letter V with one side against the bottom of the airship and the other

pointing forward on a wide angle at its mouth. The acute end of the arm ended at the trap door in the bottom of the engine room. Rushing toward the freight to be loaded, suspended between the masts and held by the spring hooks, the metal V crane would be lowered in place. As its arm passed under either the freight itself or the cable holding it, the metal crane would guide the package or cable swiftly along the angle until the narrowing slot of the apex caught and held the object. At the impact, the spring hooks released the suspension cable and the motion of the aeroplane held the freed article until it could be secured through the trap door. At the apex of the crane the arms were jointed and held in place by a bolt. By loosening this, the lower arm could be folded parallel with the upper one and thus made fast against the car bottom until needed again.

“I’d think you’d have a net, like those on street cars,” suggested Buck.

“When you can tell us how to use a net without danger of knocking your freight farther from you, we’ll be glad to try it,” answered Roy.

“You can’t pick up a passenger with it, can you?” went on Buck, who was desperately trying to make conversation.

“No,” answered Roy, “and I don’t know any way to take on and land passengers when trains are going sixty miles an hour.”

When some one commented on the absence of Major Honeywell from the luncheon it was soon explained that he would be on the _Herald_ tug, preferring to get the latest possible view of the departing _Flyer_. At half past one o’clock Mr. Atkinson’s telephone called Ned. It was the _Herald_ editor who only wished to give the voyageurs good luck, to ask if everything was ready and to announce that the program of the _Telegram_ would be carried out on the minute.

“You have the _Herald_ code book,” were his parting words. “Try to send me advices from Ipswich and Nova Scotia if you can. In London, the _Herald_ representatives will look after your arrival. Don’t bother about anything but getting safely across and back. You have the best wishes of the _Herald_. Good-bye and good luck.”

Ned and those about him did not know that the great editor, as he hung up his receiver, sighed and for a moment leaned his head in his hand. The journalist realized that he was sending five young men on a mission in which there were overpowering odds of death unnoted in time and unmarked in place. Then he thought of the time when, as a young reporter, he rode six days with the thermometer forty below zero to interview Sitting Bull, and he was an editor again.

Since it had also been decided that the _Telegram_ as printed in London was to contain matter describing the _Ocean Flyer_ and a brief “advance” story of its plan of flight, it was accepted as inevitable that these details would return to all American newspapers in time for publication the same morning that the _Herald_ printed its own elaborate account. It was planned, therefore, that the _Herald_ was to arrange to publish a much fuller and better story by using, in addition to the story in hand, the log of the _Flyer_ for the description of the actual flight, and to augment this by adding the particulars of the start in Newark as well as a graphic account of what took place while the aeroplane was in London.

This accounted in part for Mr. Latimer’s presence at the luncheon. He had assigned himself the duty of preparing the story of the start. He had also another mission. While making his first inspection of the aircraft that morning he had arranged with Bob Russell for a lively account of both flights to be ready on the return and to be delivered with the great coronation story.

“I ain’t puttin’ anybody’s nose out of joint, am I?” asked Bob at once when first approached on this subject.

“Whose nose?” asked Mr. Latimer wonderingly.

“Stewart’s, of course,” answered Bob. “He’s the _Herald_ man, you know.”

“But I thought Stewart wasn’t coming back!” said the night city editor.

“I know he isn’t,” answered Bob with a wink. “But what if he does?”

“In that event,” replied Mr. Latimer, smiling, “he won’t need any instructions. We can count on him for twice what we can use. And we’ll run it as ‘The Only Passenger’s Story.’”

By two o’clock, each of the crew—except Ned—had gone through the final formality of farewell and mounted into the car. The big aeroplane, silent and strong, stood on the starting-ways facing the east, as if anxious for the touch that was to start its planes into vibrant life. Just within the open window of Mr. Atkinson’s office Mr. Latimer sat at the telephone, watch in hand. Just without, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows but with a heavy gray sweater on his arm, stood Ned. And, as in all crucial moments, the editor and Ned were speaking of the thing least related to their real thoughts. As if wholly unconcerned with the things about them they talked of trout fishing in Wisconsin.

When the telephone rang and the newspaper man responded he turned to Ned again with no excitement in his voice.

“The last form has gone to the stereotyping room,” he remarked almost casually.

“One fifty-six,” replied the boy outside.

“Correct,” answered Latimer. “They’ll be on time.”

Three minutes later the instrument called him again.

“It’s off,” he announced in a low voice. “We won’t hear from them again.”

At that instant the wireless operator rushed from the adjoining room and the coatless and hatless Bob—already in overalls—sprang onto the _Flyer_ lower gallery.

“They’ve started,” yelled both, almost together.

Ned smiled and held out his hand to the night city editor.

“Until we meet again,” he said.

“Remember me to the king,” was the journalist’s only reply as he shook hands and Ned walked slowly toward the mounting steps. Part way to the car he paused, turned and hurriedly retraced his steps. Mr. Atkinson, watch in hand, was approaching from a group of several hundred employees. Ned lifted his cap to the assembled onlookers and then caught the president by the sleeve.

“I don’t know that we’ll need it,” he said with a laugh, “but I just remembered we haven’t any money. Have you a thousand dollars in the office?”

The two entered the office. At six minutes after two o’clock Alan appeared on the upper gallery, watch in hand and an expression of concern in his face. About the same moment Mr. Atkinson and Ned reappeared, the latter carrying a package of bills.

“Don’t leave without me,” called out Ned, waving his arm to show the money. “I almost forgot; we may have to pay some fines in the big town if we’re arrested.”

“It’s eight minutes after two,” was Alan’s anxious reply.

“Don’t worry,” called back Ned as he advanced, “feeling” the direction of the breeze with his raised hand. “I’d rather be a little late than too early.” Then, at the foot of the ladder, he turned to Mr. Latimer again. “As I was saying,” he continued, addressing the night city editor, “when we get back, if you’ll take about ten days off, I’ll show you the best fishin’ spot in Wisconsin.”

If those congregated near the airship had the impression that Captain Napier would start with some ceremony or formality they were disappointed. Although Alan, Bob, Roy Osborne and Buck were now on the gallery above, each in some stage of excitement or concern, Ned made his way up the ladder as calmly as if preparing for one of the nightly tests.

His first words aboard were, “Buck, you seem to have less to do than any one else. We’d better make you purser as well as steward. Here’s a thousand dollars,” and he shoved the bills into the reporter’s hands. “Take care of it till we need it. And now a last word to everybody: the rolling and plunging of a vessel on the water is steadiness itself compared with some of the sudden motions the _Flyer_ may make; do not pass from one part of the ship to another except when necessary and do not fail, on the galleries or top deck, to keep a hand on the rail. It’s a few minutes after two o’clock. All hands stand by their stations for the signal and we’ll be off.”

Just as Alan and Roy sprang up the store room ladder to reach the pilot house and Bob and Buck were entering the engine room, an employee rushed from Mr. Atkinson’s office.

“The _Herald_ wants Mr. Latimer,” he shouted.

The latter glanced at Ned inquiringly and the boy nodded his head.

“Go ahead,” exclaimed Ned. “It’s probably an O. K. message for us. We’ll wait.”

Within two minutes—Ned’s associates having once more appeared on the upper and lower galleries with no attempt to conceal their impatience—the night city editor hurried toward the car again.

“From the office,” he said in a low tone to the boys above him, for as yet none of the spectators were advised of the mission of the aeroplane. “They’ve just received word that the English government authorities have prohibited airship flights over London during the coronation exercises.”

“London—the big London—or just the city?” inquired Captain Ned.

“Over London: that’s the message. The office wants to know if you’ll wait till it talks with the managing editor down at the marine office.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late,” answered Ned.

“Two twelve,” exclaimed Alan, whose watch had not been out of his hand since two o’clock.

“It’s too late,” repeated Ned. “Tell your folks everything stands as it was. We’ll put it over. Are you all ready, Mr. Engineer?” went on Ned. Bob’s eyes snapped.

“All ready, sir.”

“Start your engines.”

As if an electric button had been pressed, first one and then the other big turbine began moving. With neither jar nor noise the circular engines spun faster and faster until the ceaseless, muffled explosions fell into a soft, continuous purr of power. For a few seconds Ned stood at the engine door. Then, with a slight wave of the hand to those standing almost breathless on the ground below, Captain Napier walked forward until he was beneath the open door of the pilot room above.

“Are you ready, Mr. Hope?”

“Two, twelve, twenty-eight,” came from the pilot house.

“You may start at once.”

Slowly and gently, like the Alpine pebble that starts the avalanche, the eleven foot “moon propellers” began moving. Taking time to draw on his sweater, Ned hurried aft on the gallery to the companionway leading to the upper gallery and thence to the top deck. As he appeared on this the propellers had already attained a speed that drove the near-by spectators to flight. Then, suddenly, the streams of compressed air began to sing in the terrifying moan of a coming cyclone. As Ned made his way forward on the narrow elevated deck the storm broke; the cyclone burst.

Under the most powerful propellers ever made, the _Ocean Flyer_ surrendered. It ran forward twenty yards as if trying to escape the terrific power grasping it, tossed its head sideways two or three times and then, the ingenuity of man annihilating gravity, the heavy airship left the ground. As if falling from a great height, it plunged forward at increased speed. The seventeen hour flight had begun.