New-York tribune., 1918-05-26
Through France, Cuba, Egypt and Algiers Also This
Youth Passed Unheralded Until He Found Fame in
The Warfare of the Skies-Father Marvels at His
World Known Achievements.

ing to be consoled. Nine. Lulbery rocks
the cradle violently and rummages in
cardboard box for the, at present,
more distinguished Raou's, last letter.
It is in French, and she reads it aloud
with that deep thrill in her voice which
speaks of reverent patriotism. The
vibrant quality appears to fascinate
the young Raoul whose vail ends in
contented gurgle.
He Preferred to
Live in the Clouds
~ could wish to see Wallingford
again"-- this Major Lufbery wrote
before, and not in answer to, the let
ter concerning his newly arrived name
sake. "But it is not for me now. I
like the game here, thank you-I pre-
fer to perch among my clouds and
shoot at Boches even to passing q
pleasant hour with you all. cannot
come now. After the war we shall
see-but I shall not, I think, live so
long"
In spite of this, his sister-in-law
had written, believing that he must
consider the Importance Of the occa-
sion. Unfortunately, she cannot know
what he intended. She wipes her eyes
now with the characteristic poise which
women of her race can assume with
such startling suddenness.
"Vous voyez," she says. 1--WE did
not expect e would live. How could
get for every Boche gun? No, we
were not surprised-but-of course"
her eyes again fall upon her child,
Growing and sucking upon an incred-
IDLY large corner Of his pillow. "Ne-
vaire mind, mon petit! When thou
art grown there will be bigger aero
plans and per'aps even bigger deeds
for thee to do!-La! e will be great
aviateur, celui-ci!" observes Nine. Luf-
berry with conviction and that far away
| maternal CLEAN in her eye by which
one reads that she already traces her
and their attendant fame. "Excuse--'
she begs, "1 go to put i'm in the gar
den-to look at the sky!" She pro-
duces a blanket mysteriously and
swathing the infant Raoul gathers him
up, cradle and all, and disappears into
the garden.
And swiftly the empty silence Of the
little kitchen conjures up a picture Of
the other, great Raoul, stocky lad of
twenty, hands stained with the metal
Of his casket fittings, his eyes sullen
and tired with the grind of his days
labor; bending low, peasant wise, over
dish of steaming ragout upon the
| little table. His shoulders are. bent
beneath q flannel shirt, open at the
throat, and he eats slowly with large
but Indifferent appetite. Through the
open door comes the May fragrance
of the Connecticut hills. His eye wan
ders, as he eats, about the dim room.
| There is a coffee can on a shelf be-
hind the stove and propped behind it
two vivid postcards-upon one the blue
harbor of Algiers, trimmed with white
terraced buildings cleaning in tropic
sun--upon the other lonely palm tree
waving over the cool shadowy ruins of
Karnak. He cannot discern the details
I from his table, but across the blue
skies of each is scrawled his name,
"R. Lufbery." He would have seen
no symbolism in this now, in any case.
With fluent apologies Nine. Lufhery
returns, having installed her offspring
to gaze unhindered upon and take coun-
sci with the heavens. Perhaps, she
thinks, it will do good to have him
look at the sky. .
She Brings Out
His Picture
Upon sudden thought she resurrects
a snapshot of the great Raoul, en- avia-
teur, beside his machine. Across the
sky Of this, also, is inscribed his name.
Nine. Lufbery can with difficulty be
persuaded to part with it.
They are all very proud Of him. The
family, his father, Wallingford-old
and young-and in their pride they arc