Read Doc Savage: Phantom Lagoon (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage) for Free Online
Tags: action and adventure
break, and became the leading débutante of the season. They called it No. 1 Glamour Girl now. Ordinarily the attendant fame lasted for a few weeks; maybe it lasted longer if you were good newspaper copy and appealing camera fodder.
Henrietta had made herself a job. The job was the nation’s adventure girl. She was not American First Family; she wasn’t even Park Avenue. She was only a tall blonde gal whose folks had come from Oklahoma with some oil money, most of which they’d lost. It was a good background. The public ate it up.
With the war in Europe in full cry, the exploring racket was slipping; it was a dying horse. But Henrietta Hale in her heyday made good copy and good camera fodder, so she made the old nag gallop. She flew to Australia, via the South Sea Islands, and got stranded on an uninhabited island. She had no food. So she ate plankton. They’re the little sea organisms on which whales live. Depend on Hornetta Hale to come up with the unusual. For the papers had taken to calling her that by that time.
She had earned the nickname by buzzing one of the European passenger dirigibles as it had docked at Lakehurst, New Jersey, flying her tiny personal plane, dubbed the Hornet. In an effort to upstage the event, and grab headlines for herself, she had flown rings around the slow-moving airship. When the European government had lodged a formal complaint against the reckless aviatrix, Henrietta Hale gave a radio interview, during the course of which she expressed a choice opinion of that country’s war-mongering dictator.
The dictator was not pleased. He promised that if Henrietta Hale ever crash-landed in his country, she would be stood up before a brick wall and shot as a spy.
After that, she was Hornetta Hale. She did her best to live up to the nickname. Her speech became salty and her sharp tongue infamous. The American public couldn’t get enough of her exploits. This went on for years.
Eventually, she simmered down and was heard of less and less. The spreading war in Europe was accorded much of the blame. People who had enjoyed the dangerous life of Hornetta Hale vicariously through the rotogravure newspaper sections were now preoccupied with real danger. She was, in a word, passé.
HORNETTA HALE was still on the minds of Doc Savage and Monk Mayfair as they tooled one of the bronze man’s sedans along a country road in upstate New York. Doc was at the wheel.
The sedan was typical of the type of machines Doc Savage preferred. It was subdued, unobtrusive. The paint job was not flashy. The motor, however, was an eight-cylinder dynamo capable of speeds in excess of one hundred and eighty miles an hour. The steel body was bullet-proofed, as were the windows. Tires were composed of sponge rubber; they could not be flattened by nail or bullet.
There were other aspects of the sedan that were also remarkable. The hydraulic brakes were of the bronze man’s invention, as were the airplane-style shock absorbers.
It was these latter innovations that Doc Savage was testing at present. For this was the sedan’s maiden run.
“Oh boy!” said Monk happily. “Some day for a drive in the country. Ain’t that right, Habeas?”
The apish chemist scratched the head of a peculiar dwarf pig that was sitting on his lap. This was Habeas Corpus, who possessed a body that was undersized and huge ears that were oversized.
Roused by his master’s touch, Habeas climbed up and leaned his long inquisitive snout out the passenger window. Slipstream filled his ears like sails, making them spread like wings. The ungainly shoat seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.
“The machine seems to be performing as expected,” noted Doc as he whipped through winding country switchbacks.
“Say, Doc, you hear any more out of that Hornetta Hale?”
“Nothing after we put the young lady out of our office the other day,” the bronze man replied as he took a sharp turn at hair-lifting speed. No expression of concern crossed his
Henrietta had made herself a job. The job was the nation’s adventure girl. She was not American First Family; she wasn’t even Park Avenue. She was only a tall blonde gal whose folks had come from Oklahoma with some oil money, most of which they’d lost. It was a good background. The public ate it up.
With the war in Europe in full cry, the exploring racket was slipping; it was a dying horse. But Henrietta Hale in her heyday made good copy and good camera fodder, so she made the old nag gallop. She flew to Australia, via the South Sea Islands, and got stranded on an uninhabited island. She had no food. So she ate plankton. They’re the little sea organisms on which whales live. Depend on Hornetta Hale to come up with the unusual. For the papers had taken to calling her that by that time.
She had earned the nickname by buzzing one of the European passenger dirigibles as it had docked at Lakehurst, New Jersey, flying her tiny personal plane, dubbed the Hornet. In an effort to upstage the event, and grab headlines for herself, she had flown rings around the slow-moving airship. When the European government had lodged a formal complaint against the reckless aviatrix, Henrietta Hale gave a radio interview, during the course of which she expressed a choice opinion of that country’s war-mongering dictator.
The dictator was not pleased. He promised that if Henrietta Hale ever crash-landed in his country, she would be stood up before a brick wall and shot as a spy.
After that, she was Hornetta Hale. She did her best to live up to the nickname. Her speech became salty and her sharp tongue infamous. The American public couldn’t get enough of her exploits. This went on for years.
Eventually, she simmered down and was heard of less and less. The spreading war in Europe was accorded much of the blame. People who had enjoyed the dangerous life of Hornetta Hale vicariously through the rotogravure newspaper sections were now preoccupied with real danger. She was, in a word, passé.
HORNETTA HALE was still on the minds of Doc Savage and Monk Mayfair as they tooled one of the bronze man’s sedans along a country road in upstate New York. Doc was at the wheel.
The sedan was typical of the type of machines Doc Savage preferred. It was subdued, unobtrusive. The paint job was not flashy. The motor, however, was an eight-cylinder dynamo capable of speeds in excess of one hundred and eighty miles an hour. The steel body was bullet-proofed, as were the windows. Tires were composed of sponge rubber; they could not be flattened by nail or bullet.
There were other aspects of the sedan that were also remarkable. The hydraulic brakes were of the bronze man’s invention, as were the airplane-style shock absorbers.
It was these latter innovations that Doc Savage was testing at present. For this was the sedan’s maiden run.
“Oh boy!” said Monk happily. “Some day for a drive in the country. Ain’t that right, Habeas?”
The apish chemist scratched the head of a peculiar dwarf pig that was sitting on his lap. This was Habeas Corpus, who possessed a body that was undersized and huge ears that were oversized.
Roused by his master’s touch, Habeas climbed up and leaned his long inquisitive snout out the passenger window. Slipstream filled his ears like sails, making them spread like wings. The ungainly shoat seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.
“The machine seems to be performing as expected,” noted Doc as he whipped through winding country switchbacks.
“Say, Doc, you hear any more out of that Hornetta Hale?”
“Nothing after we put the young lady out of our office the other day,” the bronze man replied as he took a sharp turn at hair-lifting speed. No expression of concern crossed his