The Flying Reporter

s a Story in a Scorc

s its pilot, and had flown it ever since that great newspaper had decided that it must have a plane of its own. And Jimmy had piloted it so long, and had taken such loving care of it, that he felt as though it were

ady slit the letters open. The one he picked out of the bunch was a rather bulky letter that bore, in the upper left hand corner, this return address: Warren Long, Hadley Airport, New Brunswick, N. J. But Ji

im to get into the U. S. Air Mail Service as a "grease monkey," and who had afterward assisted him up the ladder, rung

ong had written to him. He

more puzzled than ever. With growing curiosity he pulled the lette

r J

think of you at such a time I do not know. But I did, and I said to myself, "Jimmy would like a piece of this parachute. He's always collecting souvenirs." So when I got my

ied to extinguish the flames; but the fire must have been in the crank-case or somewhere where the extinguisher fluid couldn't touch it. Then I tried to reach the nearest emergency landing field; but my engine went dead. The flames were spreading

. I tried to crowd over and get out of the way. You can't imagine what a funny, helpless feeling a fellow has when he can't touch anything with either his hands or his feet. Anyway, the ship just grazed me, but a miss is as good as a mile. The instant she was past I started to pull the rip-cord. I found my flash-li

by the terrible heat. The place where I came down was nearly half a mile from the spot where the ship landed. There was a thick woods between me and the sh

t night, be sure to take your flashlight. I found mine more than useful. For I landed in a scrub patch on a hillside. It was rough country and I was far from

oing well with you. Th

your

en L

hank God Warren wasn't hurt!" he cried. "I wonder where it happened. And I wond

where he could catch a late train, and he probably got back to Hadley early this morning. He must have written this note at once and got it into a mail for New York. It was mighty quick work, no matter how he did it. And it was just like Warren Long. He wanted to tell me about the fl

e and almost gauzy in effect, and one could hardly believe that so delicate a fabric could possibly have withstood the terrific strain imposed upon it when it s

square of silk was a

at is like him. He would hardly have mentioned it if he had had a leg burned off. If his par

tily cut from the parachute. The edges were jagged and uneven. "I'll get some woman to trim these edges and overcast

ded and thrust the bit of silk into the enve

aper says about the

story, hardly three inches long, telling how Long's plane had caught fire and how the pilot had jumped fr

letter that he had a most startling experience, with that flaming ship diving straight at him, while he was utterly powerless to help himself. That's

was to act. He reac

rning Press," he told

talking to the city

g arrow. Warren didn't dare open his 'chute for fear the plane would foul it and he would be killed. So he just kept on falling head first, watching the blazing plane as it tore after him, and hoping the thing would pass him clean and in time. For he wasn't very high up when he jumped. The ship barely missed him as it shot by. The instant it was past, Warren yanked his rip-cor

arren Long is now?"

to Hadley Airport on a train, and i

ood exclusive follow-up story. I'll send a man over to Hadley to get into touch with Long and get all the details from him. Meantime, I wish you would fly over to Ringtown, w

to tell the man you send to see Warren Long that I want Warren to give him the who