CHAPTER VIII
Jimmy Saves a Boyhood Friend
Jimmy was almost startled at the managing editor's announcement. Then hefelt embarrassed. It had never occurred to him that his paper wouldprint the story of his flight. He had not thought his flight worthtelling about. In fact, he had not thought of anything except gettingback with the news. Had not Handley wired the managing editor about theperilous trip Jimmy was making, and had not that enterprising individualgotten into touch with the Airways Weather Bureau and urged itspersonnel to do everything possible to insure Jimmy's safety, the talewould probably never have been known in the _Press_ office. For Jimmywould doubtless have walked in and apologized for being delayed. Hewould probably have said that he had had engine trouble and had landedat Ringtown to fix an oil pipe that was leaking. That would have beenjust like Jimmy. And no one would have known the difference.
But the managing editor, despite his accustomed gruffness and sharpness,was at heart the kindest of men. His harsh exterior was merely a mask hewore. He was fond of Jimmy. He had been truly worried about his flyingreporter. He understood Jimmy well enough to know that the lad wouldmake every effort humanly possible to get back with the photographs andthe story.
Indeed, that was the real reason he liked Jimmy so much. Loyalty andenthusiasm counted greatly with the managing editor. And he knew thatJimmy was one hundred per cent. faithful. So he had taken the matter ofJimmy's flight in hand, and had done all he could to help his pilot getthrough. By telephone he had been kept informed of the lad's progress,and he had even been in conversation with the field worker at Ringtown.That was how he knew all about the matter. Ordinarily he had little tosay to any one by way of commendation or praise. But this time he forgothis own rule of "not spoiling good reporters by praising them." He hadspoken from his heart.
There really wasn't much danger of the managing editor's spoiling Jimmy,or of anybody else's doing it, for that matter; because Jimmy was sointent on doing something, on accomplishing something, on getting aheadand climbing up, that he had little time to think about the things hehad done. What interested Jimmy was the things he _hoped_ to accomplish.He was always studying how to be a better flier and how to gain moreability in his new task as a newspaper man.
For a short time he had no assignments that taxed his abilities ineither direction. He took the _Morning Press_ camera man out to takepictures, on several occasions; he transported photographs himself; andhe did one or two little tasks of reporting. But things moved so slowlyfor several days after the flight from Cleveland that time began to hangheavy on Jimmy's hands and he was growing restless for a task thatseemed to him worthwhile.
It came, as most newspaper stories come, unexpectedly. Early one eveningan A. P. "flash" was received, saying that a great dam had burst innortheastern New Hampshire. A town had been partly wiped out by the wallof water that poured down the narrow valley. Scores were dead ormissing. Hundreds were homeless. It was a disaster of the worst kind.
Managing Editor Johnson saw at once that this was no mere local story.This was a story of the widest interest. It was almost a "national"story. The destroyed town was far up in the northern part of the State,is a rough and rugged region. It would be utterly impossible to get oneof his own men there in time to get a story for the next day's paper. Hewould have to depend upon local correspondents. Fortunately the _Press_had a correspondent at Berlin, which was not many miles distant from thewrecked village. Mr. Johnson ordered this correspondent to the scene atonce, and made what arrangements he could with the telegraph company toexpedite the handling of the despatches that might be filed. Then hecalled up Jimmy.
"We have just had a flash from the A. P.," he said, "about a dam thathas burst north of Berlin, New Hampshire, partly wiping out the town ofNorthend. It won't be possible for you to do anything to-night, Isuppose, but I wish you would take off at daybreak and get up there asquick as you can. The place is in the very peak of the State. It's thenorthernmost town. We will get the general story through the A. P. and Ihave sent our Berlin correspondent. But we want a story by a staffmember. Get all the incidents you can--the sort of stuff you and Handleygathered at Cleveland--and in particular get lots of pictures. We needthe pictures especially. Get back here at the earliest moment you can."
"All right, Mr. Johnson," said Jimmy, "but I won't wait until morning.I'll take off at once. I can follow the New York to Boston lightedairway and stop at Springfield for the night. I know the way well. Icould go all the way, but I don't know anything about the airports up inthe White Mountains. I might have trouble in landing. So I'll stay atSpringfield for the night and hop off from there at dawn. That will getme there early in the morning."
"Good," replied the managing editor. "That ought to get you back here bylate afternoon. Good-bye and good luck to you."
Jimmy hopped off as soon as he could get ready. He was glad to be in theair again, happy to have a real task ahead of him. To be sure, there wasnothing apparently difficult about this job. There was plenty of time,and the work ought to be easy. But Jimmy already knew enough aboutnewspaper work to understand that one can never tell what will developin any story. Before he got through with it, this assignment might bringhim some thrilling experiences. At any rate, here was another chance tomake good. This time he was wholly on his own.
Furthermore, the night was perfect. In flying language it was a "C. A.V. U." night--a night with ceiling and visibility unlimited. Not a cloudflecked the sky. The deep blue inverted bowl of the heavens seemedimmeasurable. Myriads of stars hung in the firmament. So clear was theatmosphere that they made the night luminous. Indeed, the stars alonewould have lighted the earth. But a glowing young moon added itsbrilliant beams, making the night almost like day. It was an evening togladden a pilot's heart.
It did gladden Jimmy's. He felt so gay and frolicsome that he couldhardly refrain from doing a few barrel rolls, or looping the loop, or insome other way giving expression to his mood. But when he rememberedthat he was a fully accredited member of the staff of a great newspaper,and saw that it would not be seemly for a real reporter to be doingsomersaults like a child, he restrained himself and flew along soberlyenough. Yet his heart was singing gaily.
It was little more than nine o'clock when Jimmy hopped off from the LongIsland airport. He had only a trifle more than 100 miles to go. He couldmake it easily in an hour, and in much less time if he chose to do so.But there was no call for haste, and Jimmy didn't want to get toSpringfield too soon. He was enjoying the night and the ride altogethertoo much. So he flew along at a lazy gait.
He had crossed the upper part of New York City, so that he could flyover the East River rather than the Sound. And he had picked up the lineof beacons that marks the airway from Newark to Boston. Ahead of him hecould see revolving beacon after beacon, at ten-mile intervals, as onesees street lamps stretching along a city boulevard. The way was asevident as Broadway at noon. But on a night like this Jimmy didn't needany lights on earth to guide him. The beacon lights in the heavens wouldhave guided him anywhere.
It seemed to him that he reached Hartford, the capital city ofConnecticut, in no time. Below him he could see the lights of the city,stretching in long rows for miles, like orchards of lights. Ever soplainly he could see the familiar landing field, where the pilots stopto pick up mail. It was all aglow with its encircling white boundarylights, its green lights that show the descending pilot the best way ofapproach, its red markers on top of buildings and telephone poles, totell the pilot where danger lurks aloft, and its clustered lights andbeacons at the hangar. Jimmy had been there often and knew the placewell.
From Hartford to Springfield was such a mere hop that Jimmy didn't wantto stop when he reached the latter city. If he could not play, at leasthe could express his feelings by extending this wonderful flight atrifle. He wondered where he should go. Then he thought of an oldfriend--a lad he had not seen for a long time--another member of theWireless Patrol--Carl Dexter.
Jimmy had visited him once, after Carl moved away from Pennsylvania. Heknew where Carl's home was. It was in the town of Wilbraham, inMassachusetts, only a few miles from Springfield. Of course, Jimmy hadno hope of seeing Carl, but he thought he would fly over the lad's homeand take a look at the region. He liked it greatly, and it held pleasantmemories for him. If he could not see Carl he could at least drop him anote, saying that he had passed in the night. Perhaps Carl might evensee his plane and remember about the incident. He would circle aroundthe place and perhaps the family might notice his plane. So, instead oflanding at Springfield, Jimmy remained in the air.
He flew lazily over the city, to take a look at it by moonlight. Hecould see everything plainly. There was the peaceful Connecticut River,asleep under the rays of the moon, and the brightly lighted memorialbridge that crossed it. At a distance rose the high tower he had had inmind as a guiding light, with its great lamp glowing aloft. And only afew miles distant, shining almost level with his eyes, was the flashingbeacon on Mt. Tom. It was all familiar to Jimmy. He was glad to see itagain.
When he had flown over the city, he banked sharply to the right andturned to the east, trying to pick out the clustered lights of thevillage of Wilbraham, which was less than nine miles distant. In fiveminutes he was over the place. Just beyond, he could plainly see thebulk of Springfield Mountain. It lay dead ahead of him. At the foot ofit he saw a long line of lights that marked the country highway. Hereand there shone the lamps of snug little homes. On the slope of themountain scattered lights betrayed the presence of other countrydwellings. If he kept straight on, Jimmy would have to fly right overthe mountain. But just now he had no intention whatever of attempting tofly over the mountain. He kicked his rudder and shoved his stick overuntil he was flying parallel with the ridge. Then cautiously he began todescend. He was trying to find the house in which his friend lived. Itwas on the slope of the mountain, perhaps a mile or two from thevillage. Jimmy recalled that fact distinctly.
He dropped down as low as he dared. He was within four hundred feet ofthe ground. He could see every feature of the landscape sharply in thebright moonlight. But it was a little difficult to pick out oneparticular house, when he had visited the neighborhood only once and hadnever seen the region from the air. So he had to swing about in a greatcircle. That took him a little closer to the mountain than he hadintended to fly. But the air was calm and he did not anticipate anydanger.
Now, as he circled close to the slope of the hill, he saw, here andthere, little homes tucked away in little farms on the wooded side ofthe mountain. The moonlight glistening on the dewy roofs made them shineout startlingly.
But suddenly he saw something that made him catch his breath. From awindow of one of these hillside homes flames were licking upward. Atfirst Jimmy doubted his own eyes. But a second glance told him he wasnot mistaken. The flames grew swiftly in intensity, and leaping tonguesof fire were soon shooting from several windows. Even from his positionhigh in the air Jimmy could see that the fire was in the first floor ofthe building. The flames were now lighting the place up brightly.
Jimmy came down a little lower and circled above the house. Nowherecould he see a sign of life. He glanced at his clock. It was almostten-thirty. "All abed and sound asleep," muttered Jimmy. "They'll all beroasted sure if some one doesn't waken them."
He circled lower. Nowhere could he see a soul. Yet the place had theappearance of being inhabited. Close by, in the barnyard, Jimmy sawcattle. Then he _knew_ the place was occupied. Now he saw a dog runningabout excitedly. Meantime, the flames grew brighter and brighter. Thefirst floor windows were fairly belching smoke and flames.
Something must be done to save the family so sound asleep in thisisolated home. For a second Jimmy glanced about to see if there was afield handy where he could land. It was some distance to the nearestone. Whatever was to be done must be done instantly. There was no timeto hunt out a landing place.
Without a moment's hesitation Jimmy circled back toward the house. Heshoved his stick over and nosed his plane downward. Then he gave her thegun. The ship shot earthward like a meteor. She gained tremendous speed.Jimmy flew her straight at the blazing house. When he was so close itseemed as though he could not possibly avoid crashing into thestructure, he pulled back on his stick and zoomed up over the housetop,his engine beating with a thunderous roar.
Swiftly he circled and bore back toward the doomed habitation. Again hedived at it, like a hawk after a pigeon, and again he zoomed up over thehousetop. His engine, racing at full speed, set the mountain to echoingwith mighty reverberations. The dog, the poultry, everything that couldmake a noise was adding to the uproar, so terrified were they.
Now Jimmy came close to the house and on level keel circled as close toit as he could. All the while his engine was thundering at high speed.Round and round he circled, watching the place closely, hoping that hewould accomplish his purpose before it was too late.
At last he saw a head poked from a window. Another followed. The familywas at last awake. Jimmy drew a breath of relief and instantly liftedhis plane to a higher altitude. He had gotten dangerously close to thetree tops.
There was nothing more he could do in his plane. He wanted to help theseunfortunate folks. Perhaps the barn and the live stock could be saved,even if the dwelling was doomed. But Jimmy could give no assistance in aplane. He must get to the ground.
He flew out toward the open farm land. There were fields everywhere.Most of them were too little for his purpose. But not far away he saw afield that seemed to stretch for hundreds of yards along the roadway,which here parallels the mountain. Jimmy could see it plainly in themoonlight. It looked smooth and safe. Jimmy judged it was a mowing, orhayfield. He swooped toward it. At the far end of the field he coulddimly discern on a little ridge of land a great barn with a huge silo. Alow white dwelling rose between it and the road. The sight reassuredhim. The field _must_ be a smooth mowing. He felt certain now that hecould land in safety. He circled, so as to approach the field again fromthe lower end, dropped a flare, switched on his landing lights, and camedown sharply over the trees that lined the end of the field. He couldsee well. He noticed that the field sloped upward slightly toward thedistant house and barn. Bringing his plane down almost to the earth, hestraightened her out, and just as his wheels were about to touch theground lifted her nose a trifle. A second later he set her downperfectly, shut off his gas, and let the ship roll up the little slopeto a standstill.
Jimmy was out of the ship and out of his parachute like a flash. Butalready near-by dwellers were collecting around his plane.
"There's a house on fire on the mountain," cried Jimmy. "Everybody in itwas sound asleep until I woke them a moment ago. They need help. Theymay be burning to death. Come on. Who knows the way?"
"This way," shouted a lad who had just come up. "Follow me."
The entire group raced after him, as he ran down the highway, thenturned into a wood road that led directly up the slope of the mountain.
Now it was plain enough that something was burning. Through the treesshone a red glare, and the sky above was rosy with the flames. Showersof sparks could be seen shooting skyward. The wood road appeared to leaddirectly toward the burning house, which was located at no greatdistance from the main highway.
Up the road they raced as fast as they could travel. The entirecountryside seemed to be lighted by the fire. In no time they reachedthe burning building. The first floor was a mass of flames, and the firewas rapidly eating its way to the roof. The owner had escaped, with hiswife and two children; but a grown lad, who slept on the third floor,was trapped and could be seen leaning from an attic window. The fatherwas trying to rescue him.
He had gotten a ladder, but it was many feet too short. There was noapparent way to reach the lad. The father was part way up the ladder. Hewas calling to the boy to jump into his arms.
"Wait!" cried Jimmy, as he rushed up. "Don't do that. You'll both behurt. There must be some other way." His mind was
working fast. An ideacame to him. "Have you a rope?" he demanded.
"Sure. A long hay rope."
"Let me have it quick," said Jimmy. "We can save him with that."
The rope was fetched. From his pocket Jimmy took a ball of twine he hadbeen using back at his hangar. The twine was thin but strong. He pickedup a long, thin stone, tied one end of the twine to it, called to thelad in the window to catch it, and threw the stone up to him. The firstattempt failed. Jimmy threw the stone up again and the lad caught it.Jimmy tied the twine to the hay rope. Fearful lest the heavy rope breakthe twine, he mounted the ladder almost to its topmost rung, gathered upa great length of the rope to take the weight from the twine, and heldthe rope up toward the lad above him.
"Pull it up carefully, but hurry," he said. "It's hot on this ladder."
Quickly the lad hauled up the twine, then carefully raised the ropeuntil he could clutch the end of it. A cry of relief went up from thewatching crowd as he grasped the rope. The lad disappeared within theattic, dragging the rope behind him. In a moment he reappeared at thewindow, slid out over the sill, and on down to the ladder. He hadfastened the rope within the attic. Jimmy tarried on the ladder untilthe lad's feet were firmly planted on a rung. Then he scrambled toearth, quickly followed by the lad he had rescued.
Once they were on the ground, the lad turned to Jimmy and held out hishand. Both boys gave a cry of astonishment. The lad who had just sliddown the rope was Carl Dexter, Jimmy's old friend in the WirelessPatrol. They grasped hands eagerly and greeted one another in a mannerthat astonished the crowd.
"Carl!" cried Jimmy. "I had no idea that was you. The light was soflickering and uncertain, and your hair is rumpled and I just didn'trecognize you. I didn't know your father, either, but that is notstrange. He has grown a beard since I saw him. I suppose I have grown soin the years since we met that he didn't know me either. I'm awfullyglad to see you. It has been more than two years since we met."
"No more than I am to see you, Jimmy. But it's terrible to see you underthese circumstances. How did you get here? What brought you here?"
"I'll tell you all about that later," said Jimmy. "We've got to try tosave the barn just now. The house will go sure."
They ran to the endangered structure and found most of the neighborsbattling hard to protect it. A bucket brigade had been formed. Water wasbeing thrown on roof and wall. The dwelling was absolutely doomed. Inthe end, after a hard battle, the firemen succeeded in saving the barn,some other outbuildings, and all the stock and implements.
When a lull came in the fire fighting, Jimmy and his old friend drew offto one side, and Jimmy began to tell Carl how he happened to be flyingin the neighborhood and how he discovered the fire. Suddenly he stoppedtalking and a strange look came into his face. He seemed to be debatingsomething in his mind.
"Carl," he said, "I'm in a queer position. I have no business to be hereat all. I ought to be in Springfield. My managing editor thinks I amthere. Gee! He might even have been trying to get me. He may have someorders for me. I never thought of that. I could slip right back thereand maybe he'd never know the difference. But here's a story. It's agood story, even if I did have a part in it. The _Press_ ought to haveit. Maybe we can scoop the other New York papers on it. I'm going toshoot it in as quick as I can, no matter what the Old Man says about mytaking too much rope. He can fire me if he wants to. But I'm not goingto see the _Press_ beaten on its own story. Gee! He'd fire me for that,sure. How can I get to a telegraph office quickest?"
"In a motor car, I should think. Thank heaven the barn didn't burn. Ourcar is in it. I'll pull on some trousers and----By Jove! I don't own anytrousers. They are all burned up. I'll go as I am. And I'll get you tothe telegraph office as fast as gasoline will take us."
He did. Jimmy ran into the office and began to write. He handed thesheets to the operator as fast as they were written, with the injunctionto rush the stuff. The operator ticked off the story as Jimmy wrote.
Because he was full of the matter, and because he could see so vividlyin his mind the scene he was describing, Jimmy once more wrote agripping story. He told in simple words how the pilot of the _MorningPress_ plane, flying over Wilbraham, had noticed flames issuing from ahillside home; how the pilot had awakened the sleeping inmates by divingat the house with roaring motor; how later the pilot and a farm boy hadsaved the life of a lad trapped in the third floor of the burningbuilding; and how this rescued youth had proved to be a lifelong friendof the pilot.
"Gee," said Jimmy, when he had finished the story, "I slipped up there.I forgot to get the name of that farm boy. I'll let it go now, but I'llbe more careful next time."
Then he wrote another message. It was to the managing editor.
At once the managing editor got into touch with him by telephone.
"We have further news about the New Hampshire flood," he said. "It'seven bigger than I thought. I'm sorry I didn't send another man withyou."
"I've got a friend here," answered Jimmy, "who could help me if you arewilling. It's the lad we just saved from the fire. He's an old friend. Ican make good use of him. Shall I take him?"
"Get anybody you can who can help you," was the answer.
Jimmy called out to Carl: "Could you go on up to New Hampshire with meand help me cover a flood story?"
"If they can spare me at home, I'll go gladly if it will help you any."
Jimmy turned back to the telephone. "I think it is all right, Mr.Johnson," he said.
"Very well. Make all the speed you can. This is a big story and all thepapers will be after it hot. Use the telegraph or the telephone if youbreak down. Make sure that we get the story and get it in plenty oftime. And don't forget that we want good pictures. They are moreimportant than the story. We'll get a story from the A. P., anyway. Thetelegraph editor tells me you just sent in a rattling good story about afire. Keep it up. Get us an even better one about the flood. Good-bye."