E PLURIBUS UNUM!


Virgil and Theodolinda were returning from their honeymoon, which
they had spent touring in Quimbleton's Spad plane. They had been
in South America most of the time, where they found charming hosts
eager to console them for the tragical developments in the
northern continent.

It was a superb morning in early autumn when they were flying
homeward. Beneath them lay the green and level meadows of New
Jersey, and the dusky violet blue of the ocean shading to a
translucent olive where long ridges of foam crumbled upon pale
beaches. They turned inland, flying leisurely to admire the beauty
of the scene. The mounting sun spread a golden shimmer over woods
and corn-stubble. White roads ran like ribbons across the
landscape. Quimbleton glided gently downward, intending to skim
low over the treetops so that his bride might enjoy the rich
loveliness of the view.

Suddenly the great plane dipped sharply, tilted, and very nearly
fell into a side-slip. Quimbleton was just able to pull her up
again and climbed steeply to a safer altitude. He looked at his
dashboard dials and indicators with a puzzled face. "Very queer,"
he said to Theodolinda through the speaking tube, "the air here
has very little carrying power. It seems extraordinarily thin. You
might think we were flying in a partial vacuum."

From the behavior of the plane it was evident that some curious