CHAPTER FIVE
Tim’s instant response to the appeal from the flood-stricken village pleased the managing editor immensely.
“Fine, Tim, fine,” said Carson. “This will be great stuff. Good advertising for the News and at the same time a real bit of service. I’ll call the Red Cross and have everything ready. How much can you carry?”
“About five hundred pounds,” said the flying reporter. “Have them put it in two strong sacks, big ones, and get it to the field in half an hour. I’ll hustle out there and get a parachute ready.”
“Where do I come in?” expostulated Ralph, who had no intention of being left out of the party. “If you’re going to take five hundred pounds of food and medical supplies, there won’t be room for me.”
“I know it, Ralph, and I’m sorry,” replied Tim. “But right now the food and medicine mean more to those villagers than your presence circling around in the clouds above them.”
Tim’s words were without sarcasm and Ralph grinned in spite of his disappointment, but he knew that Tim was right.
“I’ll go out to the field with you,” he volunteered, “and I may be able to help you fix the parachute.”
“You could help a lot,” agreed Tim, and they hurried out of the office on their way to the airport.
When they reached the field, Tim enlisted the aid of Hunter and they opened up a parachute pack. Springs were carefully inserted and so arranged that they would force the big silken umbrella open three seconds after it had been dropped from the plane.