It was eight o’clock when the Goliath nosed over Montreal and prepared to descend after its 750 mile flight from its home field. A company from a Canadian regiment stationed in the city had bean turned out and was ready to assist in bringing down the big airship. News that the Goliath would stop had spread over the city and roads leading to the airport were jammed with cars.
With Andy at the main elevator and rudder controls and Serge beside him with a megaphone to direct the actions of the ground crew, they brought the Goliath to an easy landing. As soon as the big ship was fastened securely to the mooring mast Andy hastened back into the main salon where a doctor, who had boarded it the moment they landed, was examining Captain Harkins.
“Acute appendicitis,” was the verdict and the doctor added: “To continue on this flight will undoubtedly cost Captain Harkins his life.”
“We’ve got to go on,” protested the commander of the Goliath. “The lives of 31 men in the Neptune, trapped in the Arctic, depend on us.”
“You’ve got to think of yourself once in a while,” replied the surgeon tartly.
“We can take the Goliath on, Captain Harkins,” said Andy. “Serge has demonstrated that he is an expert pilot and navigator. Between the two of us we can handle the ship.”
Captain Harkins smiled through pain-tightened lips.
“I’m sure you can,” he said, “but you’d better get an official O. K. from your father. He planned to fly back to Washington but you may be able to get him at Bellevue before he starts.”
Bert got through to Bellevue at once and in five minutes Andy was talking with his father by radiophone.
“We’ve got to go on,” said the assistant pilot of the Goliath, “and Captain Harkins is desperately ill. Serge and I can take the Goliath through if you’ll give your permission.”