An exclamation or astonishment escaped the lips of the more impulsive American girl as she came on deck; for as far as the eye could see the gray flat tops of the war vessels were covered with the drab-winged planes, while every few seconds a plane shot into the air and joined an endless winged line that stretched away to the northeast.

“Komoru eighty-five:  Oshima eighty-six.”

The intent of that command was clear and Ethel was soon settled immediately behind the young secretary in the little bamboo car of a Japanese plane-of-war.

The propeller started with a shrill musical hum; they raced down the runway; dipped for a second toward the water; rose, and sailed swiftly up and on toward the dark line of Mexico, that lay in the evening shadow cast by the curved surface of the Pacific Ocean.

(To be continued.)

PART TWO.

In the Clutch of the War-God

The tale of the ORIENT’S invasion of the Occident, as chronicled in the humaniculture society’s “Notes on the twentieth century”.

By Milo Hastings

Synopsis of Previous Installment:  In the year 1958, Ethel Calvert, a daughter of an American grain-merchant, residing in Japan, because of her father’s death in an anti-foreign riot, is forced to take refuge with Madame Oshima, the French wife of a Japanese scientist.  She becomes accustomed to the mode of living followed by the Japanese, and is finally persuaded to adopt the costume of the land of her exile.  War is declared between Japan and the United States, and Professor Oshima, and Komoru, his Secretary, together with Madame Oshima and Ethel Calvert, sail for United States in a Japanese war vessel.  When near the Pacific Coast, the many men and women who have been passengers on the vessel, leave the ship by means of aeroplanes, and sail eastwardly over Southern California.

The air cut by Ethel’s face at a ninety-mile gait, and she gripped nervously at the hand-rails of the car.  Then, regaining confidence, she began to drink in the novel view about her.  Ahead were the drab-winged aeroplanes growing smaller and smaller until they became mere specks against the darkening sky.  She turned to the rear and watched the myriads of humans, like birds, rising from the transports that still lay in the sunshine.  There were literally thousands of them.  She wondered if human eyes had ever before witnessed so marvelous a sight.

They had come over the mainland of Mexico now and were flying at a height of about half a mile.  Shrouded in the tropical twilight, the landscape below was but dimly discernible.  As the darkness came on, Ethel discovered that a small light glowed from the side of the car in front of the driver.  Gripping the hand-rail, she made bold to raise herself; and, stopping beneath the searchlight and machine-gun that hung, one beneath the other, on swivels in the center of the framework, she peered forward over Komoru’s shoulder.