Tim promised to go to the field at once and after Hunter had hung up the receiver telephoned for Ralph. A sleepy-sounding voice finally answered his summons and in a few words Tim explained what was needed.
“I’ll throw on some clothes and hop a cab for the field,” said Ralph, all thought of sleep having vanished.
Tim dressed carefully and warmly for he had a hunch it would be a good many hours before he saw bed again and from past experiences he was wise enough to follow his hunch.
The flying reporter phoned for a cab and then went downstairs to await its arrival. He stopped at the door of his landlady’s room and slipped a note under to tell of his sudden departure. Then he went into the front hallway. The lights of a cab gleamed dimly through the snow and Tim hastened out into the storm.
The taxi driver, heavily bundled, grunted as Tim gave his destination.
“Sure you want to get to the airport?” demanded the driver.
“Can’t you make it?” asked Tim.
“Don’t know,” replied the taxi man. “The snow is drifting fast and that road is bad on a night like this.”
“See how far you can get,” said Tim as he climbed into the cab.
With a grinding of gears the cab moved into the storm. The snow was falling in a solid blanket that obscured even the buildings flanking the street. Lights were visible for only a few feet and Tim and the driver felt as though they were in a world of their own.