Free The Spirit of ST Louis by Charles A. Lindbergh

crossbar in his pocket to prove it.) They thought he was dead at first, then dying. But the surgeons straightened out his face bones, put a silver plate beneath his flesh, and he pulled through. His face began bothering him again this fall and, after X rays, another operation was advised. While he's been recovering from it, Nelson and I have taken all the mail flights.
    "Phil" I ask, when your face is really all right again, do you suppose you and Nellie could handle the mail route for three or four days? I've got to make a trip to New York."
    "Sure, Slim. Any time. I'll be all right next week, I tell you."
    We reach the crossroad, and stop at the corner barbecue stand.
    "Hello, there!"
    It's the auto mechanic from Bridgeton. Small of stature, in oversize, grease-smeared clothes, he extends his hand, smiling. He makes a living working by himself in his red-painted board garage a block or two away. He keeps so busy that we don't see much of him—only a wave of the arm or a shout of greeting as we drive past his junk-cluttered yard. Occasionally he comes over to Lambert Field to repair or tow off a stalled car.
    Mendenhall steps over to the counter and asks the salesgirl for some candy and a package of cigarettes. Tires scrubbing along the roadside draw my eyes. A stocky, flashily dressed man jumps out of a sport-model car and walks hurriedly to the counter. He shoulders past Mendenhall rudely, and demands immediate attention.
    "Say, how about taking your turn?"
    The stranger mutters a reply I can't understand, but its meaning mirrors in his round, surly face. Mendenhall, larger of build, shoves him aside. At this, three more stocky men spring out of the car—tough-looking fellows.
    "Hey, none of that!" Love moves forward to intercept them.
    "Phil!" I call. But it's no use. If there's going to be a fight, red-headed Phil Love will be in it. He's forgotten his face, forgotten everything but the one-sided melee that's forming. "Watch that face," the surgeon told him. "One blow will make it pulp." Now he's heading into a scrap where he's almost sure to get that blow. And I guess I'm committed too.
    But the stranger doesn't wait for his cohorts. His hand goes down, brushes back his coat; there's the shine of a nickel-plated gun.
    "Put it back!"
    It happened so fast I didn't see the draw. The little auto mechanic is standing in front of me, a horse pistol in his hand, pointing straight into the stranger's belly.
    "That kind of thing doesn't go here," he says quietly, but with a tenseness that's in keeping with his finger on the trigger.
    Everyone has stopped moving. The nickel-plated gun slips back into the pocket which its muzzle never left. Now I notice that the mechanic's left hand is holding his jacket open to show, pinned carelessly to his vest, a deputy sheriff's badge. None of us knew he had it.
    "Let's get going!" he says.
    The four men climb back into their car. Tires claw angrily on gravel. They speed out of sight around a bend in the road to St. Charles.
    Pistol and badge have disappeared. The little mechanic smiles and shrugs his shoulders.
    "Probably some gangsters from St. Louis," he remarks calmly. As far as he's concerned, the incident is over.
    The salesgirl, rather shakily, gives Mendenhall change from his dollar. We say good-by and start back toward the hangars.
    "Phil, damn it, you can't afford to get into a fight. You haven't got a chance with that face of yours."
    "I know it, Slim," he says. "But that was going to be four to one. It made me so mad I forgot all about my face."
     
    16
     
    "I want to put in a call for the Wright Aeronautical Corporation at Paterson, New Jersey – – – Yes, anybody who answers." I've never talked that far over the phone before. I hope the connection's good.
    "Hold the line, please."
    I wish the operator didn't say it so casually—almost as though I were making a local call. I hear clickings, buzzings, snatches of words and numbers. I've got my new suit and suitcase, and