“Afraid I’m not much help right now,” he said. “Say, wait a minute. We’ll go over to the radio shack and see if there are any late bulletins on planes coming in tonight.”
Tim agreed and they walked over to the little building at the foot of the radio towers where the department of commerce maintained a station, part of its transcontinental link of communication to advise airmen on weather conditions and report the movements of aircraft along the main skyways.
The operator on duty greeted them cordially and turned his file of messages over to them. Hunter thumbed through the flimsy sheets of tissue with experienced fingers. He stopped and read one of the communications with interest. Then he turned to Tim.
“Here’s something that came in within the last hour,” he said. “May be just what you need for a story.”
Tim read the tissue and glowed with excitement at what he read. What a lucky break for him. According to the report, Arthur Winslow, king of the air mail flyers, would land at the local field within two hours for an overnight stop.
“That’s just what I need,” exclaimed Tim. “Why Winslow is rated as the ace of all airmen. It will make a great yarn if he’ll talk.”
“There may be some trouble on that point,” said Hunter. “I know Winslow only slightly for he’s flying on the west end of the transcontinental now, and he’s mighty reticent when it comes to talking about himself. It says here that he is ferrying a new passenger and mail plane west.”
“Good thing I have a car here,” said Tim. “If I can’t get a chance at him any other way I can offer him a ride to the city and he can hardly refuse to talk then.”
“I think he’ll help you out if you explain what you want and how badly you need a good story for the first day your column is printed.”
They went into Hunter’s office where the manager of the field busied himself at his desk. Tim dug into the files to secure, in advance, all of the available material he could about Arthur Winslow, airman without peer.