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England, George Allan, 1877-1936

"The Flying Legion"

"
"And why not, pray?"
"He's simply refused all attention, whatever!" put in the doctor.
"I have a reason, sir," Alden proffered.
"No reason can overrule my orders!" the Master exclaimed. "I commanded
you to report to Dr. Lombardo for treatment."
"Nevertheless, sir, I refuse--"
"Insubordination will not be condoned, sir!"
"My reason is valid. When you have heard it, you will understand."
"State your reason, sir!"
"I decline--here."
For a long moment the eyes of the Master met those of Captain Alden,
that strangely peered out at him through the eyeholes of the pink,
celluloid mask. Bohannan and the doctor stood by, curiously observing
this conflict of two wills. Silence came, save for the droning purr
of the engines, the buffeting gusts of wind along the fuselage, the
slight trembling of the gigantic fabric as it hurled itself eastward
through the high air of night.
"This is inexcusable," said the Master, crisply. "I give you one last
chance. Either permit treatment, or consider yourself under arrest."
"Before you proceed to such lengths," the captain replied, "I ask one
favor of you."
"What favor?"
"Two minutes alone with you, sir.


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