“I hardly know. Alan,” said Ned turning to his chum, “you haven’t said anything.”
But Alan made no reply. Gazing at the floor, he sat as if lost in thought.
“You could carry these men; two writers and a photographer?” asked the editor.
“Oh, there’d be no trouble about that; that many and enough persons to operate the car. I think we could even give the photographer a dark room,” answered Ned. “What do you say, Bob?”
“I’m on from the start, if you put it up to me,” exclaimed Russell who had now wholly recovered his equanimity. “We could do it without turning a hair.”
Every one smiled, while Ned drew his chair closer to Alan’s.
“Let me add another detail,” resumed the editor. “On the day before the coronation the evening edition of the Herald will print a special coronation edition—American tributes to the King and Queen. Two sets of the stereotype matrices of this edition will be made at two o’clock that day. These are paper and light, as you know. On your eastern flight you will carry these to the office of a London paper and deliver them at noon of Coronation Day. With the London evening papers we will issue the complete New York Telegram of the day before.”
The listening, newly excited boys all arose and stood together. Mr. Latimer walked to the window and raised the shade. The soft gray light of a June dawn flooded the room and paled the yellow electric lights. It was four o’clock. A sleepless night had left its traces on all. The managing editor was again tearing a paper strip into bits. The night city editor turned out the light bulbs and, biting at his short mustache, walked nervously back and forth. Suddenly the editor brushed the torn paper from his lap, arose and went to the big wall map. The three boys followed him.
“We had planned to start from St. John’s in Newfoundland,” Ned began in a tired voice. “The distance from that point to Fastnet Light or Cape Clear in Ireland is less than seventeen hundred miles. That was our plan. It seemed to us to be a big thing to undertake.”
The editor did not argue. Turning to the map, his form straightened. A smile of assurance seemed to blot out the traces of night. With a sweep of his arm he described a wide curve from New York to London. His smile deepened. Dropping his other hand on Ned’s shoulder he exclaimed: