they then become great men. But it is terribly misleading. Every great general of the war is credited with many victories he never knew anything about, simply because they were won by his subordinates. But it is unfair to give the credit to a general who did not know anything about it. I tell you if the circumstances were different, many other names would have been in the history books instead.\nIf every man who wore shoulder-straps in our wars had been struck out of existence, great men would have arisen from the ranks of our private soldiers to lead the nation to victory. I will give one more illustration. I don't like to give it. I don't know how I ever fell into the habit. Indeed, it was first given offhand to a Grand Army post of which I was a member. I hesitate to give it now.\n\nI close my eyes and can see my native hills once more. I can see my mountain town and plateau, the Congregational Church, and the Town Hall. They are there spread before me with increasing detail as my years fly by. I close my eyes and can see the crowd again that was there in that war-time, 1864, dressed in red, white, and blue; the flags flying, the band playing.\nI see a platoon of soldiers who have returned from one term of service and reenlisted for the second. They are now to be received by the mountain town. I remember the day! I was captain of the company, although in my teens, I marched at the head of that company and puffed out with pride. A cambric needle would have burst me all to pieces! (Laughter.): I am sincerely ashamed of the whole thing now. But what august pride, then in my youth, marching at the head of my troops, being received by the town authorities! We marched into the Town Hall. They seated my soldiers in the middle of the hall, and the crowds came in on the right and left. Then the town officers filed upon the stand and took up their position in a half-circle. The good old Mayor of the town, and the Chairman of the Selectmen (his family gave me a warm welcome).\nHe sat there in Acres of Diamonds, his dignity evident with his powerful spectacles. He had never held an office in his life before. He may have thought that if he could get into office, it would give him the power to do almost anything. He had never held an office before and never made a speech before. When he had taken his place, he saw me on the front seat, and he came right forward and invited me up onto the platform with the \"Selectmen.\" Invited me, me! up on the stand with the town officers! Why, no town officer had ever taken any notice of me before I went to war; yet perhaps I ought not to say that, because one of them did advise a teacher to \"whale\" me; but I mean no \"honorable mention.\" (Laughter and applause.) Now I am invited on the stand with the Selectmen.\nThey gave me a chair in just about this relation to the table. I sat down, let my sword fall to the floor and waited to be received \u2014 Napoleon the Vth. Pride goes before destruction, and it ought. When the Selectmen and the Mayor had taken seats, the Mayor waited for quite a while, and then came forward to the table. Oh, that speech! We had supposed he would simply introduce the Congressional minister, who usually gave such public addresses. But you should have seen the surprise when this old man arose to deliver the address, on this august occasion. He had never delivered an address before. He thought the office would make him an orator. But he forgot that a man must speak his piece as a boy if he wishes to become an orator as a man. Yet he made a most common mistake. So he had written out his speech and learned it.\n\"But he brought his manuscript with him and took it out, opening it and spreading it on the table. He adjusted his spectacles to see it, then walked back and came forward again to deliver that address. He must have studied the idea greatly, assuming an \u201celocutionary attitude.\u201d He rested heavily on his left heel, slightly advanced his right foot, threw back his shoulders, and advanced his right hand at a angle of forty-five degrees. As he stood in that elocutory attitude, he delivered that speech. Friends often ask me if I do not exaggerate it. I cannot exaggerate it. I haven't the power to exaggerate it. \u2013\n\n\"Fellow citizens!\" \u2013 and then he paused, his fingers and knees shaking, beginning to swallow, then turned aside \u2013\"\nFellow citizens, we are very happy. We are very happy to welcome back these soldiers who have fought and bled and are back in their native town. We are especially pleased to see this young hero with us tonight, who in imagination, we have seen leading his troops to the deadly breach. We have seen his shining sword, flashing in the sunlight, as he led the charge.\nHe shouted to his troops, 'Come on!' (Laughter and applause.)\nOh, dear, dear, dear! He was a good old man, but how little he knew about the War. If he had known anything about war at all, he ought to have known that it is next to a crime for an officer of infantry ever, in time of danger, to go ahead of his men. I, with \u201cmy shining sword flashing in the sunlight,\u201d and calling to my troops, \u201cCome on!\u201d I never did it. Do you suppose I would go in front of my men to be shot in front by the enemy, and in the back by my own men? It is no place for an officer. The place for an officer in time of danger is behind the private soldier. It is the private soldier who faces the enemy. Often, as a staff officer, I have ridden down the line, before the battle, and as I rode I have given the general's order, shouting \"Officers, be prepared!\"\nIn battle, officers go behind the line of private soldiers. The higher the officer's rank, the farther behind. In actual battle, such an officer has no right to go ahead of his men. Some men had carried that boy across Carolina rivers. Some had given him their last sip of coffee. One had leaped in front to save his life. Some weren't there at all. The tears from widows and orphans showed they had gone for their country. Yet, in the good man's speech, he...\nscarcely noticed those who had died; the hero of the hour was that boy. We do not know now where many of those comrades sleep. They went down to death. Sometimes in my dreams I call, \u201cAnswer me, ye sighing pines of the Carolinas; answer me, ye shining sands of Florida; answer me, ye crags and rocks of Kentucky and Tennessee, \u2014 where sleep my dead? \u201d But to my call no answer comes. I know not where many of those men now sleep. But I do know this, they were brave men. I know they went down before a brave foe, fighting for a cause both believed to be right. Yet the hero of this hour was this boy. He was an officer, and they were only private soldiers. I learned a lesson then I will never forget, until the bell of time ceases to swing for me, \u2014 that greatness consists not in holding an office. Greatness really consists in doing great deeds.\nWith little means, in the accomplishment of vast purposes; from the private ranks of life - in benefiting one's own neighborhood, in blessing one's own city, the community in which he dwells. There, and there only, is the great test of human goodness and human ability. He who waits for an office before he does great and noble deeds must fail altogether. I learned that lesson then, and henceforth in life I will call no man great simply because he holds an office. Greatness! It is something more than office, more than fame, more than genius! It is the great-heartedness that encloses those in need, reaches down to those below, and lifts them up. May this thought come to every one of these young men and women who hear me speak tonight and abide through future years. (Applause.)\nI close with the words of Bailey: \"We live in deeds, not years, In feelings, not in figures on a dial, In thoughts, not breaths; We should count time by heart throbs; (in the cause of right) He most lives who thinks most.\" Oh, friends, if you forget everything else I say, don't forget these two lines. For, if you think two thoughts where I think one, you will live twice as much as I do in the same length of time. \"He most lives who thinks most Who feels the noblest, And acts the best.\" (Great applause.) Get facts; look far; think through. William C. Redfield\nI have been trying to find something worth sticking for you. One does not want to present bromides or repeat what instructors will tell you better in the coming weeks. Casting about for something real, I have looked back over a long business life, and two or three brief phrases have occurred to me. Let us take the subject for this evening's talk: the following terse business maxims: Get facts. Look far. Think through.\n\nIn these six words lie packed masses of worldly and spiritual wisdom.\nThe principles of wisdom are easy to express but difficult to implement. They require the abandonment of mental habits, the forsaking of preconceived ideas, the non-acceptance of many current doctrines, the assertion of individuality, the restraint from hasty conclusions, and the formation of unwonted habits. These principles call for effort, training, and long practice. No man has ever succeeded largely in the business world without having all three of these principles present to some degree. On the contrary, the presence of one or another of them without the rest often works serious damage. These principles are full of power, and power that is uncontrolled works harm.\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\n\nGetting facts may make a person a grubber in old tomes if he does nothing else. Looking far may mean to see nothing if he takes no action.\nIf one is to become visionary, this may make him a dreamer in an active world or lead to indecision. The facts must be used with thorough thought and a far outlook if the balance of mental power in business life is to be fruitful. Let us then look briefly at these three principles to see something of what they involve.\n\nFirst, get facts. Applying this principle to the business world, we shall soon see that the men who live up to this principle are relatively few and lonely. Most of us deal to a greater or lesser extent with fancies or fallacies which we hope or believe are facts. Few of us will go as far in practice as the man who said to me, \"If I don't know why I know what I think I know, then I want to know.\" Most of us, however, do not follow this principle consistently.\nBusiness lives are not spent with a commitment to proving assumptions and holding fast to what is good. Facts, as it has been well said, are stubborn things, and if during your business life you do not obtain the facts, the facts will obtain you. It is not always easy to get the facts. On the contrary, it is commonly hard to get them, and because it is hard, we are apt to accept assertions as facts from those whom we think ought to know instead of exerting ourselves to learn them directly.\n\nFor instance, a businessman feels that his competitor uses unworthy practices and is tempted to follow the bad example lest in competition he be outdone. He does not certainly know that his competitor does these things. He is told it and believes it because perhaps he cannot otherwise explain some observations.\nA man's success often depends on obtaining accurate facts about his competitor. It is a common mistake to assume victory without seeking the truth. If he patiently searches for facts, he may save himself from errors in judgment and business mistakes. Another man believes he knows the cost of doing business, but he may not truly be aware. He functions for years without discovering the actual cost. Self-interest, common sense, and other strong motives should make him learn the truth, but they do not. The Chairman of the Federal Trade Commission states that half of business concerns do not know their true business costs, and the experience supports this.\nI once worked as a bookkeeper for a man who refused to allow a trial balance to be taken. For my own protection, under the advice of wiser men, I took this trial balance privately, and he never knew or inquired about the full facts regarding his own business. I was an accountant for a man who, after thirty years of experience, sold an apparatus for $8000 that had cost him $9000 to produce, including overhead. He was angry when a younger man suggested the facts to him. A friend was employed to examine the operations of an industry, but the management strenuously objected to being told that their methods were bad. One must not forget that there are in the business world those who resist being told the truth.\nMen are accurate and careful in the matters we discuss, but there are more of the opposite kind, and some of them sit in high places. Once again, there are men who want all facts that conform to their preconceived opinions and who resent facts that do not agree. Such individuals have little use for the cold and searching light of science, to which all truth is of equal value. They are content with a portion of the facts and object to being shaken out of the rut in which they run.\n\nFurthermore, the business world is full of facts that conflict. There are moral facts that oppose immoral facts; honest facts that hate dishonest facts; partial facts that hate whole facts; crooked facts that abhor the straight ones. Yet the stern teaching of experience is that the crooked and the dishonest prevail.\nTo get facts is fundamental. With them, you stand on solid ground. Without them, or with them but partially, your footing is uncertain. You must have a docile mind if you are to follow this rule - a mind open to truth, even to unpleasant truth, even to truth which sets awry that which you have believed and been taught. Yet the strong man sets his mind firmly to the truth and abhors that particularly villainous form of falsehood which tells but half of it.\n\nFirst and foremost, as a mental quality and as a business practice, I urge upon you this simple yet complex duty: Get facts. Do not be afraid of them, for they have no fear of you.\nYou are safe if you have them with you. Without them, you are always in danger. Know your job. Don't merely think you know it. There is always a place in the world for the man who knows and knows that he knows.\n\nOnce you have accomplished this, you have well begun. Candidly, you will probably spend a lifetime doing it and meanwhile have other serious work to do.\n\nNext, I have set the principle \"Look far.\" Let no pent-up Utica confine your powers. The way in which you treat this second principle will show if you are large or small men. A small man may get facts, but he cannot use them largely, for he is too small himself. A blind man might have certain facts at hand of which he was aware, but he could not use them well since he is blind.\n\nIn the mental world, there are relative shades of blindness.\nThere is a great deal of nearsightedness, a very large mass of ordinary sight; but the men of far mental sight, those who are called men of light and leading, are few and far between. Yet your ability to see far depends on your power to use the facts you get. You may, for example, some day run a factory and be concerned with paying wages. You may, if you do not look far, even speak of the men you employ as \"hands.\" There are plenty of short-sighted men who call them so. If you look far, however, you will see that it would be wiser to think of them as minds, or even as souls. For men do not work with hands alone but with heart and brain. You can never lead hands; but you may, if you have facts and look afar, come to lead men. If you look far, you will never describe human beings in terms of just their physical attributes.\nYou will see that the distinction between arithmetic and men is clear. You will not, upon closer examination, believe in the concept of a day's work, as there is no such thing and will not be until all men work alike everywhere. There are as many kinds of day's work as there are kinds of men, but men are infinitely variable. If you look far, you will not think that a fixed rate of pay produces a fixed result, for you will understand that men are unlike and that what one can do, another cannot, and that what a second will do, a third will not. In dealing with men, you are dealing with character and temperament and health and heredity and a mass of other things that make up the complex being we call \"man,\" and which sometimes, in our nearsightedness, we describe as a two-dollar man or a three-dollar man.\nIf you look far, you will see beyond a whole mass of current phrases and ideas which are the outward and visible expression of the average mind, but across which he who looks far sees clearly a more distant and more fruitful horizon. Nay, the very act of looking far will make facts precious to you, for the broad vision will bring them to your sight and make you value them.\n\nThere are all sorts of phrases which describe nearsightedness but which farsight overrules. Nearsight says, \"Charity begins at home.\" Farsight adds, \"But does not end there.\" Nearsight would say, \"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.\" Farsight would say, \"What kind are in the bush and can I get them?\" Near-sight would say, \"Thus I have been taught.\" Farsight would say, \"Is this teaching true?\" Nearsight would have you live in a parish and be a parochial businessman. Farsight would have you live in a wider world.\nThe Art of Effective Speaking: In the world and draw upon its richness for enlarging your life. It is one of the great phrases from the Old Book, an inspiring one, which says, \"Thou hast taken me and thou hast set me in a large place.\" Having acquired the habit of getting facts and having caught the vision of things from afar, make your thinking straight. How many men in the business world think in circles or at best in curves; whose minds lack the penetrating power which goes to the heart of things. If you have gotten facts and have the farsight, use the latter on the former to make all things mentally clear. If you do not think clearly, you cannot talk clearly. Good salesmanship is not a product of mental indigestion. Do you want to be able to state the facts of business clearly?\nTo men of business? Then you must think through those facts so that they are wholly controlled by you, so that they have become a part of your mental self, so that you will not stumble over your own mental obstructions in the very act of stating your case. A business problem will arise before you. First, get the facts about it and treat them in a broad way, not in a narrow way. Do not stick them in a groove in which you like to run because it is easy and attempt to push them ahead of you in that same old line. Get them all and spread them on your mental table; get their bearings and adjust them in their actual relations, so that you may know how they lock and interlock. In this process, you are thinking through those facts, and if you continue it to the end, you will control the use of those facts.\nMen who mean well and are willing to get the truth and use it broadly, but do not think things through effectively, are a common sight in life. Thorough thinking is one of the finest safeguards a man can have against error. As he sits down with his facts and chews them over and over again, the false separates itself from the truth, the trifling from the essential, the strong from the weak, and the useless are discarded, allowing true values to come to light.\n\nGet facts; look far; think through.\n\nI have found men in business problems who had thought well but not thoroughly about the matter at hand. I have also met men who were masters of the thing with which they dealt. Thorough thinking would remove many of their errors.\nMany a phantom which, though a ghost, still exerts power upon our thought. Thorough thinking will destroy many a false ideal. Slavery could not endure thorough thinking about the subject. The dueling practice, with its false sense of honor, could not endure thorough thinking about it. Many a business and political fallacy will die an early death to him who thinks it through. Many a teacher may be embarrassed to have his pupils do thorough thinking, but it will do both the teacher and the pupil good to have this so. The process is not one which lends itself to smartness. To think through a thing is not always a quick process. There are men with minds like light, which seem to penetrate into the recesses of a subject. One of slower mental habit need not worry. He may in the end go deeper.\nStand on firmer ground. Quick comprehension is the most desirable business quality to be sought and valued, but it is not the same thing as thorough thinking, and it does not replace it. Finally, a few words on the ideals of business. The business life, if you treat it fairly, will call forth your best. It will mean the search for truth. It will mean a broad and human philosophy. It will mean keen, incisive thought. All these are good. But your business is not your life. It is the means by which you live, but your life is something else. To be absorbed in business so that you live for it is to be intellectually and spiritually maimed. One who does so is not a whole man but only a part of what might be a complete man. Of course, gaining has wonderful interest. It is fascinating to pit mind against mind in the business world.\nThe mind, knowledge, acumen, reflection, and energy in opposition to similar powers in other men are a splendid and ennobling aspect of life, yet they only represent a part. There is a certain shallow criticism among us that fails to grasp the facts, lacks depth, and fails to think things through. This criticism suggests that business is sordid and its motto is \"an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.\" However, this city and others are filled with the works of men who, after they have succeeded in business, have allowed their ideals to flourish in enriching the towns that birthed them or in which they reside. Every such gift serves as a testament against the shallow assertion that business is entirely sordid. Yet, in making this statement, I have not provided a comprehensive glimpse of all the ways in which business can uplift and contribute to society.\nFacts about it. There are factories all over this land, thank God, in which men think through business problems with a far vision of the facts and have grasped the ideal of service to and through those they employ, holding up before them and to the world examples of leadership that make the business life stand on a level with all that is best in statesmanship and art and music and the law and the ministry and the other great and beautiful productive professions. It is true, of course, it is a part of the facts, that there are those \u2013 many of them \u2013 in business who only seek to get and who never think to give, either of themselves or of that which they possess. So there are weak, wicked men in other high professions, men who prostitute art and medicine and perhaps other fields.\nThe pulpit; those who separate themselves from the great facts of life and with narrow vision think only on the surface of their petty and selfish desires. Yet, if the mills of the gods grind slowly, they grind exceedingly small. If we watch the facts of the growth of public thought and the increase of broad vision and of the habit of thorough thinking, we shall see, if we look far enough, that these things are doomed. Selfishness is taken at its true lack of value. Littleness is known to be a small thing. Wealth without vision or ideals is power misplaced, and is sternly judged as such. So we may hope that as the love of truth and obedience to it shall grow, and as with firmer footing thereon we look afar and think clearly on what we see, we shall see our beloved America advancing to that primacy among the nations.\nNations which await the nation that honors facts, that looks afar, and that thinks clearly.\n\nThe Usurpations of Society\nBy Oscar W. Firkins\n\nNature has two great modes of existence: the crystalline and the organic. Society has two stages which likewise correspond to the crystal and the organism. Analyze any common stone, and you will notice that the individual crystals it contains are each perfect, complete, and beautiful, while the stone itself is rough, incomplete, unsymmetrical. Analyze any organism, and you will notice that the cells of which it is composed are perfectly organized and interconnected.\n\nThe crystalline stage of society is that of the individual, where each person is perfect and complete in their own right. The organic stage is that of the collective, where the individuals come together to form a greater whole. In the crystalline stage, each person is like a crystal in a stone, beautiful and complete in itself, but lacking the larger context and interconnectedness of the organic stage. In the organic stage, the individuals form a society, a living organism that is greater than the sum of its parts.\n\nThe usurpations of society occur when the organic stage attempts to suppress the crystalline stage, when the collective tries to mold the individual into a shape that fits its needs rather than allowing the individual to be true to themselves. This is a dangerous and unnatural state of affairs, for the individual is the source of all creativity, all progress, and all innovation. It is only when the individual is free to be themselves that society can truly flourish.\n\nTherefore, let us honor the facts, look afar, and think clearly, and work to create a society that allows each individual to be perfectly and beautifully themselves, while also contributing to the greater whole. Only then can we truly say that we have a healthy and vibrant society.\nComposed in their entirety, these elements are worthless and imperfect. Their beauty, usefulness, and perfection lie in their relationship to the central whole, which is the only complete, entire, and symmetrical thing in the organism.\n\nIn its barbarous state, society is a group of crystals; in its civilized state, it is an agglomeration of cells. Take any uncultivated society, and you will notice two things: first, the perfect development of individual members, and second, the rudeness and incompleteness of society itself. It advances, however, and gains harmony, symmetry, perfection, unity. It becomes an organic whole; while the members that compose it slowly lose more and more of their individual perfection. Their whole greatness, power, life, and existence lie in their relation to the complete organism of society.\nThis is the state of affairs at the present day; man's whole soul and being lie in his social relation. He has ceased to be an integer; he has become a fraction. Our objects are social aims; our ideas are social thoughts; our feelings are social emotions; our lives are social existences. Our deepest thoughts are a species of private theatrics that we play before an imaginary audience. For what were we created? To have deep relations with God, to hold in our hearts a sacred chamber which should be to us a holy of holies, to build up in our lives cathedrals to the honor of Deity, to be, in the words of Emerson, \"inlets into the depths of reason.\" No; we were made to be little wedges and screws, whose only use is to fit into the great machine of society, and which apart from that use are merely worthless old iron.\nMan's nature has become like water drops in the ocean, which by themselves are absolutely transparent and colorless. Only when grouped together in large masses do they form the bright and beautiful blue of the sea. At the threshold of our lives, society meets us and offers us the following agreement: I will feed you, nourish you, support you; you shall have clothing, warmth, and shelter; your property shall be protected; your life shall be secure; you shall enjoy certain privileges, and all I ask in return is that you surrender to me your brain, your thought, your soul. \"Think my thoughts and you shall eat my bread,\" is the silent compact to which society pledges every one of us. If nature is the mother of man, society is his stepmother, and she has an elaborate system of education by which she seeks to reverse and neutralize our natural tendencies.\nThat mother's instruction: You are dull; dullness is dangerous to society; therefore, you shall be patched and mended, shellacked and varnished until you have reached the proper degree of mediocrity. You are a genius; genius is equally dangerous to society; therefore, you shall be trimmed and pruned, mutilated and dwarfed until you, too, are properly mediocre. Hence, it happens that the nineteenth century is fertile beyond all other ages in great nations, great institutions, and great societies, and barren beyond most other ages in great men. For the state of society which tends to produce greatness in states is directly opposed to that which tends to produce greatness in individuals. Society's usurpations\nThe state can perfectly develop by mutilating the separate twigs, making the whole tree symmetrical. She understands that as a great man is the highest blessing to a nation in adversity, so he is the greatest danger in prosperity; and she guides her conduct by his principle. But if society is logical in endeavoring to stunt man, is man equally logical in allowing himself to be stunted? If the spirit of self-preservation leads one to enforce this system, should not the same spirit lead the other to resist it? I am far from undervaluing the importance of social relations, but those elements of man's nature by which he is related to his fellow man are generally the more shallow and superficial parts of his character. Therefore, when these relations become the sole object of his concern.\nLife's superficial qualities develop at the expense of deeper ones. Society plays a prominent role in shaping a man's character, but solitude is the mother of great thoughts. Yet, even great actions have their source in qualities that solitude alone can develop. The petals and stamens of the lily are open to the light, but the roots, through which alone the petals form their crown of brightness and the stamens uplift their spires of gold, are deeply hidden in the darkness beneath the ground. The true glory, the true beauty of man's life, lies in his relationship to God and to himself; his social life is noble only as it expresses and embodies these.\n\nThis predominance of social qualities has rendered life.\nThe nineteenth century regards with the utmost indifference those great questions and principles which were the very life and being of former ages, while it concentrates its highest thought and feeling on those external and surface qualities which former epochs would have regarded as trifles. There have been men to whom life was a holy and awful thing, in whose hearts \"Michael and his angels fought against the dragon and his angels,\" to whom every moment was the gateway of an Elysium or the threshold of a Tartarus; who heard in their own souls the awful thunders of Sinai, and who felt in their own bosoms the holy calm of an Olivet; who knew that the hours are the sculptors of the eternities, that every pure thought, every holy feeling, is, in the words of the most sublime of poets, \"etched on heaven's tablets.\"\n\"The golden key that opens the palace of eternity. To them, life was an Alpine country with its great mountains towering skyward, its dark and bottomless abysses, its caverns haunted by unknown horrors, its mighty glaciers, and its awful precipices. It was a chaos of sublimity and horror, of grandeur and desolation. Now, what have we done? We have leveled, smoothed, and graded this wild and barbarous country. We have torn down every mountain, filled up every chasm, reduced it to a perfectly even lawn, an admirably trimmed and exquisitely decorated park, infinitely more comfortable and infinitely less grand. Life has lost its heights and its depths; its summits and its abysses; all its grandeurs and all its horrors; all its sublimity and all its barbarity. Earth, once a vast cathedral, is now a ballroom, where we are doomed to dance away,\"\nTalk away, eat away, sleep away, life. Life, instead of being a holy trust from God, a thing of infinite sublimity and infinite sacredness, is now a mere toy, a plaything with which we are to amuse ourselves. The soul of man has the great capacity to expand, so that it will fill a universe, or contract, so that it can be contained in a nutshell. The great crime of the nineteenth century is that it offers us the nutshell, not the universe. I do not desire to underrate the great qualities of our epoch; it is the happiest, the most intellectual, the most moral of all ages; it is a proper, decorous and well-behaved epoch, to characterize it in one word, it is an eminently respectable age; but it is narrow in feeling, it is limited in soul; it has substituted material comforts for spiritual values.\na religion of the intellect for the religion of the heart; it has exalted man\u2019s lower qualities almost into sublimity, while it has degraded his higher ones almost into baseness. It has dwarfed man by making his social qualities the sum of his being, and by sacrificing each individual soul to that vast nothing, that infinite shadow, that lifeless sum total of all lives, which we call humanity.\n\nI would give all this metaphysical speculation, with its Penelope\u2019s web forever unraveling what it has woven before, all these achievements of physical science offering us a false mirage of happiness, all these brilliantly fruitless inventions and discoveries of ours, for one spark of that intense fire which lit the soul of Wickliffe and burned in the bosom of Luther.\n\nI would sacrifice all this rainbow-tinted art and culture, all this empty pomp and ceremony, for one genuine, heartfelt belief.\nIn view of these facts, the nineteenth century might well exclaim:\n\"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player\nThat struts and frets his hour upon the stage\nAnd then is heard no more: it is a tale\nTold by an idiot, full of sound and fury,\nSignifying nothing.\"\n\nBut the doom is not irreversible. The decrees of destiny never become law, until they are ratified by our own wills. It rests with each one of us to resist, to battle, to conquer these tendencies of our age. Make our aim not the fleeting and ephemeral gifts of society, but the eternal and limitless grandeur of man.\n\nLincoln's \"Springfield Speech\"\nMr. President and Gentlemen of the Convention,\n\nIf we could first know where we are and whither we are tending, we could better judge what to do and how to do it. We are now far into the fifth year since a policy was initiated with the avowed object and confident promise of putting an end to slavery agitation. Under the operation of that policy, that agitation has not only not ceased but has constantly augmented. In my opinion, it will not cease until a crisis shall have been reached and passed. \"A house divided against itself cannot stand.\" I believe this government cannot endure permanently half slave and half free. I do not expect the Union to last.\nI do not expect the house to fall, but I do expect it will cease to be divided. It will become all one thing or all the other. Either the opponents of slavery will arrest the further spread of it and place it where the public mind shall rest in the belief that it is in the course of ultimate extinction; or its advocates will push it forward till it shall become lawful in all the States, old as well as new, North as well as South. Have we no tendency to the latter condition? Let anyone who doubts carefully contemplate that now almost complete legal combination \u2014 this piece of machinery, so to speak \u2014 compounded of the Nebraska doctrine and the Dred Scott decision. Let him consider not only what work the machinery is adapted to do, and how well adapted; but also let him consider where it is tending.\nThe new year of 1854 found slavery excluded from more than half the States by state constitutions and from most national territory by congressional prohibition. Four days later, the struggle began to repeal that congressional prohibition. This opened all national territory to slavery, marking the first point gained.\n\nBut, so far, Congress had only acted; an endorsement by the people, real or apparent, was indispensable to save the point already gained and give chance for more. This necessity had not been overlooked but had been provided for in the notable argument of Lincoln's \"Springfield Speech.\"\n\"squatter sovereignty\" or \"sacred right of self-government,\" the latter phrase expressing the only rightful basis for artistic government, was perverted in this attempted use to mean: If one man chooses to enslave another, no third man shall object. This argument was incorporated into the Nebraska bill itself, in the following language: \"It being the true intent and meaning of this act not to legislate slavery into any Territory or State, nor to exclude it therefrom; but to leave the people thereof perfectly free to form and regulate their domestic institutions in their own way, subject only to the Constitution of the United States.\" The roar of loose declamation in favor of \"squatter sovereignty\" and \"sacred right of self-\"\ngovernment. But, opposed members suggested amending the bill to explicitly allow the people of the Territory to exclude slavery. Not we, supporters of the measure, and they voted down the amendment.\n\nThe Nebraska bill was being debated in Congress when a law case concerning a negro's freedom, due to his owner taking him first into a free state and then into a Territory under the congressional prohibition, was making its way through the United States Circuit Court for the District of Missouri. Both the Nebraska bill and the lawsuit reached a decision in the same month of May, 1854. The negro's name was Dred Scott.\nBefore the next presidential election, the Supreme Court argued the law case regarding slavery in a territory. However, the decision was deferred until after the election. On the Senate floor, Senator Trumbull asked the leading advocate of the Nebraska bill for his opinion on whether a territory's people could constitutionally exclude slavery from their limits. He replied, \"That is a question for the Supreme Court.\"\n\nThe election came, and Buchanan was elected, securing the second point. However, the indorsement fell short of a clear popular majority by nearly four hundred thousand votes, making it potentially unreliable and unsatisfactory. In his last annual message, the outgoing President impressively stated...\nThe indorsement's weight and authority echoed back to the people. The Supreme Court met again but did not announce their decision, instead ordering a reargument. The presidential inauguration ensued, and still no decision from the court; however, the incoming President in his inaugural address fervently urged the people to abide by the forthcoming decision, whatever it may be. A few days later, the decision was handed down. The reputed author of the Nebraska bill spoke at the capital endorsing the Dred Scott decision and vehemently denouncing all opposition to it. The new President also seized the early opportunity of the Silliman letter to endorse and strongly construe that decision, expressing his astonishment that any different view had ever been entertained. Eventually, a squabble arose between the President and [someone].\nThe author of the Nebraska bill debated with Lincoln over the fact of whether the Lecompton constitution was made by the people of Kansas. In this dispute, Lincoln declared that he only wanted a fair vote for the people, regardless of whether slavery was voted down or up. I do not believe this statement from Lincoln was meant otherwise than as a definition of the policy he wished to promote in public opinion \u2013 the principle for which he had suffered so much and was prepared to suffer to the end. Lincoln should rightfully cling to this principle if he has any parental feelings. This principle is the last remnant of his original Nebraska doctrine. Under the Dred Scott decision.\n\"squatter sovereignty\" disappeared, crumbled like temporary scaffolding, - like the mold at the foundry, served through one blast and fell back into loose sand, - helped carry an election and was then kicked to the winds. Its late joint struggle with the Republicans against the Lecompton constitution involves nothing of the original Nebraska doctrine. That struggle was made on a point - the right of a people to make their own constitution - upon which the Republicans have never differed.\n\nThe several points of the Dred Scott decision, in connection with Senator Douglas\u2019s \u201cI care not\u201d policy, constitute the pieces of machinery in its present state of advancement. This was the third point gained. The working points of that machinery are:\n\n(1) That no negro slave, imported as such from Africa, and\n(2) that no negro of African descent, whether imported or native,\n(3) could claim citizenship in the United States or any territory subject to its jurisdiction.\n(4) That Congress could not prohibit a slave owner from taking his slave into federal territory.\n(5) That the Missouri Compromise, which prohibited slavery in certain territories, was unconstitutional.\nNo descendant of such a slave can ever be a citizen of any State, in the sense of that term as used in the Constitution of the United States. This point is made to deprive the negro in every possible event of the benefit of that provision of the United States Constitution which declares that \"the citizens of each state shall be entitled to all the privileges and immunities of citizens of the several states.\"\n\n(2) That, \"subject to the Constitution of the United States,\" neither Congress nor a territorial legislature can exclude slavery from any United States Territory. This point is made to allow individual men to fill up the Territories with slaves without danger of losing them as property and thus enhance the chances of permanency to the institution through all the future.\nThat the holding of a negro in actual slavery in a free State does not make him free as against the holder, the United States courts will not decide, but will leave to be decided by the courts of any slave State the negro may be forced into by the master. This point is not pressed immediately, but, if acquiesced in for a while and apparently endorsed by the people at an election, then to sustain the logical conclusion that what Dred Scott's master might lawfully do with Dred Scott in the free State of Illinois, every other master may lawfully do with any other slave in Illinois or any other free State.\n\nAuxiliary to all this, and working hand in hand with it, the Nebraska doctrine, or what is left of it, is to educate and mold public opinion, at least Northern public opinion, not to care.\nWhether slavery is voted down or up reveals our current position and partially our tendency. This will shed additional light on the latter to go back and review the historical facts stated. Several things will now appear less dark and mysterious than they did when they were transpiring. The people were to be \"perfectly free,\" \"subject only to the Constitution.\" Outsiders could not then see what the constitution had to do with it. Plainly enough now, it was an exactly fitted niche for the Dred Scott decision to afterward come in and declare the people's freedom to be just no freedom at all. Why was the amendment expressly declaring the right of the people voted down? Plainly enough now, the adoption of it would have spoiled the niche for the Dred Scott decision. Why was the amendment expressly declaring the right of the people voted down and the niche for the Dred Scott decision spoiled? The Dred Scott decision would have been unable to declare the people's freedom to be no freedom at all if the amendment had been adopted.\nWhy was a senator's opinion withheld until after the presidential election? The speaking out then would have damaged the \"perfectly free\" argument upon which the election was based. Why the Lincoln's \"Springfield Speech,\" the outgoing President's felicitation on the indorsement? Why the delay of the reargument? Why the incoming President's advance exhortation in favor of the decision? These things look like the cautious petting and patting of a spirited horse before mounting him, when it is dreaded that he may give the rider a fall. Why the hasty after-endorsement of the decision by the President and others?\n\nWe cannot absolutely know that all these exact adaptations are the result of preconcert. But when we see a lot of framed timbers, different portions of which we know have been gotten from various sources, it is reasonable to suspect that they may have been joined together with some design.\nout  at  different  times  and  places,  and  by  different  workmen,  \u2014 \nStephen,  Franklin,  Roger,  and  James,  for  instance,  \u2014  and  we \nsee  these  timbers  joined  together,  and  see  they  exactly  make  the \nframe  of  a  house  or  a  mill,  all  the  tenons  and  mortises  exactly \nfitting,  and  all  the  lengths  and  proportions  of  the  different  pieces \nexactly  adapted  to  their  respective  places,  and  not  a  piece  too \nmany  or  too  few,  not  omitting  even  scaffolding  \u2014  or,  if  a  single \npiece  be  lacking,  we  see  the  place  in  the  frame  exactly  fitted  and \nprepared  yet  to  bring  such  a  piece  in  \u2014  in  such  a  case  we  find  it \nimpossible  not  to  believe  that  Stephen  and  Franklin  and  Roger \nand  James  all  understood  one  another  from  the  beginning,  and \nall  worked  upon  a  common  plan  or  draft  drawn  up  before  the \nfirst  blow  was  struck. \nIt  should  not  be  overlooked  that,  by  the  Nebraska  bill,  the \nThe people of a State and a Territory were to be \"perfectly free,\" subject only to the Constitution. Why refer to a State? The legislation was for Territories, not States. The people of a State are and ought to be subject to the Constitution of the United States. But why is this mentioned in this purely territorial law? Why are the people of a Territory and the people of a State therein lumped together, and their relation to the Constitution treated as identical? While the court's opinion by Chief Justice Taney in the Dred Scott case, and the separate opinions of all the concurring judges, explicitly state that the Constitution of the United States does not permit Congress or a territorial legislature to exclude slavery from any United States territory.\n\nCleaned Text: The people of a Territory and the people of a State were to be \"perfectly free,\" subject only to the Constitution. The legislation was for Territories, not States. The people of a State are and ought to be subject to the Constitution of the United States. But why is this mentioned in this purely territorial law? Why are the people of a Territory and the people of a State treated as having the same relation to the Constitution? While the court's opinion by Chief Justice Taney in the Dred Scott case, and the separate opinions of all the concurring judges, explicitly state that the Constitution of the United States does not permit Congress or a territorial legislature to exclude slavery from any United States territory.\nTerritory: they all omit declaring whether or not the same Constitution permits a State or the people of a State to exclude it. possibly, this is a mere omission; but who can be quite sure if McLean or Curtis had sought to get into the opinion a declaration of unlimited power in the people of a State to exclude slavery from their limits, just as Chase and Mace sought to get such a declaration, in behalf of the people of a Territory, into the Nebraska bill \u2014 I ask, who can be quite sure that it would not have been voted down in the one case as it had been in the other? The nearest approach to the point of declaring the power of a State over slavery is made by Judge Nelson. He approaches it more than once, using the precise idea, and almost the language too, of the Nebraska act. On one occasion his exact words are: \"The Constitution does not forbid a State to exclude slavery within its own limits.\"\nThe law of a State is supreme over the subject of slavery within its jurisdiction, except in cases where the power is restrained by the Constitution of the United States. The question of when the power of the States is so restrained is left open, as is the same question regarding the power of the Territories in the Nebraska Act. Combined, we have another potential niche for a Supreme Court decision declaring that the Constitution of the United States does not permit a State to exclude slavery from its limits. This may especially be expected if the doctrine of \"care not whether slavery be voted up or down\" gains sufficient public support.\nSuch a decision is all that slavery lacks to be lawful in all the States. Welcome or unwelcome, such a decision is probably coming and will soon be upon us, unless the power of the present political dynasty is met and overthrown. We shall lie down pleasantly dreaming that the people of Missouri are on the verge of making their state free, but awake to the reality that the Supreme Court has made Illinois a slave state. To meet and overthrow the power of that dynasty is the work now before all those who would prevent that consummation. That is what we have to do. How can we best do it?\n\nThere are those who denounce us openly to their own friends, and yet whisper that Senator Douglas is the aptest tool.\nA instrument exists for effecting that object. They want us to infer all from the fact that he now has a quarrel with the present head of the dynasty, and that he has regularly voted with us on a single point upon which he and we have never differed. They remind us that he is a great man, and that the largest of us are very small ones. Grant this. But \"a living dog is better than a dead lion.\" Judge Douglas, if not a dead lion for this work, is at least a caged and toothless one. How can he oppose the advances of slavery? He doesn't care anything about it. His avowed mission is impressing the \"public heart\" to care nothing about it. A leading Douglas Democratic newspaper thinks Douglas's superior talent will be needed to resist the revival of the African slave-trade.\nDouglas believes an effort to revive the slave trade is approaching? He has not said so. Does he really think so? But if it is, how can he resist it? For years, he has labored to prove it a sacred right of white men to take negro slaves into the new Territories. Can he possibly show that it is less a sacred right to buy them where they can be bought cheapest? And unquestionably, they can be bought cheaper in Africa than in Virginia. He has done all in his power to reduce the whole question of slavery to one of a mere right of property; and as such, how can he oppose the foreign slave-trade? How can he refuse that trade in \"that property\" shall be \"perfectly free,\" unless he does it as a protection to home production? And as the home producers will probably not ask for protection, he will be wholly without a ground of opposition.\nSenator Douglas holds that a man may rightfully be wiser today than yesterday and change when he finds himself wrong. But can we, for that reason, run ahead and infer that he will make any particular change of which he, himself, has given no intimation? Can we safely base our action on any such vague inference? Now, as ever, I wish not to misrepresent Judge Douglas's position, question his motives, or do anything that can be personally offensive to him. Whenever, if ever, he and we can come together on principle so that our great cause may have assistance from his great ability, I hope to have interposed no adventitious obstacle. But clearly, he is not now with us\u2014he does not pretend to be\u2014he does not promise ever to be. Our cause must be intrusted to, and conducted by, its own people.\nown  undoubted  friends  \u2014  those  whose  hands  are  free,  whose \nhearts  are  in  the  work,  who  do  care  for  the  result.  Two  years \nago  the  Republicans  of  the  nation  mustered  over  thirteen  hun\u00ac \ndred  thousand  strong.  We  did  this  under  the  single  impulse  of \nresistance  to  a  common  danger,  with  every  external  circumstance \nagainst  us.  Of  strange,  discordant,  and  even  hostile  elements, \nwe  gathered  from  the  four  winds,  and  formed  and  fought  the \nbattle  through,  under  the  constant  hot  fire  of  a  disciplined, \nproud  and  pampered  enemy.  Did  we  brave  all  then  to  falter \nnow?  \u2014  now,  when  that  same  enemy  is  wavering,  dissevered, \nbelligerent?  The  result  is  not  doubtful.  We  shall  not  fail  \u2014  if \nwe  stand  firm  we  shall  not  fail.  Wise  counsels  may  accelerate \nor  mistakes  delay  it,  but,  sooner  or  later,  the  victory  is  sure  to \ncome. \nOUTLINE:  \u201c  SPRINGFIELD  SPEECH \u201d \nI. Slavery agitation continues. II. It will continue until a crisis is reached and passed, at which point: A. We must make a decision as to whether the country shall become all slave or all free. B. My purpose will be to show that we are headed in the first direction.\n\nI. Leaders of the Democratic Party are in a conspiracy to nationalize slavery, as evidenced by: 1. The enactment of the Kansas-Nebraska bill in 1854, which opened new national territory to slavery. A. A quotation from the bill makes it plain. 2. The election of Buchanan was regarded as a popular endorsement of this liberal policy toward slavery. 3. The third point gained was the Dred Scott decision, in conjunction with Judge Douglas\u2019 \u201ccare not\u201d policy.\na. Decision holds that negroes cannot be citizens.\nb. Neither Congress nor a territorial legislature can exclude slavery from a territory.\nc. It is an open question whether the states can exclude slavery, for:\n(1) This is made to depend on a Supreme Court decision.\na. It formed a niche for the Dred Scott decision.\nb. The voting down of the Chase amendment becomes plain, for:\na. Passing it would have defeated the purpose of the conspirators.\nc. Several other things also become plain now.\nd. An illustration will drive these points home \u2014 (illustration of timbers).\nC. The reference, in the Dred Scott decision, to the right\n\n(Note: The text appears to be mostly clean and readable, with only minor formatting issues. No major corrections or translations are necessary.)\nThe right of a state to exclude slavery was not at issue in the court. The judge states, \"Except in case where the power is restrained by the Constitution of the United States, the law of the state is supreme over the subject of slavery within its jurisdiction.\" Such a decision would make slavery national. The best way to overthrow this dynasty is to elect a Republican senator. Douglas, the Democratic candidate, is not suitable for this task. His having voted with Republicans on points where the two parties have not differed is of no consequence.\n2. The fact that he is a great man will not help, if his principles are wrong.\n3. His principles are wrong. He states himself that he \"does not care\" whether slavery is voted up or voted down. If consistent, he would have to favor the revival of the African slave trade. We cannot depend on Judge Douglas changing his views on important principles.\n\nConclusion:\nI. Our cause must be entrusted to the friends of freedom.\nII. We shall win if we stand together firmly.\n\nBy Henry Ward Beecher\n(Speech delivered in New York City, May 8, 1883, at the 115th annual banquet of the Chamber of Commerce of the State of New York.)\n\nMr. President and Gentlemen Merchants: \u2014 It may seem a little strange that, in one toast, two so very dissimilar professions should be associated. I suppose it is partly because\nOne preaches and the other practices. (Laughter.) Merchants are usually men of action; ministers are generally men of words. (Laughter.) Merchants form important pillars in the Church. Ministers are often appointed to go forth to councils and associations, and a delegate is always sent with them. The object of the delegate is to keep the minister sober and to pay his expenses. (Laughter.) They are a very useful set of men in the Church. (Laughter.) But there are some moral functions they have in common. It is the business of the minister to preach the truth. It is the interest of the merchant to practice it. I hold that not even the Church itself is more dependent upon fundamental moralities than is the whole commercial structure of the world. (Cries of \"That's right\")\nThere are three great elements that are fundamental everywhere among all people and in every business: truth, honesty, and fidelity. I fear that the pulpit has forgotten to make these the staple of preaching. It has been given too largely to discourse upon what are considered the \"higher\" topics - theology - against which I bring no charge. (Laughter.) But theology itself, which is not based on the profoundest morality, is an empty cloud that sails through the summer air, leaving as much drought as it found. I believe there is a theology that pertains to the higher experiences of the human soul. As profoundly as any man, I believe in that.\nI have been transplanting magnolia trees. I speak tonight as the farmer of Westchester County. (Laughter.) There is one that stands among the earliest I planted, twenty years ago, and now it is a vast ball of white. I suppose five hundred thousand magnificent cups are exhaling thanksgiving to God after the long winter has passed. Now, no man need tell me that the root that nestles in the ground is as handsome or smells as sweet as these vases in the air; but I should like to know what would become of all these white cups in the air if the connection between the dirt-covered roots and the blossoms was cut tonight. The root is the prime provider, and there can be no life and no blossom where there is no root connection. Theology and all the rhetoric of preaching is well enough in its place.\nI hold that it is in the interest of the Church and the State to ensure that truth is spoken and that honesty and equity prevail between men and nations, peoples, and that men should be worthy of trust everywhere. (Applause.)\n\nSpeaking the truth is an artificial matter. (Laughter.) Men are not born to speak the truth any more than they are to fire rifles, and indeed, it is much the same. It is only now and then that a man can hit the bullseye, and a great many cannot hit the target at all. (Laughter.)\n\nSpeaking the truth requires that a man should know a little about what is truth. It is not an easy matter.\nThe art of effective speaking involves being a true man by parting with fancies, interests, and consciences, and calling them truth. Commerce dies and becomes sick when men cannot trust each other, even in the smallest communities, and this is more pronounced in larger commercial enterprises. It is a testament to the fact that things are not as bad as some suppose, as men are still willing to trust each other extensively across the globe. If a man can invest hundreds of thousands of dollars on the ocean or in distant countries,\nMen cannot understand our documents; it demonstrates the existence of trust between man and man, buyers and sellers. If there is trust among them, it is due to the probabilities of truthfulness in men's actions and the concordant circumstances. Men would not send their great properties and interests to China, Japan, or Mexico without the belief that these men are trustworthy. The shipmaster must be trustworthy, as must the officers of the government. Business continues to thrive and expand worldwide, a silent testament that, despite men's propensity to lie, they do not lie enough to sever man from man. (Laughter.)\n\nI would like to draw your attention to one unpleasant situation. It is not surprising to me that men entrust their interests to one another.\nWith large interests found to be so fragile. There is nothing in a president's makeup that should cause him to misappropriate the funds committed to his management. There is nothing in being a cashier or director that ought to corrupt a man so much that he snaps under temptation. I admit that all men are fragile. Men are like timber. Oak can bear a stress that pine cannot, but there never was a piece of timber on earth that could not be broken at some pressure. There never was a man born on earth that could not be broken at some pressure \u2013 not always the same nor put in the same place. There are many a man who cannot be broken by money pressure, but who can be by pressure of flattery. There is many a man impervious to flattery who is warped and biased by his social inclinations.\n\nMerchants and Ministers.\nThere is many a man you cannot tempt with red gold, but you can with dinners and convivialities. One way or another, every man is vincible. There is a great deal of meaning in that simple portion of the Lord\u2019s prayer, \u201cLead us not into temptation.\u201d No man knows what he will do, according to the nature of the temptation as adapted to the peculiar constitution. But this is what is peculiar \u2013 that it requires piety to be a rascal. (Laughter.) It would almost seem as if a man had to serve as a superintendent of a Sunday School as a passport to Sing Sing. (Laughter.) How is it that pious men are defrauding their wards? That leading men in the Church are running off with one hundred thousand or two hundred thousand dollars? In other words, it would seem as if religion were simply a disguise for wickedness.\nA cloak for rascality and villainy. It is time for merchants and ministers to stand together and take counsel on that subject. I say the time has come when we have got to go back to old-fashioned, plain talk in our pulpits on the subject of common morality, until men shall think not so much about Adam as about his posterity, not so much about the higher themes of theology, which are regarded too often as being the test of men\u2019s ability and the orthodoxy and salvability of churches.\n\nWell, gentlemen, in regard to what men think in the vast realm of theology, where nobody knows anything about it, it makes no difference. A man may speak and be lying, and not know it, when he has gotten up overhead in the clouds. But on the ground, where man meets man, where interest meets interest, where temptation pursues every man,\nwhere  earthly  considerations  \u2014  greediness,  selfishness,  pride,  all \ninfluences  are  working  together  we  need  to  have  every  man, \nTHE  ART  OF  EFFECTIVE  SPEAKING \nonce  a  week  at  any  rate,  in  the  church,  and  every  day  at  home, \ncautioned  on  the  subject  of  the  simple  virtues  of  truth  and \nhonesty  and  fidelity;  and  a  man  that  is,  in  these  three  respects, \nthoroughly  educated,  and  education  has  trained  him  so  that  he \nis  invincible  to  all  the  other  temptations  of  life,  has  come  not \nnecessarily  to  be  a  perfect  man,  because  he  is  ignorant  of  all \ntheology;  but  I  say  that,  over  all  the  theories  of  theology,  I  think \nthat  education  will  lead  more  men  to  heaven  than  any  high \nChurch  theology,  or  any  other  kind  that  leaves  that  out. \n(Applause.) \nWhat,  then,  are  we  going  to  do?  It  seems  to  me  there  are  three \nthings  that  must  be  done.  In  the  first  place,  the  household  must \nThe things we learn from our fathers and mothers we never forget. They become incorporated into our being and become almost instincts. If we have learned at home to love and honor the truth, until we come to hate all lying and double-tongued business, we shall probably carry that feeling to the end of life - and it is the most precious thread of life - provided we keep out of politics.\n\nNext, it seems to me that this doctrine of truth, equity, and fidelity must form a much larger and more instructive part of the Church's ministrations than it does today. Wonder is often expressed why the churches are so thin, why men do not go to meeting. The churches are always under-attended.\nPeople are drawn to things that give them light, food for thought, and legitimate incitement in life. They will return to such places again and again. Churches should feed the hungry soul. If churches are supported on any other ground, they are illegitimate. (Applause.)\n\nThere must be a public sentiment among all honorable merchants and ministers that frowns upon all obliquity, everything in commerce at home or abroad that is violative of truth, equity, and fidelity. (Applause.)\n\nThese three qualities are indispensable to the prosperity of commerce. With them, along with the stimulus, enterprise, opportunities, and means we have in our hands, America can be prosperous.\nBut without commercial understrata in American commerce, we shall do as foolishly as other people have, and come to the same disasters in the long run. So then, gentlemen, this toast, \"Ministers and Merchants,\" is not so strange a combination after all. You are the merchants, and I am the minister. I have preached to you, and you have sat still and heard the whole. With this simple testimony and this foundation laid before you for your future prosperity, I have only to say, if you have been accustomed to do what the Mosaic law wisely forbids, you must not twine hemp and wool to make a thread under the Mosaic economy. You, merchants, must not twine lies and sagacity together.\nThreads in weaving, for every lie that is told in business is a rotten thread in the fabric. Though it may look well when it first comes out of the loom, there will always be a hole there, first or last, when you come to wear it. No gloss in dressing, no finishing in bargain or goods, no lie, if it be an organic lie, no lie that runs through whole trades or whole departments, has any sanity, safety, or salvation in it. A lie is bad from top to bottom, from beginning to end, and so is cheating -- except in umbrellas, slate-pencils, and such things. There is a little line drawn before you come quite up to the dead line of actual transgression. When a young man swears he will teach a whole system of doctrines faithfully, no one supposes he means it; but he is excused because everyone does it.\nA lawyer's false statements to a jury in a bad case are not lies in the true sense, as all parties involved are aware of the deception. Similarly, engineers' estimates result in additional bills, but we overlook such \"lies\" of courtesy and ignorance. Excluding professional lies, such as those made by lawyers and theologians, I will discuss common, vulgar lies, including calico, broadcloth, cotton, silk, and the most deceitful.\nGentlemen, I have been requested to say a word or two on monopoly. I wish, on my soul, there were a few men who had the monopoly of lying, and that they had it all to themselves. (Applause) And now I go back to my first statement. The Church and the Store have a common business before them, to lay the foundation of sound morality, as a ground of temporal prosperity, to say nothing of any other direction. The minister and the merchant have a like interest. The minister, for the sake of God and humanity, and the merchant for his own sake, to see to it that, more and more, in public sentiment, even in newspapers \u2014 which are perhaps as free as any other organs of life from bias and mistake (laughter) \u2014 lying shall be placed in the category of vermin. (Applause.) And so, with my benediction.\nSelections for Practice: The following selections are submitted for practice. In almost every class in speech training, there are occasions when selections serve a very useful purpose in working for specific ends, whether it be to improve voice, learn emphasis, enrich the variety in tonal elements, or what not. There are often difficulties experienced by individual students that can best be met in this way. The selections have been chosen for their adaptation to beginners. Many of the poems are narrative poems. Several offer opportunities for more or less advanced work.\n\nAbraham Lincoln: Henry Watterson, 484\nApostrophe to the Ocean: George Gordon Byron, 463\nThe Bells of Shandon: Francis Mahony, 476\nThe Boys: Oliver Wendell Holmes, 474\nThe Calf Path: Sam Walter Foss, 447\nColumbus:  Joaquin  Miller,  466 \nDaffodils,  The:  William  Wordsworth,  471 \nDay  in  June,  A:  James  Russell  Lowell,  449 \nDeath  of  Copernicus,  The:  Edward  Everett,  453 \nEach  in  His  Own  Tongue:  William  Herbert  Carruth,  452 \nExile  of  the  Acadians:  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow,  480 \nHer  Letter:  Bret  Harte,  455 \nHouse  by  the  Side  of  the  Road,  The:  Sam  Walter  Foss,  460 \nIndirection:  Richard  Realf,  458 \nLincoln,  the  Man  of  the  People:  Edwin  Markham,  469 \nLisper,  The:  Anonymous,  462 \nLittle  Boy  Blue:  Eugene  Field,  478 \nMan  with  the  Hoe,  The:  Edwin  Markham,  446 \nMy  Love:  James  Russell  Lowell,  464 \nOld  Clock  on  the  Stairs,  The:  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow,  467 \nPetrified  Fern,  The:  Mary  Lydia  Bolles,  459 \nThanatopsis:  William  Cullen  Bryant,  472 \nWar  Dead,  The:  Anonymous,  451 \nWendell  Phillips:  James  Russell  Lowell,  479 \nTHE  MAN  WITH  THE  HOE \nWritten after seeing Millet's world-famous painting of a brutalized laborer in the deep abyss of labor\nGod made man in His own image\nin the image of God He made him. \u2014 Genesis\nBowed by the weight of centuries, he leans\nUpon his hoe and gazes on the ground,\nThe emptiness of ages in his face,\nAnd on his back the burden of the world.\nWho made him dead to rapture and despair,\nA thing that grieves not and that never hopes,\nStolid and stunned, a brother to the ox?\nWho loosened and let down this brutal jaw?\nWhose was the hand that slanted back this brow?\nWhose breath blew out the light within this brain?\nIs this the Thing the Lord God made and gave\nTo have dominion over sea and land;\nTo trace the stars and search the heavens for power;\nTo feel the passion of Eternity?\nIs this the dream He dreamed who shaped the suns\nAnd they marked their ways upon the ancient deep? Down all the caverns of Hell to their last gulf There is no shape more terrible than this \u2014 More tongued with censure of the world\u2019s blind greed \u2014 More filled with signs and portents for the soul \u2014 More packed with danger to the universe. What gulfs between him and the seraphim! Slave of the wheel of labor, what to him Are Plato and the swing of Pleiades? What the long reaches of the peaks of song, The rift of dawn, the reddening of the rose? Through this dread shape the suffering ages look; THE CALF PATH Time's tragedy is in that aching stoop; Through this dread shape humanity betrayed, Plundered, profaned and disinherited, Cries protest to the Powers that made the world, A protest that is also prophecy. O masters, lords and rulers in all lands, Is this the handiwork you give to God?\nThis monstrous thing distorted and soul-quenched? How will you ever straighten up this shape; Touch it again with immortality; Give back the upward looking and the light; Rebuild in it the music and the dream; Make right the immemorial infamies, perfidious wrongs, immedicable woes? O masters, lords and rulers in all lands, How will the future reckon with this Man? How answer his brute question in that hour When whirlwinds of rebellion shake all shores? How will it be with kingdoms and with kings \u2014 With those who shaped him to the thing he is \u2014 When this dumb Terror shall rise to judge the world, After the silence of the centuries?\n\nThe Calf Path\nOne day through the primeval wood A calf walked home, as good calves should; But made a trail all bent askew, A crooked trail, as all calves do. Since then, two hundred years have fled.\nAnd I infer the calf is dead. But still, he left behind his trail. And thereby hangs my moral tale.\n\nThe trail was taken up next day,\nBy a lone dog that passed that way;\nAnd then a wise bellwether sheep,\nPursued the trail o'er vale and steep,\nAnd drew the flock behind him, too,\nAs good bellwethers always do.\n\nAnd from that day o'er hill and glade,\nThrough those old woods a path was made.\nAnd many men wound in and out,\nAnd dodged and turned and bent about,\nAnd uttered words of righteous wrath\nBecause 'twas such a crooked path;\nBut still they followed -- do not laugh --\nThe first migrations of that calf,\nAnd through this winding wood-way stalked,\nBecause he wabbled when he walked.\n\nThis forest path became a lane,\nThat bent and turned and turned again;\nThis crooked lane became a road,\nWhere many a poor horse with his load.\nToiled on beneath the burning sun, and traveled some three miles in one; thus a century and a half they trod the footsteps of that calf. The years passed on in swiftness fleet, the road became a village street, and this, before men were aware, a city's crowded thoroughfare. And soon the central street was this of a renowned metropolis, and men two centuries and a half trod in the footsteps of that calf.\n\nA Day in June\nEach day a hundred thousand rout followed this zig-zag calf about; and o'er his crooked journey went the traffic of a continent. A hundred thousand men were led by one calf near three centuries dead; for thus such reverence is lent to well-established precedent. A moral lesson this might teach were I ordained and called to preach. For men are prone to go it blind along the calf paths of the mind; and work away from sun to sun.\nAnd what is so rare as a day in June?\nThen, if ever, come perfect days;\nThen Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,\nAnd over it softly her warm ear lays;\nWhether we look, or whether we listen,\nWe hear life murmur, or see it glisten;\n\nThe art of effective speaking,\nEvery clod feels a stir of might,\nAn instinct within it that reaches and towers,\nAnd, groping blindly above it for light,\nClimbs to a soul in grass and flowers;\n\nI\n\nAnd what is so rare as a day in June?\nThen, if ever, come perfect days;\nThen Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,\nAnd over it softly her warm ear lays;\nWhether we look, or whether we listen,\nWe hear life murmur, or see it glisten.\nThe cowslip startles in meadows green,\nThe buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,\nAnd there\u2019s never a leaf or blade too mean,\nTo be some happy creature's palace;\n\nIII\n\nThe little bird sits at his door in the sun,\nTilted like a blossom among the leaves,\nAnd lets his illumined being be overrun\nWith the deluge of summer it receives;\nHis mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,\nAnd the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings\nHe sings to the wide world, and she to her nest \u2014\nIn the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?\n\nIV\n\nNow is the high tide of the year,\nAnd whatever of life has ebbed away\nComes flooding back, with a ripply cheer,\nInto every bare inlet and creek and bay;\nNow the heart is so full that a drop overfills it;\nWe are happy now because God wills it;\nNo matter how barren the past may have been,\n'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green;\nThe war dead.\nV\nWe sit in the warm shade, and feel right well\nHow the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;\nWe may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing\nThat skies are clear and grass is growing;\nThe breeze comes whispering in our ear,\nThat dandelions are blossoming near,\nThat maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,\nThat the river is bluer than the sky,\nThat the robin is plastering his house hard by;\nAnd if the breeze kept the good news back\nFor other couriers we should not lack!\nVI\nWe could guess it by yon heifer\u2019s lowing \u2014\nAnd hark! how clear bold chanticleer,\nWarmed with the new wine of the year,\nTells all in his lusty crowing!\nJoy comes, grief goes, we know not how!\nEverything is happy now,\nEverything is upward striving\n'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true.\nAs the grass is green or the skies are blue \u2014\n'Tis the natural way of living.\n\nThe War Dead\nI was a peasant of the Polish plain;\nI left my plow because the message ran:\nRussia, in danger, needed every man\nTo save her from the Teuton; and was slain.\nI gave my life for freedom; this I know;\nFor those who bade me fight had told me so.\n\nI was a Tyrolese, a mountaineer;\nI gladly left my mountain home to fight\nAgainst the brutal, treacherous Muscovite;\nAnd died in Poland on a Cossack spear.\nI gave my life for freedom; this I know;\nFor those who bade me fight had told me so.\n\nI worked in Lyons at my weaver's loom,\nWhen suddenly the Prussian despot hurled\nHis felon blow at France and at the world;\nThen I went forth to Belgium and my doom.\nI gave my life for freedom; this I know.\nFor those who bid me fight had told me so.\nI owned a vineyard by the wooded Main,\nUntil the Fatherland, besieged by foes,\nCalled me, and I rose swiftly to the call,\nAnd died in far Lorraine. I gave my life for freedom; this I know.\nFor those who bid me fight had told me so.\nI worked in a great shipyard by the Clyde,\nThere came a sudden word of war declared,\nOf Belgium, peaceful, helpless, unprepared,\nAsking our aid; I joined the ranks, and died.\nI gave my life for freedom; this I know.\nEach in his own tongue,\nA fire-mist and a planet,\nA crystal and a cell,\nA jellyfish and a saurian,\nAnd caves where the cave-men dwell;\nThen a sense of law and beauty,\nAnd a face turned from the clod,\nThe Death of Copernicus\nSome call it Evolution,\nAnd others call it God.\nA haze on the far horizon,\nThe infinite, tender sky,\nThe ripe, rich tint of the cornfields,\nAnd the wild geese sailing high,\nAnd all over upland and lowland\nThe charm of the goldenrod,\nSome call it Autumn,\nOthers call it God.\nLike tides on a crescent sea-beach\nWhen the moon is new and thin,\nInto our hearts high yearnings come,\nWelling and surging in,\nCome from the mystic ocean,\nWhose rim no foot has trodden,\nSome call it Longing,\nOthers call it God.\nA picket frozen on duty,\nA mother starved for her brood,\nSocrates drinking the hemlock,\nAnd Jesus on the cross,\nAnd millions who, humble and nameless,\nPlod the straight, hard pathway,\nSome call it Consecration,\nOthers call it God.\n-- William Herbert Carruth\n\nThe Death of Copernicus\ni. At length he draws near his end. He is seventy-three years old.\nThe age-old author yields his work on \"The Revolutions of the Heavenly Orbs\" to his friends for publication. The day has arrived for The Art of Effective Speaking to be introduced to the world. On that day, due to the intense excitement of his mind operating on an exhausted frame, an effusion of blood brings him to the gates of the grave. His last hour has come; he lies stretched upon the couch from which he will never rise. The beams of the setting sun glance through the Gothic windows of his chamber. Near his bedside is the armillary sphere he has contrived to represent his theory of the heavens. His picture painted by himself, the amusement of his earlier years, hangs before him. Beneath it are his astrolabe and other imperfect astronomical instruments. Around him are...\nThe sage gathers his sorrowing disciples. The door of the apartment opens; the departing sage turns his eye to see who enters: it is a friend bearing him the first printed copy of his immortal treatise. He knows that in that book he contradicts all that has ever been distinctly taught by former philosophers. He knows that he has rebelled against the sway of Ptolemy, which the scientific world has acknowledged for a thousand years. He knows that the popular mind will be shocked by his innovations; that attempts will be made to press even religion into the service against him. But he knows that his book is true. He is dying, but he leaves a glorious truth as his dying bequest to the world. He bids the friend who has brought it place himself between the window and his bedside.\nThe sun's rays may fall upon the precious volume, and he may hold it once more before his eye grows dim. He looks upon it, takes it in his hands, presses it to his breast, and expires. But no, he is not wholly gone. A smile lights up his dying countenance; a beam of returning intelligence kindles his eye; his lips move; and the friend who leans over him can hear him faintly murmur the beautiful sentiments which the Christian lyrist of a later age has so finely expressed in verse:\n\nHer Letter\n\n\"Ye golden lamps of heaven, farewell, with all your feeble light;\nFarewell, thou ever-changing moon, pale empress of the night;\nAnd thou, effulgent orb of day, in brighter flames arrayed,\nMy soul, which springs beyond thy sphere, no more demands thy aid.\n\nYe stars are but the shining dust of my divine abode,\nThe pavement of those heavenly courts where I shall reign.\"\nI'm sitting alone by the fire, dressed just as I came from the dance, in a robe you would admire - it cost a cool thousand in France. I'm bediamonded out of all reason, my hair is done up in a cue: in short, \"the belle of the season\" is wasting an hour on you. A dozen engagements I've broken; I left in the midst of a set; likewise a proposal, half spoken, that waits \u2013 on the stairs \u2013 for me yet. They say he'll be rich, when he grows up, and then he adores me indeed. And you, sir, are turning your nose up, three thousand miles off, as you read. \"And how do I like my position?\" \"And what do I think of New York?\" \"And now, in my higher ambition, with whom do I waltz, flirt, or talk?\" The Art of Effective Speaking \"And isn't it nice to have riches,\"\nAnd diamonds, and silks, and all that, \"And isn't it a change to the ditches and tunnels of Poverty Flat?\"\nWell, yes, if you saw us out driving each day in the park four-in-hand, if you saw poor, dear mamma contriving to look supernaturally grand, if you saw papa's picture taken by Brady and tinted at that, you'd never suspect he sold bacon and flour at Poverty Flat.\nAnd yet, just this moment, when sitting in the glare of the grand chandelier, in the bustle and glitter befitting the \"finest soiree of the year,\" in the mists of a gauze de Chambery, and the hum of the smallest talk, somehow, I thought of the \"Ferry,\" and the dance that we had on \"The Fork\" of Harrison's barn, with its muster of flags festooned over the wall; of the candles that shed their soft luster and tallow on head-dress and shawl.\nOf the steps we took to one fiddle,\nOf the dress of my quirky companion,\nAnd how I once went down the middle\nWith the man who shot Sandy McGee,\nOf the moon that was quietly sleeping\nOn the hill, when the time came to go,\nOf the few baby peaks that were peeping\nFrom under their bedclothes of snow,\n\nHer Letter\nOf that ride, \u2013 that to me was the rarest,\nOf \u2013 the something you said at the gate, \u2013\nAh, Joe, then I wasn\u2019t an heiress\nTo \u201cthe best paying lead in the State.\u201d\n\nWell, well, it\u2019s all past; yet it\u2019s funny\nTo think, as I stood in the glare\nOf fashion, and beauty, and money,\nThat I should be thinking, right there,\nOf someone who breasted high water,\nAnd swam the North Fork, and all that,\nJust to dance with Old Folinsbee\u2019s daughter,\nThe Lily of Poverty Flat.\n\nBut goodness! what nonsense I\u2019m writing!\n(Mamma says my taste still is low,)\nInstead of reciting my triumphs, I'm spooning on Joseph \u2013 heigh-ho! I'm to be \"finished\" by travel \u2013 whatever the meaning of that \u2013 Oh, why did papa strike pay gravel In drifting on Poverty Flat. Good-night \u2013 here's the end of my paper; Good-night \u2013 if the longitude please, For maybe while wasting my taper, Your sun's climbing over the trees. But know if you haven't got riches, And are poor, dearest Joe, and all that, That my heart's somewhere there in the ditches, And you've struck it \u2013 on Poverty Flat.\n\nFair are the flowers and the children, but their subtle suggestion is fairer:\nRare is the rose-burst of dawn, but the secret that clasps it is rarer:\nSweet the exultance of song, but the strain that precedes it is sweeter:\nAnd never was poem yet writ, but the meaning outmasters.\nII\nNever a daisy that grows, but a mystery guides the growing;\nNever a river that flows, but a majesty scepters the flowing;\nNever a Shakespeare that soared, but a stronger one infolded him,\nNor ever a prophet foretells, but a mightier seer hath foretold him.\n\nIII\nBack of the canvas that throbs, the painter is hinted and hidden;\nInto the statue that breathes, the soul of the sculptor is bidden;\nUnder the joy that is felt, lie the infinite issues of feeling;\nCrowning the glory revealed, is the glory that crowns the revealing.\n\nIV\nGreat are the symbols of being, but that which is symboled is greater;\nVast the created and beheld, but vaster the inward creator;\nBack of the sound brooks, the silence, back of the gift stands the giving;\nBack of the hand that receives, thrill the sensitive nerves of receiving.\n\nV\nThe Petrified Fern\nSpace is nothing to spirit, the deed is surpassed by the doing;\nThe wooer's heart is warm, but the wooing's heart is warmer;\nAnd up from the pits where these shiver, and up from the heights where those shine,\nTwin voices and shadows swim starward, and the essence of life is divine.\n\u2014 Richard Realf\n\nThe Petrified Fern\n\nI\nIn a valley, centuries ago,\nGrew a little fern-leaf, green and slender,\nDelicately veined, and fibers tender;\nWaving, when the wind crept down so low.\nRushes tall, and moss, and grass grew round it,\nPlayful sunbeams darted in and found it,\nDew drops stole in by night and crowned it.\nBut no foot of man ever trod that way;\nEarth was young and keeping holiday.\n\nII\nMonster fishes swam the silent main,\nStately forests waved their giant branches,\nMountains hurled their snowy avalanches,\nMammoth creatures stalked across the plain.\nNature revealed in grand mysteries,\nBut the little fern was not of these,\nDid not number with the hills and trees;\nOnly grew and waved its wild, sweet way,\nNone ever came to note it day by day.\n\nIII\n\nEarth, one time, put on a frolic mood,\nHeaved rocks, and changed the mighty motion\nOf the deep strong currents of the ocean,\nMoved the plain and shook the haughty wood,\nCrushed the little fern in soft, moist clay,\nCovered it and hid it safe away.\nOh, the long, long centuries since that day!\nOh, the agony! Oh, life\u2019s bitter cost\nSince that useless little fern was lost!\n\nIV\n\nUseless? Lost? A thoughtful man came,\nSearching Nature's secrets, far and deep;\nFrom a fissure in a rocky steep\nHe withdrew a stone, o'er which there ran\nFairy pencilings, a quaint design,\nVeinings, leafage, fibres clear and fine.\nAnd the fern's life lay in every line!\nSo I think, God hides some souls away,\nSweetly to surprise us, the last day.\n\nThe House by the Side of the Road\nThere are hermit souls that live withdrawn\nIn the peace of their self-content;\nThere are souls, like stars, that dwell apart,\nIn a fellowless firmament;\nThere are pioneer souls that blaze their paths\nWhere highways never ran \u2014\nBut let me live by the side of the road\nAnd be a friend to man.\n\nThe House by the Side of the Road 461\nLet me live in a house by the side of the road,\nWhere the race of men go by \u2014\nThe men who are good, and the men who are bad,\nAs good and as bad as I.\n\nI would not sit in the scorner's seat,\nOr hurl the cynic's ban;\nLet me live in a house by the side of the road\nAnd be a friend to man.\n\nI see from my house by the side of the road.\nBy the side of the highway of life,\nThe men who press with ardor of hope,\nThe men who are faint with the strife,\nBut I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears \u2014\nBoth parts of an infinite plan;\nLet me live in a house by the side of the road\nAnd be a friend to man.\n\nI know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead,\nAnd mountains of wearisome height;\nThat the road passes on through the long afternoon,\nAnd stretches away to the night.\n\nAnd still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice\nAnd weep with the strangers that moan,\nNor live in my house by the side of the road\nLike a man who dwells alone.\n\nLet me live in my house by the side of the road,\nWhere the race of men go by \u2014\nThey are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,\nWise, foolish \u2014 so am I.\n\nThen why should I sit in the scorner\u2019s seat,\nOr hurl the cynic\u2019s ban?\nLet me live in my house by the side of the road\nAnd be a friend to man.\n\u2014 Sam Walter Foss\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\nThe Lispper\n\nElsie Mingus lisps, she does.\nShe lives white across from us\nIn Mrs. Ayers' house, where she rents part to the Mingus.\n\u2014 Yes, and Elsie plays with me.\n\nElsie lisps so, she can't say\nHer own name, it seems! \u2014\nShe says \u201cElthy\u201d \u2014 like feathers\nOn her words, and they\nStick on her tongue like fuzz.\nMy! she's pretty, though!\nAnd when she lisps, why, she's pretty then\nWhen she told me once, her doll\nWas so \"thweet,\" and I pretended\nTo lisp too, \u2014 she laughed \u2014 that's all! \u2014\nShe doesn't ever get mad none\n\u2014 Because she knows I'm just in fun.\n\u2014 Elsie isn't one bit spoiled.\nOf all children \u2014 ever one \u2014\nShe's the ladylikest child!\nMy Ma says she is! One time\nElsie started to say the rhyme\n\"Thing a thong o' thixpenth\" \u2014 Whee! I am yelled an' Ma says I'm unpolite as I can be! Once I went with Ma to call on Elsie's Ma, and eat and all; and then Elsie, when we've et, and we're playing in the hall, Elsie said: It's etiquette For young gentlemen, like me, eating when they're company, Not to never ever crowd Down their food, nor \"thip\" their tea Nor thump thoop so awful loud! \u2014 Anonymous For young gentlemen, like me, there is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar. I love not man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal What I can be, or have been before, To mingle with the universe and feel What I can'ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.\nRoll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean, roll!\nTen thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain,\nMan marks the earth with ruin\u2014his control\nStops with the shore; upon the watery plain\nThe wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain\nA shadow of man\u2019s ravage, save his own,\nWhen for a moment, like a drop of rain,\nHe sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,\nWithout a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.\nThe armaments which thunderstrike the walls\nOf rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,\nAnd monarchs tremble in their capitals;\nThe oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make\nTheir clay creator the vain title take\nOf lord of thee, and arbiter of war, \u2014\nThese are thy toys and, as the snowy flake,\nThey melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar\nAlike the Armada\u2019s pride or spoils of Trafalgar.\n\u2014 George Gordon Byron\nNot as all other women is she to my soul, dear;\nHer glorious fancies come from far,\nBeneath the silver evening star,\nAnd yet her heart is ever near.\n\nGreat feelings she has of her own,\nWhich lesser souls may never know;\nGod giveth them to her alone,\nAnd sweet they are as any tone\nWherewith the wind may choose to blow.\n\nYet in herself she dwelleth not,\nAlthough no home were half so fair;\nNo simplest duty is forgot,\nLife hath no dim and lowly spot\nThat doth not in her sunshine share.\n\nShe doeth little kindnesses,\nWhich most leave undone, or despise;\nFor naught that sets one heart at ease,\nAnd giveth happiness or peace,\nIs low-esteemed in her eyes.\n\nShe hath no scorn of common things,\nAnd, though she seem of other birth,\nMy Love.\n\nRound us her heart entwines and clings,\nAnd patiently she folds her wings\nTo tread the humble paths of earth.\nShe is a blessing, God made her so,\nAnd deeds of weekday holiness fall from her,\nNoiseless as the snow,\nShe has never known anything easier than to bless.\nShe is most fair, and her life harmonizes with this,\nHer feeling or thought never made less beautiful the blue,\nUnclouded heaven of her eyes.\nShe is a woman, one in whom\nThe springtime of her childish years has never lost its fresh perfume,\nThough she knows well that life has room\nFor many blights and many tears.\nI love her with a love as still\nAs a broad river's peaceful might,\nWhich, by high tower or lowly mill,\nGoes wandering at its own will,\nAnd yet doth ever flow aright.\nAnd, on its full, deep breast serene,\nLike quiet isles my duties lie,\nIt flows around them and between,\nAnd makes them fresh and fair and green,\nSweet homes wherein to live and die.\n\"James Russell Lowell, THE ART OF EFFECTIVE SPEAKING Columbus\n\nBehind him lay the gray Azores,\nBehind the Gates of Hercules;\nBefore him not the ghost of shores;\nBefore him only shoreless seas.\n\nThe good mate said: \"Now must we pray,\nFor lo! the very stars are gone.\nBrave Admiral, speak; what shall I say?\"\n\"Why, say: 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'\"\n\nThey sailed. They sailed. Then spoke the mate:\n\"This mad sea shows his teeth tonight.\nHe curls his lip, he lies in wait,\nWith lifted teeth, as if to bite!\nBrave Admiral, say but one good word;\nWhat shall we do when hope is gone?\"\n\nThe words leapt like a leaping sword:\n\"Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!\"\n\n\"My men grow mutinous day by day,\nMy men grow ghastly wan and weak.\"\nThe stout mate thought of home; a spray\nOf salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.\n\n\"What shall I say, brave Admiral, say,\"\"\nIf we sight nothing but seas at dawn? Why, you shall say at break of day: Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on! They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, Until at last the blanched mate said: Why, now not even God would know Should I and all my men fall dead. These very winds forget their way, For God from these dread seas is gone.\n\nThe Old Clock on the Stairs\nNow speak, brave Admiral; speak and say \u2014\nHe said: Sail on! sail on! and on!\nThen, pale and worn, he kept his deck,\nAnd peered through darkness. Ah, that night Of all dark nights! And then a speck \u2014 Alight! Alight! Alight! Alight! It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! It grew to be Time's burst of dawn.\nHe gained a world; he gave that world Its grandest lesson: \"On! sail on!\"\n\nSomewhat back from the village street\nThe old-fashioned country-seat stands. Across its antique portico, tall poplar-trees cast shadows. From its hall, an ancient timepiece says to all, \"Forever \u2014 never! Never \u2014 forever!\" Halfway up the stairs it stands, pointing and beckoning with its hands from its massive oak case. It resembles a monk, who, under his cloak, crosses himself and sighs, alas! With a sorrowful voice to all who pass, \"Forever \u2014 never! Never \u2014 forever!\" By day, its voice is low and light. But in the silent dead of night, its voice echoes distinctly along the vacant hall, along the ceiling, along the floor, and seems to say at each chamber door, \"Forever \u2014 never! Never \u2014 forever!\" Through days of sorrow and mirth, through days of death and days of birth, through every swift vicissitude.\nOf changeful time, unchanged it has stood,\nAnd as if, like God, it all things saw,\nIt calmly repeats those words of awe, \u2014\n\"Forever \u2014 never!\nNever \u2014 forever!\"\n\nIn that mansion used to be\nFree-hearted Hospitality;\nHis great fires up the chimney roared;\nThe stranger feasted at his board;\nBut, like the skeleton at the feast,\nThat warning timepiece never ceased, \u2014\n\"Forever \u2014 never!\nNever \u2014 forever!\"\n\nThere groups of merry children played,\nThere youths and maidens dreaming strayed;\nO precious hours! O golden prime!\nAnd affluence of love and time!\nEven as a miser counts his gold,\nThose hours the ancient timepiece told, \u2014\n\"Forever \u2014 never!\nNever \u2014 forever!\"\n\nFrom that chamber, clothed in white,\nThe bride came forth on her wedding night.\nAnd in the hush that followed the prayer,\nWas heard the old clock on the stair, \u2014\n\"Forever \u2014 never!\nNever \u2014 forever!\"\nAll are scattered now and fled,\nSome are \"married,\" some are dead;\nAnd when I ask, with throbs of pain,\n\"Ah! when shall they all meet again?\"\nAs in the days long since gone by,\nThe ancient timepiece makes reply, \u2014\n\"Forever \u2014 never!\nNever \u2014 forever!\"\nNever here, forever there,\nWhere all parting, pain and care,\nAnd death and time shall disappear, \u2014\nForever there, but never here!\nThe horologe of eternity\nSayeth this incessantly, \u2014\n\"Forever \u2014 never!\nNever \u2014 Forever!\"\n\u2014 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow\nWhen the Norn Mother saw the Whirlwind Hour\nGreatening and darkening as it hurried on,\nShe left the Heaven of Heroes and came down\nTo make a man to meet the mortal need.\nShe took the warm clay of the common road,\nDashed through it all a strain of prophecy,\nTempered the heap with the thrill of human tears,\nMixed a laughter with the serious stuff.\nInto the shape she breathed a flame to light\nThat tender, tragic, ever-changing face;\nAnd laid on him a sense of the Mystic Powers,\nMoving \u2014 all hushed \u2014 behind the mortal veil.\n\nHere was a man to hold against the world,\nA man to match the mountains and the sea.\nThe color of the ground was in him, the red earth,\nThe smack and tang of elemental things:\nThe rectitude and patience of the cliff,\nThe good-will of the rain that loves all leaves,\nThe friendly welcome of the wayside well,\nThe courage of the bird that dares the sea,\nThe gladness of the wind that shakes the corn.\nThe pity of the snow that hides all scars,\nThe secrecy of streams that make their way\nUnder the mountain to the rifted rock,\nThe tolerance and equity of light\nThat gives as freely to the shrinking flower\nAs to the great oak flaring to the wind \u2014\nTo the grave\u2019s low hill as to the Matterhorn\nThat shoulders out the sky. Sprung from the West,\nHe drank the valorous youth of a new world.\nThe strength of virgin forests braced his mind,\nThe hush of spacious prairies stilled his soul.\nUp from log cabin to the Capitol,\nOne fire was on his spirit, one resolve \u2014\nTo send the keen ax to the root of wrong,\nClearing a free way for the feet of God,\nThe eyes of conscience testing every stroke,\nTo make his deed the measure of a man.\n\nThe daffodils\nHe built the rail-pile as he built the State,\nPouring his splendid strength through every blow:\nThe daffodils\nHe poured his strength into the rail-pile and the State,\nWith every blow.\n\nThe daffodils\nThe daffodils:\nHe poured his strength into building the rail-pile and the State,\nWith every blow.\nThe grip that swung the ax in Illinois was on the pen that set a people free. So came the Captain with the mighty heart; and when the judgment thunders split the house, wrenching the rafters from their ancient rest, he held the ridgepole up, and spiked again the rafters of the Home. He held his place \u2014 held the long purpose like a growing tree \u2014 held on through blame and faltered not at praise \u2014 towering in calm rough-hewn sublimity. And when he fell in whirlwind, he went down as when a lordly cedar, green with boughs, goes down with a great shout upon the hills, and leaves a lonesome place against the sky.\n\n\u2014\"Edwin Markham\n\nThe Daffodils\n\nI wandered lonely as a cloud\nThat floats on high o'er vales and hills,\nWhen all at once I saw a crowd,\nA host of golden daffodils\nBeside the lake, beneath the trees,\nFluttering and dancing in the breeze.\nContinuous as the stars that shine\nAnd twinkle on the Milky Way,\nThey stretched in never-ending line\nAlong the margin of a bay;\nTen thousand saw I at a glance,\nTossing their heads in sprightly dance.\nThe waves beside them danced, but they\nOutdid the sparkling waves in glee;\nA poet could not but be gay\nIn such a jocund company;\nI gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought\nWhat wealth the show to me had brought.\nFor oft, when on my couch I lie,\nIn vacant or in pensive mood,\nThey flash upon that inward eye\nWhich is the bliss of solitude;\nAnd then my heart with pleasure fills,\nAnd dances with the daffodils.\n-- William Wordsworth\n\nTo him who, in the love of Nature, holds\nCommunion with her visible forms, she speaks\nA various language: for his gayer hours\nShe has a voice of gladness, and a smile.\nAnd eloquence of beauty; and she glides\nInto his darker musings with a mild,\nAnd gentle sympathy, that steals away\nTheir sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts\nOf the last bitter hour come like a blight\nOver thy spirit, and sad images\nOf the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,\nAnd breathless darkness, and the narrow house\nMake thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart,\nGo forth under the open sky, and listen\nTo Nature\u2019s teachings, while from all around \u2014\nEarth and her waters, and the depth of air \u2014\nComes a still voice, \u2014 Yet a few days and thee\nThe all-beholding sun shall see no more\nIn all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,\nWhere thy pale form was laid, with many tears,\n\nThanatopsis.\n\nNor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist\nThy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim\nThy growth, to be resolved to earth again.\nAnd, lost each human trace, surrendering up thine individual being, shalt thou go To mix forever with the elements; To be a brother to the insensible rock, And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak Shall send its roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. Yet, not to thine eternal resting-place Shalt thou retire alone, \u2014 nor couldst thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world, \u2014 with kings, The powerful of the earth, \u2014 the wise, the good, Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills, rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods; rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks, That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Old ocean\u2019s gray and melancholy waste.\nAre the solemn decorations all of the great tomb of man! The golden sun, the planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread the globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, traverse Barca\u2019s desert sands, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings, \u2014 yet the dead are there! And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep, \u2014 the dead reign there alone! So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw In silence from the living, and no friend Take note of thy departure? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh And sing, but thou wilt rest.\nWhen thou art gone, the solemn brood of care plod on, and each one, as before, will chase his favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee. As the long train Of ages glide away, the sons of men\u2014 The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes In the full strength of years, matron and maid, And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man\u2014 Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side By those who in their turn shall follow them. So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan that moves To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave.\nThe Boys\nHas any old fellow intruded with the boys?\nIf he has, take him out without making a noise.\nHang the Almanac's cheat and the Catalogue's spite!\nOld Time is a liar! We're twenty tonight!\n\nWe're twenty! We're twenty! Who says we are more?\nHe's tipsy \u2014 young jackanapes! Show him the door!\n\"Gray temples at twenty?\" \u2014 Yes! White if we please;\nWhere the snowflakes fall thickest, there's nothing can freeze!\n\nWas it snowing I spoke of? Excuse the mistake.\nLook close \u2014 you will see not a sign of a flake.\nWe want some new garlands for those we have shed,\nAnd these are white roses in place of the red.\n\nWe've a trick, we young fellows, you may have been told,\nOf talking (in public) as if we were old.\nThat boy we call \"Doctor\"; this, \"Judge\";\nIt's a neat little fiction - of course, it's all fudge.\nThat fellow's the \"Speaker\" - the one on the right;\n\"Mr. Mayor,\" my young one, how are you tonight?\nThat's our \"Member of Congress\" when we chaff;\nThere's the \"Reverend\" What's-his-name? - don't make me laugh.\nThat boy with the grave mathematical look\nMade us believe he had written a wonderful book,\nAnd the Royal Society thought it was true!\nSo they chose him right in - a good joke it was, too!\nThere's a boy, we pretend, with a three-decker brain,\nWho could harness a team with a logical chain;\nWhen he spoke for our manhood in syllabled fire,\nWe called him \"The Justice,\" but now he's \"The Squire.\"\nAnd there's a nice youngster of excellent pith;\nFate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith;\nBut he shouted a song for the brave and the free -\n\"Just read on his medal, \"My country ... of thee.\"\n476 THE ART OF EFFECTIVE SPEAKING\nYou hear that boy laughing? You think he\u2019s all fun;\nBut the angels laugh, too, at the good he has done.\nThe children laugh loud as they troop to his call,\nAnd the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of all!\nYes, we\u2019re boys \u2014 always playing with tongue or with pen;\nAnd I sometimes have asked, Shall we ever be men?\nShall we always be youthful and laughing and gay,\nTill the last dear companion drops smiling away?\nThen here\u2019s to our boyhood, its gold and its gray!\nThe stars of its winter, the dews of its May!\nAnd when we have done with our life-lasting toys,\nDear Father, take care of Thy children, The Boys!\n-- Oliver Wendell Holmes\nWith deep affection\nAnd recollection\nI often think of\nThose Shandon bells,\nWhose sounds so wild would,\nMake us all remember\nThe joy and merriment\nOf our childhood days.\"\nIn the days of childhood,\nFling round my cradle\nTheir magic spells.\nOn this I ponder,\nWhere'er I wander,\nAnd thus grow fonder,\nSweet Cork, of thee, \u2013\nWith thy bells of Shandon,\nThat sound so grand on\nThe pleasant waters\nOf the river Lee.\n\nThe bells of Shandon\nI\u2019ve heard bells chiming\nFull many a clime in,\nTolling sublime in\nCathedral shrine,\nWhile at a glib rate\nBrass tongues would vibrate;\nBut all their music\nSpoke naught like thine.\n\nFor memory, dwelling\nOn each proud swelling\nOf thy belfry, knelling\nIts bold notes free,\nMade the bells of Shandon\nSound far more grand on\nThe pleasant waters\nOf the river Lee.\n\nI\u2019ve heard bells tolling\nOld Adrian\u2019s Mole in,\nTheir thunder rolling\nFrom the Vatican, \u2013\nAnd cymbals glorious\nSwinging uproarious\nIn the gorgeous turrets\nOf Notre Dame!\n\nBut thy sounds were sweeter\nThan the dome of Peter\nFlings o'er the Tiber.\nThe bells of Shandon peal solemnly. Oh, the bells of Shandon sound far more grand On the pleasant waters Of the river Lee.\n\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\n\nThere's a bell in Moscow,\nWhile on tower and kiosk,\nIn St. Sophia,\nThe Turkman gets,\nAnd loud in air calls men to prayer,\nFrom the tapering summit\nOf tall minarets.\nSuch empty phantoms I freely grant them;\nBut there's an anthem more dear to me \u2014\n'Tis the bells of Shandon,\nThat sound so grand on\nThe pleasant waters\nOf the river Lee.\n\u2014 Francis Mahony\n\nLittle Boy Blue\n\nThe little toy dog is covered with dust,\nBut sturdy and stanch he stands;\nAnd the little toy soldier is red with rust,\nAnd his musket molds in his hands.\n\nTime was when the little toy dog was new,\nAnd the soldier was passing fair;\nAnd that was the time when our Little Boy Blue\nKissed them and put them there.\n\n\"Now, don't you go till I come,\" he said.\nAnd don\u2019t you make any noise! So, toddling off to his trundle-bed, He dreamt of the pretty toys.\n\nWendell Phillips\n\nAnd, as he was dreaming, an angel song Awakened our Little Boy Blue \u2013\nOh! the years are many, the years are long, But the little toy friends are true! Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, Each in the same old place, Awaiting the touch of a little hand, The smile of a little face; And they wonder, as waiting the long years through In the dust of that little chair, What has become of our Little Boy Blue, Since he kissed them and put them there.\n\nWendell Phillips\n\nThere, with one hand behind his back, Stands Phillips, buttoned in a sack, Our Attic orator, our Chatham; Old fogies, when he lightens at \u2018em, Shrivel like leaves; to him 'tis granted Always to say the word that\u2019s wanted, So that he seems but speaking clearer.\nThe thought of every hearer tiptoes;\nEach flashes his brooding heart lets fall\nFires what's combustible in all,\nAnd sends the applauses bursting in\nLike an exploded magazine.\nHis eloquence no frothy show,\nThe gutter's street-polluted flow,\nNo Mississippi's yellow flood\nWhose shoalness can't be seen for mud; \u2014\nSo simply clear, serenely deep,\nSo silent-strong its graceful sweep,\nThe Art of Effective Speaking\nNone measures its unrippling force\nWho has not striven to stem its course;\nHow fare their barques who think to play\nWith smooth Niagara's mane of spray?\nLet Austin's total shipwreck say.\n\u2014 James Russell Lowell\nExile of the Acadians\nI\nPleasantly rose next morning the sun on the village of Grand-Pre.\nPleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin of Minas,\nWhere the ships, with their wavering shadows, were riding at anchor.\nLife had been long astir in the village, and clamorous labor knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of the morning.\n\nII\n\nNow from the country around, from the farms and neighboring hamlets,\nCome in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasants.\nMany a glad good-morning and jocund laugh from the young folk\nMade the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous meadows\nWhere no path could be seen but the track of the wheels in the greensward,\nGroup after group appeared, and joined, or passed on the highway.\n\nIII\n\nLong ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor were silenced.\nThronged were the streets with people; and noisy groups at the house-doors\nSat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped together.\n\nEvery house was an inn, where all were welcomed and feasted.\nFor these simple people, who lived like brothers together, all things were held in common, and what one had was another's.\n\nIV\n\nUnder the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard, bending with golden fruit, was spread the feast of betrothal. There, in the shade of the porch, were the priest and the notary seated. The good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the blacksmith. Not far withdrawn, by the cider-press and the bee hives, Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts and waistcoats.\n\nShadow and light from the leaves alternately played on his snow-white hair, as it waved in the wind; and the jolly face of the fiddler glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown from the embers.\n\nV\n\nGayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fiddle, and anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music.\nMerrily, merrily the wheels of the dizzying dances turned,\nUnder the orchard trees and down the path to the meadows;\nOld folk and young together, and children mingled among them.\n\nSo passed the morning away. And lo! with a summons sonorous,\nSounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows a drum beat.\n\nThronged ere long was the church with men. Without, in the churchyard,\nWaited the women. They stood by the graves, and hung on the headstones\nGarlands of autumn leaves and evergreens fresh from the forest.\n\nV\n\nThen came the guard from the ships, and marching proudly,\nEntered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant clangor,\nEchoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling and casement, \u2014\nEchoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal closed,\nAnd in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers.\nThen the commander rose from the steps of the altar, holding aloft his hands and the royal commission with its seals.\n\n\"You are convened this day by His Majesty's orders,\" he said. \"Clement and kind has he been, but how you have answered his kindness, let your own hearts reply! To my natural make and my temper, painful is the task I do, which to you I know must be grievous. Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monarch; namely, that all your lands, dwellings, and cattle of all kinds be forfeited to the crown; and that you yourselves from this province be transported to other lands. God grant you may dwell there ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people!\n\nPrisoners now I declare you; for such is His Majesty's pleasure!\"\n\nAs when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of summer.\nSuddenly a storm gathers, and the deadly hailstones beat down the farmer's corn in the field and shatter his windows.\n\nExile of the Acadians 483\n\nHiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch from the house-roofs, bellowing fly the herds and seek to break their inclosures. So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the speaker.\n\nSilent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and then rose, louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger. And, by one impulse, they madly rushed to the doorway. Vain was the hope of escape; and cries and fierce imprecations rang through the house of prayer; and high over the heads of the others rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil, the blacksmith.\n\nXI\n\nFlushed was his face and distorted with passion; and wildly he spoke.\n\"Down with the tyrants of England! We never have sworn them allegiance! Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our harvests!\" In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention, the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the altar. Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into silence all that clamorous throng; and thus he spoke to his people:\n\n\"What is this that you do, my children? What madness has seized you? Forty years of my life have I labored among you, and taught you, not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another!\"\nIs this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and privations? Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and forgiveness? This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred?\n\nXIV\n\nFew were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his people sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded that passionate outbreak. They repeated his prayer, and said, \u201cO Father, forgive them!\u201d\n\nHenry Wadsworth Longfellow\n\nAbraham Lincoln\nBy Henry Watterson\n\nI look into the crystal globe that, slowly turning, tells the story of his life, and I see a little heart-broken boy, weeping by the outstretched form of a dead mother, then bravely, nobly trudging a hundred miles to obtain her Christian burial. I see this motherless lad growing to manhood amid the scenes of hardship and struggle, his spirit unbroken, his determination unwavering, until he rose to become a leader, a beacon of hope and unity for a divided nation.\nI see the full-grown man, stalwart and brave, an athlete in the activity of movement and strength of limb, yet vexed by weird dreams and visions; of life, of love, of religion, sometimes verging on despair. I see the mind, grown as robust as the body, throw off these phantoms of the imagination and give itself wholly to the work-a-day uses of the world; the rearing of children, the earning of bread, the multiplied duties of life. I see the party leader, self-confident in conscious rectitude.\nThe original, as he wasn't one to follow; potent, because he was fearless, pursuing his convictions with earnest zeal and urging them upon his fellows with the resources of an oratory which was hardly more impressive than it was many-sided. I see him, preferred among his fellows, ascending the eminence reserved for him alone of all the statesmen of the time, amid the derision of opponents and the distrust of supporters, yet unawed and unmoved, because thoroughly equipped to meet the emergency. The same man, from first to last: the poor child weeping over a dead mother; the great chief sobbing amid the cruel horrors of war; flinching not from duty, nor changing his life-long ways of dealing with the stern realities which pressed upon him and hurried him onward. Last scene of all, that ends this strange, eventful history, I see him.\nHim lying dead there in the nation's capital, having rendered \"the last full measure of devotion,\" the flag of his country around him, the world mourning, and asking myself how any man could have hated that man, I ask you, how can any man refuse his homage to his memory? Surely, he was one of God's elect; not in any sense a man of circumstance or accident. Recurring to the doctrine of inspiration, I say again and again, he was inspired by God, and I cannot see how any one who believes in that doctrine can regard him as anything else. (Applause) From Caesar to Bismarck and Gladstone, the world has had its statesmen and soldiers \u2014 men who rose to eminence and power step by step, through a series of geometric progression as it were, each advancement following in regular order one after another.\nThe whole obediently followed the well-established and well-understood laws of cause and effect. They were not \"men of destiny.\" They were \"men of the time.\" Their careers had a beginning, a middle, and an end, rounding off lives with histories, full of interesting and exciting events, but comprehensive and comprehensible; simple, clear, and complete.\n\nThe inspired ones are fewer. Their emanation, where it came from and how they got their power, by what rule they lived, moved, and had their being, we do not know. There is no explanation to their lives. They rose from shadow and went in mist. We see them, feel them, but we do not know them. They came, God's word upon their lips, they did their office, God's mantle about them; and they vanished, God's holy light between the world and them, leaving behind a half-mortal memory.\nFrom first to last, they were the creations of some special Providence, baffling the wit of man to fathom, defeating the machinations of the world, the flesh, and the devil, until their work was done, then passing from the scene as mysteriously as they had come upon it.\n\nBy this standard, where shall we find an example so impressive as Abraham Lincoln? His career might be chanted by a Greek chorus as the prelude and epilogue of the most imperial theme of modern times.\n\nBorn as lowly as the Son of God, in a hovel; reared in penury and squalor, with no gleam of light or fair surroundings; without graces, actual or acquired; without name or fame or official training; it was reserved for this strange being, late in life, to be snatched from obscurity and raised to supreme command.\nsupreme moment, and intrusted with the destiny of a nation. The great leaders of his party, the most experienced and accomplished public men of the day, were made to stand aside; were sent to the rear, while this fantastic figure was led by Abraham Lincoln to the front and given the reins of power. It is immaterial whether we were for him or against him; wholly immaterial. That, during four years, carrying with them such a weight of responsibility as the world never witnessed before, he filled the vast space allotted him in the eyes and actions of mankind, is to say that he was inspired by God, for nowhere else could he have acquired the wisdom and the virtue. Where did Shakespeare get his genius? Where did Mozart get his music? Whose hand smote the lyre of the Scottish plowman, and stayed the life of the German priest? God, God.\n[and God alone; and as surely as these were raised up by God, inspired by God, was Abraham Lincoln; and a thousand years hence, no drama, no tragedy, no epic poem will be filled with greater wonder, or be followed by mankind with deeper feeling than that which tells the story of his life and death. (Applause.)\n\nAppendix IV\nCompilations of Speeches\nHenry Ward Beecher: I. Lectures and Orations, edited by Newell Dwight Hillis. New York: Fleming H. Revell Company, 1913.\nII. Yale Lectures on Preaching. Chicago: The Pilgrim Press, First, Second, and Third Series.\nIII. A Treasury of Illustration. New York: Fleming H. Revell Company, 1904.\nIV. Patriotic Addresses. Chicago: The Pilgrim Press, 1887.\nWilliam Jennings Bryan: Speeches. 2 vols. New York: Funk and Wagnalls, 1909.\nHenry W. Grady: Orations and Speeches. New York: Hinds, Noble and Eldridge, 1910.]\n[Robert G. Ingersoll: Complete Works (Dresden Edition). 13 vols. New York: C. P. Farrell Publishing Company, 1912.\nHomer Dorr Lindgren: Modern Speeches (Revised Edition). New York: F. S. Crofts and Company, 1930.\nModern Eloquence: I. First Edition. 15 vols. Philadelphia: John D. Morris and Company, 1900.\nII. Second Edition. 12 vols. New York: Modern Eloquence Corporation, 1923.\nIII. Third Edition. 15 vols. New York: Modern Eloquence Corporation, revised in 1929.\nJohn G. Nicolay and John Hay: Lincoln. New York: Francis D. Tandy Company, 1905.\nJames Milton O\u2019Neill: I. Modern Short Speeches. New York: The Century Company, 1923.\nII. Models of Speech Composition. New York: The Century Company, 1921.\nIII. Contemporary Speeches. New York: The Century Company, 1930.\nWendell Phillips: Speeches. 2 vols. Boston: Lee and Shepard, 1891.]\nAcquisitive motive, 124\nAmbition, as a motive, 123\nAction, bodily, 327-343; lack of,\nAesthetic sentiments, as motives,\nAim in speaking, taking, 192\nAlliteration, as a quality of style, 179\nAnalogy, as a form of illustration, 100; as a form of logical argument,\nAnecdote, as a form of illustration,\nArgumentative speech, 209; difficulties involved, 259; distinction between impressive and argumentative speeches, 261; example of, Appendix II; forms of support for, 267; informative process in, 263; nature of, 210; preparation\nAspirate voice, 352\nBain, Alexander, on suggestion, 137\nBarton, Bruce, 148\nBeck, James, 149\nBeveridge, Albert J., 100\nBowers, Claude, 172\nBradford, Gamaliel, 4\nBreathing, correct, 345\nBright, John, 63\nBryan, William Jennings, 14, 50\nBurns, Robert, 341\nCarlyle, Thomas, 1, 90\nCatt, Carrie Chapman, 4, 83\nCentral idea, 50\nChallenge technique, 321\nCharts and maps, use of, 223\nCicero, On diction, 165\nClash of opinion in argumentative speeches, 266\nClearness, as an objective in speaking,\nCommunicative attitude, 9\nConcrete, attention value of the, 319\nContrast, as a quality of style, 171\nConversational mode, 10\nCriticism of speeches, suggestion for,\nCrowd, the psychological, 154\nCumulation, as a form of support, 90\nCurrent magazines, as sources of materials, 33\nDelivery of speech, 56-78, criticism\nDiction in speaking, 163; of American orators, 165\nDirect quotation, advantages of,\nDouglas, Stephen A., 72\nDread of public censure, as a motive,\nEmerson, Ralph Waldo, 25\nEmotional adjustment, 17\nEmotional appeal, always want and\nEnunciation, 360; distinctness of,\nEverett, Edward, 98\nExceptions (as tests of a rule), 270\nExpositions (nature of), 220\nExtempore method, 58, use by great speakers, 66\nFable (as a form of illustration), 104\nFact (as a form of support), 81\nFigures (as a form of support), 81\nForms of support, 78-95; cumulation, 90; facts, figures, statistics, 81; general example, 83; hypothetical case, 89; literary quotation, 87; reasoning from facts and authorities, 88; restatement, 82; specific example, 84; testimony,\nFoss, Sam Walter, 139\nFulkerson, Roy, 103\nGeneral ends in speaking, 192\nGeneral example (as a form of support), 83\nGeorge, David Lloyd, 103, 184\nGestures, 332; clenched fist, 335; guiding principles, 333-334; hand prone, 335; hand supine, 334; hand with index finger prominent, 335; importance of practice, 336; symmetry of, 333\nGrady, Henry W., 91\nGuttural voice, 352\nHaddock, Frank C., 16\nHigginson, Thomas Wentworth, 180\nHypothesis: Newell Hillis, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Humor (source and means of getting response, attention value, important element in good speaking), Hypothetical case (as a form of support), Illustrations (as aids to memory, economizing attention, source of pictorial element in speaking, in speeches of Wendell Phillips, kinds, sources, use with mixed audiences), Impressive speech (emotional appeal, examples, forms of support, nature), Informative speech (examples, forms of support, nature, preparation, requisites, subjects) Robert Green Ingersoll, Interestingness (in a speech)\nKinds of speeches: 191-217, entertainment, 193; informative, 193; speeches dealing with accepted beliefs, 195; speeches dealing with unaccepted beliefs, 196-199; two types of persuasive speeches distinguished, 203\n\nKing, Thomas Starr, 314, 317\nKnower, Franklin H., 143\nLa Follette, Robert, 144\nLenroot, Irvine, 313\nLippmann, Walter, 125\nLiterary quotation as a form of support, 87\nLivermore, Mary, 101\nLogical argument, 268\nLove of family, home, and friends as a motive, 122\nLowell, James Russell, 354\nMain divisions of a speech, 42\nMannerisms on the floor, 338\nManuscript, reading from, 72\nMechanical approach to expression to be avoided, 359\nMemorizing and the extempore method, 64\nMemory, auditory, muscular, visual forms of, 65\nMental content important, 358\nMetaphor, as a form of illustration, 6\nMill, John Stuart, 6\nMotivation, 118-136, Motives, acquisitive, 124, aesthetic sentiments, 130, classification of, 119, Motives, moral, 128, negative, 132, Movement on the floor, 336, Nasal twang, 348, Naturalness, 13, Negative motives, 132, Nervousness, 14-16, Notebooks, use of, 35, Observation, as source of speech materials, 34, O\u2019Connell, Daniel, 357, Organization, speech, 39-55, Originality, 173, Orotund voice, 351, Outline, 44-45, kinds of, 45, of Lincoln\u2019s \u201cSpringfield Speech,\u201d 435, relation to speech, 52, Outline, logical, for persuasive speech, 47, example of, 48, Outline, topical, for informative speech, 45, Parable, 105, Parker, DeWitt Henry, 118, 119, Pectoral voice, 352, Personal experiences, value of, 27, Personality, a free, 327, Persuasion, problems of, 202, Pharynx, as resonator, 348, Phelps, William Lyon, 221, Phillips, Arthur Edward, 42, 80, 90, Phillips, Charles, 123.\nPicture elements, 106\nPicture words, 168\nPosture, 330\nPronunciation, dictionary as guide, 363. Limitations of correcting, 363. List of words often mispronounced, 364. Problems of, 362. Sectional differences, 362.\nPropositions in a speech, 44\nPurpose, importance of a definite, 214. Radio talks and showmanship,\nReasoning from facts and authorities, 88. See also Logical argument\nRegard for reputation, as a motive, 120\nRepetition, as a source of suggestion, 120. Restatement, as a form of support, 82. In summaries, 83\nRhetorical question, 182\nRhythm, as an attribute of style, 176\nRoosevelt, Franklin D., 122, 133,\nRoot, Elihu, 82\nRuskin, John, 1\nSarcey, M., 62\nScott, Walter Dill, 140\nSelf-preservation, as a motive, 120\nSentence structure, 169\nShakespeare, Marc Antony\u2019s Address, 138\nShiel, Richard, 177\nSidis, Boris, 140\nSimile, 97\nSlogans, 153\nSpeech materials, finding and recording, 31-38, nature of good materials, 79, sources of, 31-34\nSpeeches, classification of, 204\nSpencer, Herbert, 162\nStereotypes, 156\nStory, Joseph, 129\nStyle, speaking, 162-190\nSubject, choosing a, 20-29, requirements of, 21\nSuggestion, 137-161, characteristics of, 140, illustrations and suggestion, 145, man's susceptibility to, 139, meaning of, 140, methods of, 142, through transference of feeling, 142\nTestimony, as a form of support, 85\nThroat, open and relaxed, 346\nUnusual, attention value of the, 312\nVincent, John Heyl, on diction, 167\nVital, attention value of the, 311\nVocal drill, 350\nVocal elements, 350, force, 353, vocal quality and emotion, 350\nVocalizing the breath, 347\nVoice, 344, aspirate, 352, guttural, requirements of a good voice, 344\nWalking  and  speech  preparation,  61 \nWant  appeal,  118-136;  meaning  of, \nWants  and  wishes,  relation  of  emo\u00ac \ntions  to,  233 \nWard,  Cornelia  C.,  15 \nWashington,  Booker  T.,  182 \nWest,  Robert,  16 \nWoodworth,  Robert  S.,  315 \nWoolbert,  Charles  H.,  15,  28 \nWriting  out  speeches,  63 \nYoung,  Owen  D.,  170 \nI \n)VWV \no \no \nc \nA \no \nVffi&bS  *  *fij \nefi  O \nt  i \ny  i-s \nV>", "source_dataset": "Internet_Archive", "source_dataset_detailed": "Internet_Archive_LibOfCong"},
{"language": "eng", "scanningcenter": "capitolhill", "sponsor": "The Library of Congress", "contributor": "The Library of Congress", "date": "1934", "subject": "Animals -- Juvenile fiction", "title": "The barnyard village;being the story of Mr. Blue Peacock,", "creator": "Deihl, Edna Groff, 1881-1935", "lccn": "36016505", "collection": ["library_of_congress", "fedlink", "americana"], "shiptracking": "ST011106", "partner_shiptracking": "IAGC151", "call_number": "6427619", "identifier_bib": "00025496917", "lc_call_number": "PZ10.3.D368 Bar", "publisher": "Chicago, A. Whitman & co.", "description": "63, [1] p. 22 cm", "mediatype": "texts", "repub_state": "19", "page-progression": "lr", "publicdate": "2019-06-19 10:11:51", "updatedate": "2019-06-19 11:13:30", "updater": "associate-richard-greydanus@archive.org", "identifier": "barnyardvillageb00deih", "uploader": "associate-richard-greydanus@archive.org", "addeddate": "2019-06-19 11:13:32", "operator": "associate-richard-greydanus@archive.org", "tts_version": "2.1-final-2-gcbbe5f4", "camera": "Sony Alpha-A6300 (Control)", "scanner": "scribe2.capitolhill.archive.org", "imagecount": "74", "scandate": "20190626185235", "ppi": "300", "republisher_operator": "associate-ronamye-cabale@archive.org", "republisher_date": "20190627124453", "republisher_time": "219", "foldoutcount": "0", "identifier-access": "http://archive.org/details/barnyardvillageb00deih", "identifier-ark": "ark:/13960/t4cp4tt69", "scanfee": "300;10.7;214", "invoice": "36", "possible-copyright-status": "The Library of Congress is unaware of any copyright restrictions for this item.", "note": "If you have a question or comment about this digitized item from the collections of the Library of Congress, please use the Library of Congress \u201cAsk a Librarian\u201d form: <a href=\"https://www.loc.gov/rr/askalib/ask-internetarchive.html\">https://www.loc.gov/rr/askalib/ask-internetarchive.html</a>", "openlibrary_edition": "OL27019200M", "openlibrary_work": "OL19829022W", "curation": "[curator]admin-andrea-mills@archive.org[/curator][date]20190906121947[/date][state]approved[/state][comment]invoice201907[/comment]", "sponsordate": "20190731", "additional-copyright-note": "No known restrictions; no copyright renewal found.", "external-identifier": "urn:oclc:record:1156326331", "backup_location": "ia906906_0", "ocr_module_version": "0.0.21", "ocr_converted": "abbyy-to-hocr 1.1.37", "page_number_confidence": "0", "page_number_module_version": "1.0.3", "creation_year": 1934, "content": "The Barnyard Village: Being the Story of Mr. Blue Peacock\nby Edna Groff Deihl\nAuthor of Little Black Hen, Holiday Time Stories, Mother Brown, Earth's Children\nPictured by Cobb X. Shinn and Albert Whitman\nChicago: Albert Whitman & Co.\nReprinted 1934\nMr. Blue Peacock\nCopyright 1926 Albert Whitman & Co.\nOther Large Picture Stories: Tom Thumb, Little Black Sambo, Little Black Hen, Peter Rabbit, The Big Indian, Gingerbread Man\nThe short story of Mr. Blue Peacock will bring music to children's ears and delight their eyes. The stories presented will easily be understood by them and leave a lasting impression.\nOnce upon a time, some of the fowls of Barnyard Village made ready to have a beauty show. The author, in writing the story, has placed the facts about the fowls in this book in such a form as to attract the attention of the little ones and be readily fixed in their memory. The story of Mr. Blue Peacock enters the children's world with the ideal that the stone will entertain them and meet with the approval of every lover of the round.\n\nHow Mr. Blue Peacock Won a First Prize.\n\nOnce upon a time, some of the fowls of Barnyard Village made ready to have a beauty show. In the children's world, the author placed the story of Mr. Blue Peacock with the intention that the stone would entertain them and gain the approval of every lover of the round.\n\nMr. Blue Peacock\nWon a First Prize.\n\nOnce upon a time, in Barnyard Village, the fowls prepared for a beauty contest. The author wrote the story of Mr. Blue Peacock to captivate children's attention and leave a lasting impression.\nThemselves and their babies were so proud that they acted as if they would have no trouble winning the beauty prize.\n\nV: Simsm IAmmm IsISsm\nSo, they all were pleased and in favor of having the Beauty Show on the first sunny day, and to have a prize of thirty-five grains of corn for the most handsome fowl.\n\nwmmrn -xx-x x-x-x-x x\nNull\n-KyMy^'-A'y.'\nmmmm\nv. Xs xx-xx x:x\n--V.V.V.V\n:XvX*xtt*X^\n'vxWx'xxxxxxx\nSSpggg\nx-x&x\ny*x'x\nv.w.w.v.v.v.v.v\n;X;XyX\\;X;X\nX-.'X-XvX\nvI^X*!v/Sx*I'/av !vS v\nxx^xxxxxxxxlx\n-xvxx-x-xxv.-.y.xx.xv\ntewilK\nmm\nx::x-:;xx\nmMz\nill\nIPiili\niVA\u2019XsViV\nx-x^x\n\nSuch a busy time as there was in the village for the fowls making ready to win the prize on the Beauty Show Day.\n\nmmmmz: rnsmmm-\ngfeilgf\nlilwKi\nR n i j\n\nFirst came Turkey Gobbler.\nHe had begun to feel so very vain by the attention that the farmhouse people had given him.\nHim, since he had been getting so big and fat, that he strutted as if there couldn't be a handsomer bird anywhere than he was. Then came a group of guinea fowls who made a great deal of noise trying to tell the Barnyard folk all about the beauty of their feathers. Ifc?*, MM, 'vXvi'X, iiili?, IgBEs' *\u00a3 J, \u00aeliii\u00bbiii, iililiiliii, illifili!, ir, lilllPIg, liipiilpg, w, Wm, Wmm.\n\nMother Black Hen was there with her brood of little black chickens, each one of whom she felt should take a separate prize, as she could not decide which one was the most beautiful. She was certain no other fowl could begin to be as beautiful as any one of them. Back of her wobbled Mrs. Gray Duck with her little ducklings, one holding up its head in pride, quacking as if to say \u201cmy beauty is the best of all.\u201d\nAmong all the folk of Barnyard Village, there was a certain Mr. Blue Peacock. He really strutted around in the front yard most of the time, so the Barnyard folk did not know him very well. But he squeezed under the Barnyard gate and said he would be there for the Beauty Show.\n\nNow one seemed to think much about him, for he walked along in an ordinary way, paying no attention to anyone. Only Mrs. Black Hen seemed to notice the long tail which he dragged behind him, and she spoke of it to Mrs. Gray Duck.\n\nAt last the day for the Beauty Show arrived. It was a fine day. Father Sun shone in the heavens.\nMr. Rooster shook out his red beard, ruffled his feathers, and cock-a-doodled. Mrs. Black Hen clucked to her children and fed them worms. Mrs. Gray Duck took the little ducklings for a swim. The little guinea fowls ran to and fro, shaking out their speckled coats. At last, the Beauty Show started. Mr. Blue Peacock was the last to arrive.\nArrive; he came in very quietly and took a seat on the fence. One by one, the Barnyard folk walked to the block in front, jumped upon it and showed their beauty. Everyone cheered when the little chicks and ducklings appeared and seemed to say, \"Aren't they dear!\"\n\nTurkey Gobbler was surprised to see that his beauty was not half as much cared for by his own folk as by the farmhouse people. iWivijiiji.vr-y.i\nmmmi r''W-ji w$M: II mm mWm \u03c0ii\n\nMr. Rooster, too, was disappointed when he received only a mild cheer. His beautiful red beard looked paler and his comb dropped several inches.\n\nSuddenly, everyone became much excited, for Mr. Blue Peacock had jumped up on the fence. He was not satisfied with the showing-off wooden block, so there on the fence he spread his magnificent tail feathers.\nMr. Rooster stood until all eyes were on him. He slowly and proudly raised his long tail and spread it out fanlike in the sparkling rays of the sun. Such \"Ohs\" and \"Ahs\" the fowls seemed to say! Mr. Rooster was quite silent with wonder. Mrs. Black Hen pulled her chicks under her wings for she was afraid some great king had come, who might take her chicks away from her. So wonderful was Mr. Blue Peacock's train that Mrs. Gray Duck spread her wings over her ducklings, for she was afraid the many colors were too bright for their young eyes. Turkey Gobbler stared in open wonder. Never had there been such a sight in Barnyard Village. It was as if all the colors of the rainbow had been blended into one wonderful mass. Sparkles and speckles and pinwheels dazzled the eyes of the Barnyard folk as, very grandly and quietly, Mr. Peacock stood on the fence.\nMr. Blue Peacock turned his beautiful tail from side to side. Then, when he felt that the prize was his, he slowly dropped his tail and folding it together jumped down from the fence and walked out of the Barnyard Village, only waiting on the other side of the fence to call, \u201cI\u2019ll send the Queen over for our thirty-five grains of corn.\u201d\n\nThere was never the least question among the fowls of Barnyard Village as to whether he deserved the corn. They all had to agree that the beauty prize belonged to Mr. Blue Peacock.\n\n\u201cBut,\u201d said Mother Black Hen to Mother Gray Duck, as they cackled and quacked to each other that evening, \u201cAnyone can see he acts very proud. One could see that as soon as one looked at him. So I think we can agree that just to be beautiful is not so much, if we consider the other virtues.\u201d\nare  not  useful  too.\u201d", "source_dataset": "Internet_Archive", "source_dataset_detailed": "Internet_Archive_LibOfCong"}
]