“We pass it on our way to Columbia.”
“Then drop me off there,” Flash requested.
A few minutes later he said good-bye to Joe Wells, promising to come to the hospital as soon as he could.
“Don’t fail,” the newsreel man urged, “there’s something I want you to do for me.”
At the airport Flash arranged to have his undeveloped film rushed to the Brandale Ledger. From the shipment he kept back only shots which he was certain would be of no use to the editor.
This important duty out of the way, he walked into town. There he dispatched a lengthy message, reporting to Riley such facts as he had been able to gather. Not until then did he allow himself to relax.
Already the town was crowded to overflowing with survivors of the wreck. Hotels, restaurants and the railroad station were jammed. Every available bed had been taken. Flash waited in line twenty minutes for a hot cup of coffee.
Battered and still chilled, he tramped to the hospital. Inquiring about Joe Wells and Major Hartgrove, he was relieved to learn that they both were doing as well as could be expected. After a long delay he was allowed to talk with the newsreel cameraman.
At sight of Flash, Joe’s face brightened.
“I thought you’d come,” he said. “Do you know what the doctor just told me? I’ll be laid up for weeks!”