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Now show me how well you can fly the ship. Lift her off; then drift over that crater, and we'll have a look-see!" Spud O'Malley's face was glum as he obeyed. Spud had seen nothing but death in this place of horror Chet had observed that plainly yet it was equally plain that the Irish pilot was finding the order to live in safety a bitter dose.
"In that case, Colonel, we'll run along," Stan said with a grin. Colonel Holt looked at O'Malley sternly. "Food is a secondary matter right now, but you may go." "Thank you, sor," O'Malley said. "It's very important to me." The colonel looked at O'Malley's lank and bony frame and smiled. He turned back to his desk, and Stan and O'Malley hurried away.
Oh, lonely and dreary seemed Grace O'Malley's old castle when he was gone doubly dark seemed its great cavernous hall, without the sunshine of his joyous life doubly desolate the lady's shadowy chamber, in the windy old turret alone, without the brightness of his winsome face and the music of his happy voice.
Tomorrow, of course, it would all turn real and earnest again, O'Malley's story a mere poetic fancy. But for the moment I lived it with him, and found it magnificent.
She was the chieftainess of the O'Malley's of Clare Island, and called herself a princess, but she was most famed as a female pirate-captain, or vi-queen, as, perhaps, she would have preferred to be called. She lived in rude, stormy times, when the Irish were nearly as wild and warlike as savages, and fierce feuds and bold robberies, on land and sea, were every day affairs.
As a proprietor of a cab stand every driver was a minion of his and served him precisely as O'Malley's waiters did their chief; and it may readily be determined that the power thus exerted for making reports, for knowing the distinction and the engagements of certain individuals was far reaching indeed.
We'll get him extradited and put him through for ten years or more right in this county." The private investigator, however, as the weeks went by, could not find any man who filled O'Malley's description. Meanwhile Tom Swift had got what he called "a lead" and was working day and night upon the invention that he believed might make even the Jandel people respectful, if not a bit envious.
Now and again come glimpses of the bay, of the great island of Innisturk, of Clare Island, and of Innisboffin. Wilder and wilder grows the scenery as we approach Grace O'Malley's Castle, a small tenement for a Queen of Connaught. It is a lone tower like a border "peel," but on the very edge of the sea.
Stan saw that the Forts and Libs were slamming lead at the Focke-Wulfs in a blaze that rivaled a Fourth of July celebration. He kept an eye on Allison's Fort and saw an FW go down flaming after a thrust at the bomber. Stan chuckled softly. "Allison got one!" O'Malley yelled. "'Tis a sad day, this, for Mrs. O'Malley's son."
Hour after hour passed on, and the dull stupid work of the week went on. Mr. Allewinde's eloquence, Mr. O'Malley's energy, and Mr. O'Laugher's wit, sounded equally monotonous to the anxious priest and his good-natured friend.
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