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Sun Spots, v. 4, issue 1, whole no. 13, December 1940
Page 7
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December, 1940. SUN SPOTS Page 7. actually got off the ground without blowing up!" "Yes, worse luck", commented Harry B. Steuber, owner of the Steuber Strato-Plane Co. Inc., glancing at MacGannon, pilot of the "Silver Streak'. Steuber and MacGannon made an interesting comparison. They were almost two opposites. Steuber was short, stocky, with one of these smug, self conceited faces, which was always clouded in a wreath of smoke that continuously issued from a black cigar that was jamed between his thick black lips. His eyes, rather deep sunken for a man of his build, wre partly hidden by dark shaggy eyebrows that still remained black, when his hair was becoming grey in spots. MacGannon on the other hand, was large, had blond hair, fair complexion, and could not have been over 30 years old. MacGannon's nickname,'Fearless' , had been nailed on him during his air-fighting days of the second World War, some 10 years back. Even though MacGannon had flown for the Germans, his fame was far reaching, and after peace had been made, he was the toast of every city he passed through, whether it be London, Paris, or New York. Now Harrison B. Steuber, President and owner of the Steuber Strato-plane Co. Inc., had engaged him to fly the 'Silver Steak' in the Easton to Paris race. The strato-plane magnate knew that if the "Gordy" won the race, he would lose all future contracts with the government, and that would mean the end of Steuber Strato-Plane Co .Inc. "Well", he continued,"Even if that rocket does stay in the air, we'll still win the race. Nobody can beat Haryy Steuber, not even Dr. Gordy, and his whole bunch of 'rocketeers'". Laughing at his own 'pun'[ the strato-plane magnate left for his quarters. MacGannon did not feel quite as confident as Steuber seemed, but then MacGannon didn't know what the president of Steuber Strato-Plane co .Inc. ,knew!" Outside the control room, Steuber hurried along the silver corridor to the rear of the ship, where his cabin was located. He passed several members of the crew, of which there were twelve in all. Removing his black stogie from his mouth he hailed one of them: "Hey greasy", he roared, waving his cigar wildly,"How's the motors running?" "Oh, dare swell chief", returned the mechanic,"Purrin' like a kitten!" "Good, good", commented Steuber, his black beady eyes flashing triumphantly. "Now lets see Brons[[?]] on and his crate beat us", he thought as he continued down the passage. A few seconds later he entered his cabin, and after being sure the door was securely bolted, he stepped over a full length mirror which was seemingly embeded in the other side of the wall. Feeling around the edge of the mirror, his stubby finger came in contact with an almost invisable nail, which when pulled upon revolved the mirror around till it was no longer a mirrir, buta very intricate short-wave radio. After pushing buttons and adjusting dials for a few moments ,Steuber glanced at his wrist watch, which indicated that it lacked but one minute till seven PM. As the second hand sped on its merry way,Steuber unpatiently waited for the minute to pass. As the hand split the sixty on the watch, the magnate thre a switch, and a commenced calling
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December, 1940. SUN SPOTS Page 7. actually got off the ground without blowing up!" "Yes, worse luck", commented Harry B. Steuber, owner of the Steuber Strato-Plane Co. Inc., glancing at MacGannon, pilot of the "Silver Streak'. Steuber and MacGannon made an interesting comparison. They were almost two opposites. Steuber was short, stocky, with one of these smug, self conceited faces, which was always clouded in a wreath of smoke that continuously issued from a black cigar that was jamed between his thick black lips. His eyes, rather deep sunken for a man of his build, wre partly hidden by dark shaggy eyebrows that still remained black, when his hair was becoming grey in spots. MacGannon on the other hand, was large, had blond hair, fair complexion, and could not have been over 30 years old. MacGannon's nickname,'Fearless' , had been nailed on him during his air-fighting days of the second World War, some 10 years back. Even though MacGannon had flown for the Germans, his fame was far reaching, and after peace had been made, he was the toast of every city he passed through, whether it be London, Paris, or New York. Now Harrison B. Steuber, President and owner of the Steuber Strato-plane Co. Inc., had engaged him to fly the 'Silver Steak' in the Easton to Paris race. The strato-plane magnate knew that if the "Gordy" won the race, he would lose all future contracts with the government, and that would mean the end of Steuber Strato-Plane Co .Inc. "Well", he continued,"Even if that rocket does stay in the air, we'll still win the race. Nobody can beat Haryy Steuber, not even Dr. Gordy, and his whole bunch of 'rocketeers'". Laughing at his own 'pun'[ the strato-plane magnate left for his quarters. MacGannon did not feel quite as confident as Steuber seemed, but then MacGannon didn't know what the president of Steuber Strato-Plane co .Inc. ,knew!" Outside the control room, Steuber hurried along the silver corridor to the rear of the ship, where his cabin was located. He passed several members of the crew, of which there were twelve in all. Removing his black stogie from his mouth he hailed one of them: "Hey greasy", he roared, waving his cigar wildly,"How's the motors running?" "Oh, dare swell chief", returned the mechanic,"Purrin' like a kitten!" "Good, good", commented Steuber, his black beady eyes flashing triumphantly. "Now lets see Brons[[?]] on and his crate beat us", he thought as he continued down the passage. A few seconds later he entered his cabin, and after being sure the door was securely bolted, he stepped over a full length mirror which was seemingly embeded in the other side of the wall. Feeling around the edge of the mirror, his stubby finger came in contact with an almost invisable nail, which when pulled upon revolved the mirror around till it was no longer a mirrir, buta very intricate short-wave radio. After pushing buttons and adjusting dials for a few moments ,Steuber glanced at his wrist watch, which indicated that it lacked but one minute till seven PM. As the second hand sped on its merry way,Steuber unpatiently waited for the minute to pass. As the hand split the sixty on the watch, the magnate thre a switch, and a commenced calling
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