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Updated: July 1, 2025
I hope that our lady-friends will call sometime when we're dressed for dinner. I've tried several flossy effects in ties without results. But I expect to lay them out cold with these riding-boots." Nevertheless many days passed and the flying-girls continued not to appear. "I don't believe they're ever coming again," Pete Murphy said one day in a tone of despair.
Occasionally they addressed a remark to their captives. The flying-girls replied in hesitating flutters of speech, a little breathy yes or no whenever those monosyllables would serve, an occasional broken phrase. Superficially they seemed calm, placid even. But if one of the men moved suddenly, an uncontrollable panic overspread their faces.
"I've come out just to get the picture," Pete explained. "Same here," said Billy. For an instant, both men contemplated the scene with the narrowed, critical gaze of the artist. The flying-girls were swimming; and swimming with the same grace and strength with which formerly they flew.
Ralph asked one day, stopping at Billy's side. Ralph's question was not in reality begotten so much of curiosity as of irritation. From the beginning the "quiet one" had interested him least of any of the flying-girls as, from the beginning, Peachy had interested him most. "I don't know, of course." Billy spoke with reluctance.
"See here, Ralph," bantered Pete, "I've copped Brick-top for myself. You keep off the grass. See!" "All right," Ralph answered. "Katherine for yours, Petruchio. The golden blonde for mine!" He smiled for the first time in days. In fact, at sight of the flying-girls he had begun to beam with fatuous good nature.
Honey and Ralph still maintained that, as the ruling sex of a man-managed world, they had the right of discovery to these women. Frank still maintained that, as a supra-human race, the flying-girls were subject to supra-human laws.
The great wings furled close like blades leaping back to scabbard; the flying-girls dropped sheer in a dizzying fall. Half-way to the ground, they stopped simultaneously as if caught by some invisible air plateau. The great feathery fans opened and this time the men got the whipping whirr of them spread high, palpitated with color.
"What a theme for grand opera. Women with wings! Flying-girls! Will you tell me what the Hippodrome! has on Angel Island?" "Nothing," said Honey Smith, "except this you can get acquainted with a Hippodrome girl how long is it going to take us to get acquainted with these angels?" "Not any longer than usual," said Ralph Addington with an expressive wink. "Leave that to me.
Frank Merrill did not seem to hear him. He was taking notes by the firelight. The men continued to work at the high rate of speed that, since the appearance of the women, they had set for themselves. But whatever form their labor took, their talk was ever of the flying-girls.
Of the flying-girls, there remained now only one who held herself aloof, the "quiet one." It was many weeks before she visited the island. Then she came often, though always alone. There was something in her attitude that marked her off from the others. "She doesn't come because she wants to," Billy Fairfax explained. "She comes because she's lonely."
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