from Ward J descended the stairs, were counted
through another door, and formed a ragged column of twos on the concrete
walk outside. With Joe leading and Wilhart guarding the rear, the little
formation moved across the great grassy quadrangle enclosed by the
buildings and connecting roofed corridors of the hospital.

Potts tried to close his ears to Wilhart's incessant urging of Danny
Harris. Harris would do little of his own volition, but Potts was tired
of acting as his escort.

The blue morning sky supported but a few brilliant clouds. Potts wished
he were up there, or anywhere except going to P. T. He hated P. T. It
terrified him. Potts closed his eyes.

* * * * *

Major Orville Potts stood in the soft grass and rested a gloved hand on
the upper wing of his flying machine.

"Sir," he said, "with my invention, the Confederacy will soon put the
Yankees to rout."

The general stroked his gray goatee and pursed his lips. Potts felt
pleased that every detail of the general's uniform stood out in bold
clarity. The slouch hat, gray coat, red sash, and black jackboots were
more real than life. Of course the surrounding landscape was a green
blur, but increased concentration would clear that.

The general said, "Ah'm doubtful, Majah. Balloons, Ah undahstand. Hot
aiah natuahlly rises, but this contraption seems too heavy to fly."

"No heavier, in proportion, than a kite, sir," Potts explained.

The crude mountaineer captain, standing slightly behind the general,
snickered.

"Hit won't work nohow," he predicted. "Jist like that there Williams
repeatin' cannon at Seven Pines. Ain't even got no steam engine fur as I
kin see."

Potts said, "This is a new type engine. It operates on a formula of my
own, which I have named gasoline. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me,
I shall proceed with the demonstration."

Potts climbed into the cockpit. A touch of the starter set the 1,000
h.p. radial engine roaring. He waved to the gaping officers and opened
the throttle. The bi-plane whisked down the field and rocketed into the
blue morning sky.

Too late, Potts saw the buzzard soaring dead ahead. He shoved the stick
forward, but the black bird rushed toward his face in frightening
magnification.

* * * * *

Potts opened his eyes. He had walked into a wall.

"What's the matter, Orville Potts?" Joe asked. "You sleep-walking? Get
in there! I'll wake you up."