He might have been your neighbor, or your boyfriend, or just the fellow you see clattering along in a Model A Ford any place in the country where college boys take the gang home from football games. He might have been, but now he was no part of that former life

Finley, Richard G.

English

Digital Commons @ Butler University

Java's Last Nightmoon caught full the twin bars of his cap-tain's insignia and his silver wings overwhich reposed the star and wreath of aflight commander. His eyes, now alive,reflected not the sparkle of a game wellplayed, and won, but the sharpness of abattle desperately waged against an in-evitable end. Many things had passed be-fore those eyes, and the weight of respon-sibility showed deeply in them as he metsquarely those of each of the pilots whohad by this time gathered at his plane fororders. None were in age more than ayear younger than the flight commanderhimself, yet they listened respectfully andquietly to his last minute instructions.With a steady hand he lighted his cig-arette, and the glow revealed a face calmand passive, all signs of fatigue havingfled. As I looked, a feeling of calmnessovertook me, as I know it did those pilotsgathered around him.They followed him that night. Theyfollowed him to the end against a vastlysuperior enemy force. Somewhere, theyfollow him still.RICHARD G. FINLEY,He might have been your neighbor, oryour boyfriend, or just the fellow you seeclattering along in a Model A Ford anyplace in the country where college boystake the gang home from football games.He might have been, but now he was nopart of that former life.Tonight the moon flooded the field witha brilliance known only in those far fiungislands of the South Pacific, and there hestood. Behind him, dark and silent,stretched the shadow of a P-40.His face, half turned from the moon-light, was void of emotion, and his eyeslooked far away into a distance that couldnot be measured by miles, nor separatedby oceans. The square, strong line ~f hischin was accentuated by a month growthof whiskers, which of late were becomingragged. His shoulders drooped slightlyand every line of his lean frame showedexhaustion. He was tired, desperatelytired.As he turned from his thoughts andmoved mechanically toward his plane, thethis quaint scene. The beauty and romanceof this whole Latin quarter have made ita ,Mecca for travelers and a theme forstories.This old French quarter is, in reality,a city within itself and is very little touch-ed by the tide of industry which has madeThe Quaint And Romantic CityJOSEPHINE HABOUSHEbony-skinned negroes bearing roundbaskets atop their kinky heads, easilybalancing their loads of fruit and vege-fables, make their way across the unevenstones of the old French quarter of NewOrleans. Bright-hued sunbonnets, hidingthe faces of dusky wearers, add color to(25)

Java\u27s Last Night

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Java\u27s Last Night

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