The Press., 1919-06-19

wiped her carefully with handful of clean waste and polished her as vigor- ously and unconcernedly as if the Registered Mail' were no more than a summer shower
 But Hendricks heard him murmur once or twice: "They don't want us any more, Lulu They don't want us any mOre."
 By and by Simmons walked over to the airship and examined her careful ly. "No chance of break down. I spose?" he queried hopefully.
 No chance whatever" smilingly an- swered the aviator. Simmons looked about to see If there was anything with which he could tamper-a bolt he could loosen, or screw he could remove, but there was nothing. Be sides, he would have been detected.
 electricity, too," he growled. Gas oline was bad enough, but 'lectricity"
 He turned away, and climbed into the cab of HAS. He carried baggage and passenger coaches for the first time in many years, and feeling of shame stole over him as he gazed at "Old Black Lulu" and the string of cars behind her.
 It had all come so "Suddenlike." Only a few days ago, 1t seemed. air ships were only toys at which he Lad laughed. Yet one of these toys had supplanted his "Lulu"-and there she stood, Haunting her triumph In his face-the blue-gray hulk three times as large as the largest car he had ever hauled and carrying his precious freight-his express parcels reg iStered mail
 "Old Black Lulu's" days of glory were overland so were his Alas. how bitter!
 No. 3 counted off the miles as she always had. "Old Black Lulu" pufred and whistled, and clicked and pound ed over the frogs. just as she always had-and, by and by, she started to sing a crazy little song of her own composing:
 They dOn't-want me-any more" They dOn't-want me-any more"
 Simmons heard and understodd- and answered:
 "You're right, old girl. They don't want you any more. Lulu to the scrap-shop, an me to Highland Park"
 In short time they passed the ninetieth mile-pOst, and Simmons be- gan to look for the Registered Mail" Somewhere along the line she would cross the N.-M.-W. tracks, headed di. rectly west She had no signals to heed, as Lulu" had, no curves to take or hills to climb; she had it so easy all plain sailing for her.
 She would cross the N.-M.-W. tracks at the bridge, and sail away out of sight before No. 3 could
 'The devil" The captain, or motor man, or whatever he called himself, had told him there was no possible chance of a breakdown, and yet
 The Registered Mail" was wab- -swaying-swinging! She was going to drop! Some one had blum dered. Simmons was not the man to let golden opportunity pass. Not he! Swiftly he calculated the distance to the point where the Registered Mail" would fall, and swiftly he jerked the throttle open wide. Then he "hooked her up'-gave her "the short stroke" and she responded. "Lulu! Lulu'!" he cried. You go to 1t, old girl! Work hard now hard, hard! Lulu old girl. do your blamedest! Go to 1t, Luluv" The short stroke won the day for "Old Black Lulu"
 Simmons leaned out of the window and watched the airship anxiously. Down-down-down it dropped, and "Old Black Lulu" plowed into its shiny body just as 1t struck the bridge. They plunged into the river together-the Registered Mail" and her crew, and "Old Black Lulu," with part of her drag" Simmons still sat on the leather-cushioned seat. his greasy, sul- len face transfgured by a triumphant smile.
 "Old Black Lulu" was never sent to the scrap-shop. She lies there, at the river-bottom. still "hooked-up," covered with mud and victory. And Surly Simmons never went to Highland Park, for he lived just long enough to say:
 They can run all the aerial mails they like when I'm under the sod-but not in-my time. No. Lulu'-old girl-not-in our time" Mnln ,uy- aaax Hasn.n nnetasrI