A Dare-devil of the Clouds Performs the Most Hair-raising Feat of His Life to Prove that He Is a Safe Pilot. THE AIR SPLASHER By Rickard Howells Watkins Author of “Full Throttle” “LA-ADIES and gentlemun!” bawled Sam Smith, rotating his fat body on the creaking box. “The next feature on the program will be an exhibition flight by King Horn, the wild man of the air! Horn has crashed no less than twelve ships in the course of his death-defying career as ‘Ace of Deuces’--an’ maybe he’ll make it thirteen before your eyes this afternoon!” Sam paused to gulp air with savage intensity; then bellowed on: “He promises nothing--the Tennant Flying Circus promises nothing--but watch him fly! He’s wild--wild--wild! Watch him fly! He’s as crazy as our passenger-carrying pilots are sane; he’s reckless as they are careful! He’s a cuckoo among eagles! Horn will now take the air and show you how not to fly a ship. No other Tennant plane will leave the ground while Horn is in the air. He’s wild--wild--wild!” Sam waved an eloquent hand toward an ancient crate that stood apart from the other ships on the field, and sank down onto his box to imbibe more air. A thin, youngish, carefully dressed man with large and reflective brown eyes, who stood beside the stunt ship, chuckled quietly at Sam’s oration. “Ta-ra! Tara--ta!” he muttered with a burlesque flourish of his walking stick. “You ought to wear pink-silk tights and learn to curtsy, King.” King Horn, an agile, long-limbed young man with light-brown hair that in the sun verged on the shade of gold, had already climbed into the rear seat of the old ship. He revved up the motor briskly, but paused to grin at his irreverent friend. It was an honest grin, as broad as a wide mouth would permit, and his eyes joined in it, crinkling at the corners. It was obvious that, whatever else King Horn thought about himself, he did not consider himself an artist. “You teach me to curtsy and I’ll teach you to fly!” he shouted against the beat of the motor. With a quick, impatient hand he cinched on his helmet. “Want a lesson now? The ship’s sort of loose today.” Franklin Cross shook his head. “I’ve got to get back to the _Era_ office to write your obit,” he said. “It’s a nuisance, but I’ve got to have it ready.” King Horn grinned again. “You gave me this reputation as a crasher, Cross,” he said. “It’s only fair to throw in an obituary notice to sort of round it off. ’By!” He gunned the plane with a lean and confident hand.