Once or twice the cab slid into the curb but each time the driver managed to keep it under way and they finally pulled through the gate at the airport. Tim told the driver to charge the trip to the News and was about to enter the administration building when another cab jolted to a stop.
Ralph, bundled in a heavy coat, hopped out and followed Tim into the field manager’s office.
Hunter, a radiophone headset at his ears, was listening intently to an air mail report. He motioned for the boys to take chairs and went on with his work.
The reporters waited until Hunter had finished taking the message.
“What news now?” asked Tim.
“Bad news,” replied the field manager. “Two planes lost somewhere in the Great Smokies. It’s a cinch that the storm forced them down and you know how much chance there is of making a safe set-down on a night like this.”
“Who were on the ships?” Ralph wanted to know.
“Tiny Lewis was coming east and George Mitchell was on the westbound,” replied Hunter.
“They don’t make any better flyers than those two,” commented Tim.
“But they can’t buck a storm like this,” Hunter reminded. “Why, man alive, you can’t see ten feet ahead of you.”