Night flying was not considered good for the health in the days of the Big Fuss. That was before we had radio beams and robot pilots. All a man like Phineas Pinkham had were a stick, two Vickers guns, and a prayer.<\/p>\n
And now the flyer from Iowa was cruising high over the heads of both armies, his eyes trying to spot the telltale fiery phlegm of a snooping Hun\u2019s exhaust.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey are very stingy with the moonlight, ce soir,\u201d Phineas muttered. \u201cIf the Heinies hadn\u2019t tried to kiss me twice with archie, I would swear it was Scotland I was flyin\u2019 over. Huh,\u201d he mused, \u201call that Kraut dough and me not gettin\u2019 a smell. I could get even a better price for them marks, I bet, if they was mine. I could make enough to buy that pool room up over the Greek restaurant back home in Boonetown. I could even buy a flivver an\u2019\u2014oh yeah? Sneak over, will ya, ya square-headed Boche!\u201d He kicked right rudder, described a semicircle in the murk, and booted his Spad toward a higher sky shelf. The drone of a Mercedes power plant had trickled through his leather helmet and had seeped into his big sound detectors than which there were none larger in all France.<\/p>\n
Phineas had picked himself a tartar. He found that out after he banked, dropped down on the nocturnal Kraut, and missed with a couple of bursts. The Boche crate seemed capable of doing as many tricks as a wasp when it finally got down to business.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a lie,\u201d the lone Yank gulped. \u201cNothin\u2019 can fly like that. I am asleep in my hut, or somethin\u2019. Bump, wake me up, you bum, before I get killed. Ow-w-w-w-w!\u201d A tracer bullet streaked the length of the Spad\u2019s top wing and the smell of burning dope stung Phineas Pinkham\u2019s nostrils. Spandau slugs took bites out of the Spad\u2019s shortribs, singed its scalp, and played havoc with it in general from prop boss to tail skid. Phineas managed to get down to five hundred feet, then the Hisso sat down and demanded shorter hours and more gas. There was no way out of the mess but straight down, so the quaking pilot let his Spad pick its own landing field while he closed his eyes and speculated as to whether his next C. O. would wear horns or big white wings.<\/p>\n
BLOOEY! Phineas had his safety strap unhooked and was half out of the pit when the fifteen thousand dollar Yank investment went into the red amidst the green branches of a Frog tree. The Boonetown bat flyer woke up ten minutes later with his face in a bird\u2019s nest. His prop boss had ruined the careers of four feathered creatures before they had even gotten a good start in life. The aroma-de-egg brought the Yank back to consciousness whereupon he got his legs and arms untangled carefully and started to lower his bruised fuselage down through the branches.<\/p>\n
\u201cUgh!\u201d he sniffled. \u201cI am sure glad it was not an ostrich\u2019s domicile that I broke up.\u201d<\/p>\n
Once on terra firma, Phineas looked around him. Not fifty yards away he made out the outlines of a big Frog chateau. A single light was burning in a window and toward that haven Lieutenant Pinkham limped, hoping that somebody had left a snack or two in the ice box. When he walked up the big stone steps he saw that part of the place had been bitten out by a hungry shell and he wondered what manner of Frog citizen dared hold his ground so near the palpitating lines.<\/p>\n
In response to Phineas\u2019 loud pounding accompanied by his loud yip\u2014\u201dWho is in chez maison? Annybodee dans ze chateau, oui?\u201d\u2014the door finally opened. A non-descript individual with a long white beard that brushed off his shoes as he walked, peered out at the Yankee pilot. Phineas thought that by comparison to this old Frog, Rip Van Winkle should have worn rompers.<\/p>\n
\u201cBong sour,\u201d he chirped to the hermit. \u201cIt is succor I want.\u201d To himself he muttered, \u201cI hope he is one, haw-w-w-w!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEntrez\u201d squeaked the bewhiskered Frog. \u201cVous avez ze marks, hein?” He rubbed his bony hands together like a miser who has found a stray nickel.<\/p>\n
\u201cMarks?\u201d Phineas gulped. \u201cWhy\u2014er\u2014oui oui! I have eet some. Brand new ones that\u2014er\u2014 Heinie treasury just issued. Bet you never saw \u2018em before. Uh\u2014er\u2014you read it ze Engleesh, mawn amy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMais non. I only speek a bit of Anglais, oui. But ze marks. I geeve ze francs for zem. Come, mon ami.\u201d<\/p>\n
Phineas followed the aged Frenchman into a big room that was half smothered with cobwebs. The windows had been boarded up and only a single candle burned on a large table. Where the light was none too good, Phineas dug down into his pockets for a small bunch of greenish certificates and tossed them out.<\/p>\n
\u201cSacre!\u201d exclaimed his host, \u201cMes yeux\u2014my eyes, zey are not tres bon,\u201d he went on, \u201cmais thees eez ze argent, I know. By ze feel of ze papair\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOui, sure,\u201d Phineas hastened to say. \u201cIt took me a year of smokes to save\u2014er\u2014I mean I had to stop smokin\u2019 so\u2019s I could save the dough\u2014 argent\u2014up, haw-w-w-w! For ten francs it\u2019s votre sugar, mawn amy. Listen, monsoor, why ees you save ze Kraut money, non?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPourquoi?\u201d the ancient Frog wheezed. \u201cJacques le Bouillon, he do not make eet ze same mistake deux temps, non\u201d He shook his head from side to side as he went on. \u201cIn 1870 I theenk ees ze French who win ze guerre an\u2019 I buy zem all ze francs. But ze Germans zey win! NOW I theenk ze Germans win ze guerre aussi\u2014so eet ees ze marks I buy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBattier than a belfry,\u201d Phineas muttered to himself. Then to Le Bouillon: \u201cThat\u2019s smart, monsoor, haw-w-w-w! Vous avez ze beaucoup francs, huh?\u201d 1<\/p>\n
\u201cMais oui, I have ze barrel fill\u2019 up, oui. I buy heem all marks I can. Hark, mon ami! Ze guns, ze Boche guns zey geet moch near all ze time, oui?<\/p>\n
Sacre, I go\u2019n be tres rich homme.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAh\u2014er well, I must be gettin\u2019 home now,\u201d Phineas stammered, his brain doing spirals. \u201cI am ze Lieutenant Pinkham an\u2019 have eet ze airdrome to find encore. Adoo for now, grampa. I weel geet eet more marks pour vous. Bong swore!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cVous breeng, I buy, merci\u201d cackled the old Frog, showing Phineas to the door.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Night flying was not considered good for the health in the days of the Big Fuss. That was before we had radio beams and robot pilots. All a man like Phineas Pinkham had were a stick, two Vickers guns, and a prayer. And now the flyer from Iowa was cruising high over the heads of…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_kad_post_transparent":"","_kad_post_title":"","_kad_post_layout":"","_kad_post_sidebar_id":"","_kad_post_content_style":"","_kad_post_vertical_padding":"","_kad_post_feature":"","_kad_post_feature_position":"","_kad_post_header":false,"_kad_post_footer":false,"_kad_post_classname":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[5,1],"tags":[51],"class_list":["post-676","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-pulp-classics","category-uncategorized","tag-joe-archibald"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/astoundingoutpost.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/676","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/astoundingoutpost.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/astoundingoutpost.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/astoundingoutpost.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/astoundingoutpost.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=676"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/astoundingoutpost.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/676\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/astoundingoutpost.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=676"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/astoundingoutpost.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=676"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/astoundingoutpost.com\/stories\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=676"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}