“Gee! but you’re a brick.”

“No more than you are! You held up shipping–that heavy old ship’s rib–or seemed to!”

But Atlas was deaf to the tardy tribute, as the dory, no longer even a bead-eye, but a radio nightmare–all ghostly a-shimmer–dashed out upon the tide.

“Well! Well! we got him–nabbed him. The Coast Guard men said they never saw a dory stretch herself like 杭州十大红灯区 that one; that I just drove her–sent her for all she was worth!… They–they nearly cracked their sides laughing 杭州上门品茶 at her, too, when ’twas all over–wanted to know what ‘nut palace’ she’d escaped from–said the spy must have thought he had an evil spirit on his track!”

It was an hour later. Atlas was holding forth to nineteen girls and their breathless Guardian upon the dark sands–on the very spot where the air-scouts, spy-hunting aviators, had made a landing.

“I–I went ashore with them at the Station–after they searched the launch,” he added.

“Oh! what did they find in her? a–a woman’s wig?” cried Sara, who had been remembering, furiously remembering–minutely recalling–during the past hour. “A–a–the most charming brown wig, with little wavy threads of gray in the mat over the ears; that–that’s what ‘Old Perfect,’ with 杭州桑拿价格 the feather turban, the muff in April, the rather high cheek-bones, the very smooth skin, wore up at Camp … 杭州油压店哪家好 Goody! I was envying her the–gray–hairs.” The voice of the fire-witch broke upon a mettlesome little canter of laughter.

“Yes, they did find a dress-suit case with a false bottom; a feminine wig–some further disguise–was stowed away in it.”

“But who–captured–him?” It was a low, thrilled uproar of question. “Not–not the camouflaged dory?”

“No, the Coast Guard captain. The launch was showing her heels to the old self-bailer. The spy shifted his course–put about–was trying to dodge back towards the river–tidal river–down which he came. The steel boat headed him off, and–and the dory, too! Then he jumped overboard, tried to swim. But the captain yelled at him to halt–surrender–or he’d fire. Ex-ci-ting! Well! 杭州按摩足疗技师 I should say so…. Good of you to let me take your boat–if she is the most ‘witchetty’ thing that ever 杭州不正规的洗浴中心 floated!”

“You–you upheld shipping.”

Within the radiant ring of the powerful flash-light belting the sands, a boy and girl–Atlas and the Flame who had defied him–looked into each other’s feverish eyes with comradeship, not challenge now–comradeship that might well grow to something more charming, as the years went on–when the white flag of Peace should float once more over a progressive world.

Misunderstanding was of the past–mockery, too! They had come through the Game “with their wings,”–the patient, toiling service-game for freedom and Country; they were one with their brothers of the skies–with the heroes of trench and top, over there.

Or, to change the figure, all had done their bit, and, in two instances, by might and magic of service, automatically swelling, it had become the main bitt to which the main-sheet 杭州下沙丝袜按摩 of safety, the mainsail of progress, were belayed.

And yet–yet–in another minute even that failed to satisfy the girl in the case–left her with a hollow feeling of dissatisfaction–for she was a creature of moods shading like her eyelashes, and suffering from reaction, too!

The flash-light winked itself out in her hand–and all her exultation with it.

She hid her now pale face in the curve of an arm in a green-stained middy-blouse.

“Oh! yes, it’s ex-ci-ting…. Ter-ri-bly exciting!” she moaned to the sands. “But how I wish it was over! I don’t want to distrust those about me. And maybe he thought he had a grain of right–though he was a spy!” The tired concession was breathed into the curve of a


trembling elbow. “Cool–cool he was, anyhow–here and there! Oh-h! if only the cry of the children–the little children over in 杭州洗浴特服 France–could come true, and it was: ‘Fini la Guerre!… Fini–forever–la Guerre!’ If Peace could come again!”

Peace had come again.

And in her shining bassinet Peace Europa breathed softly through a mouth like a damp red rose, waved a tiny arm feebly, uncurled the new-born hand, with its pearly nails, as if she would catch and hold to her baby breast–forever and a day–the new-born happiness that had come to earth with her.

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