Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 11, 1925 — page 15: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE BIG GUN. At this moment the door opened and an officer with an ensign’s bar on his sleeve appeared. ‘What is this?” he called. “No need of fighting over it. Come in— you!” He indicated the young man in the white collar, who had just retrieved his lost drawings. Cyrus stepped forward. he insisted. The ensign looked over the two boys, and was evidently more impressed with the ap- - pearance of the well-clothed owner of the drawings, whom he was already assisting in. “ There will be plenty of time,” he replied. “But the commandant said,” Cyrus in- sisted, ‘‘ that the first one here was to go to the head of the line.- I was first.” The ensign looked at the bare legs and the newspaper bound parcel. Already the other had disappeared. ‘“‘ You are next,” he decided, “ step in here and wait.” In his anteroom separated from the en- sign’s office only by a partition going part way to the ceiling Cyrus could overhear the quizzing of the one who had managed to precede him, who began explaining his drawings. They attempted to present a scheme for laying out city streets on curves instead of on squares. In a few minutes the ensign had given him the address of an institute in the city to seek, and had passed him out. Cyrus entered. “IT was first,” ‘“Ah! The scrapper?” Ensign Tenflair greeted him. “No, sir. I never fight—er, that is, seldom.” “ But I saw you—” “Only if my rights are invaded, sir.” Tenflair laughed. But now that he had a better chance to observe the applicant he became more attentive. He was not more than two or three years older than Cyrus, having just been graduated from the academy at Annapolis, and was serving his first shore duty in the ordnance draughting- ‘room. “That’s fair enough,” he lightly an- swered. ‘‘ Let’s see. What’s your idea?” Cyrus began unrolling his package. “A device to render possible automatic sighting on a moving target,” he said. 2 169 “What!” exclaimed Tenflair, adding: “Don’t show me. Keep it. Come and see the commandant at twelve. Out the rear door. Good day. Next.” In this manner the sheep were winnowed from the goats. By noon the five hundred had dwindled to less than thirty. When the commandant came in from the morning with the admiral in charge of opera- tions he faced this selected list whom Ten- flair had detained for him. ““Who’s first?” he called. “I am,” said Cyrus promptly. “Come in.” He took the applicant’s name, age and address. “ Linkersport?”’, he asked. ‘“ Where’s that?” ““ Down the Jersey coast.” “How far?” ““My speedometer clocked it this morn- ing at one hundred and forty eight and a half miles.” “Speedometer? You came by automo- bile?” “No, sir. By motor cycle.” ‘““And you heard me on the radio last night?” “Yes, sir. One I made myself.” “Good. Then you have a mechanical bent. What time did you get here?” _“ Fight o’clock, sir.” “What? You rode one hundred and forty eight and a half miles before eight o’clock?” “Yes, sir. And I was here first, too. I was ahead of the boy the ensign let in first, only he was between me and the corner of the building when you told us to come around by the side.” : Commander Layton smiled broadly. ‘““Good; now tell me what you are most interested in—in the way of an invention.” Cyrus undid his package and spread it on the desk, and proceeded to explain its mechanism. “ This will sight pistols,” he said, quietly, “so that they will hit moving targets one hundred times out of one hundred—automatically. Only my eccen- trics are made of wood—had to whittle ’em myself. If they are cast out of steel, and- ground fine, they will work.” The quiet, calm, mature assurance of this boy impressed the officer. com (é As Cyrus was) - -€O | : :