"Oh, of course!" she cried clearly. "Of course, my wanderer! Ready?"

She stood poised for a second, head thrown back, arms flung wide--a
small figure of Victory, caught in the flying wind.

And, "Contact, Jerry!" she called joyously into the darkness.
"Contact!"

There was a mighty whirring, a thunder and a roaring above the storm.
She stood listening breathlessly to it rise and swell--and then grow
fainter--fainter still--dying, dying--dying--

But Janie, her small white face turned to the storm-swept sky behind
which shone the stars, was smiling radiantly. For she had sped her
wanderer on his way--she had not failed him!




THE CAMEL'S BACK


BY F. SCOTT FITZGERALD

From _The Saturday Evening Post_

The restless, wearied eye of the tired magazine reader resting for a
critical second on the above title will judge it to be merely
metaphorical. Stories about the cup and the lip and the bad penny
and the new broom rarely have anything to do with cups and lips and