The call was answered as soon as he had done speaking. “Hadley Field answering Donnelly,” came the reply, sharp and crisp. “Is everything all right with you?”
“Couldn’t be better,” replied Jimmy, “except for fog. That is growing less. What can you tell me about the weather between here and Long Island?”
“It improves all the way. Long Island just told us that there was almost no fog there.”
“Won’t you ask them to have a taxi ready for me when I arrive,” said Jimmy. “I’ve got to rush some films to the Press office. I mustn’t lose a minute.”
“We’ll call them right away and tell them you want a taxi. Have you any idea where you are?”
“I ought to be near—why, there’s your neon light and the beacon over the hangar. Now it’s gone again. I must be very close to Hadley. It didn’t seem to be more than two miles away.”
“We can hear your motor,” came back the reply. “We’ll tell Long Island you’ll be there very soon. Good luck to you. We’ll call them at once.”
Plainer and plainer Jimmy could see the glowing lights below him. He dropped down another hundred feet. Suddenly he heard the marker beacon at Hadley Field. Now he was sure he knew where he was. There were the lights of New Brunswick. Beyond was Metuchen. Much farther away was a glow that must be Perth Amboy. Jimmy thanked his lucky stars. No longer would he have the radio beacon to direct him. He must find his own way. Unless fog arose immediately, there would be no difficulty about that. In a few minutes he would be at his airport.
The radio beacon had already ceased to beat in his ears. He was past Hadley Field. He set his course direct for his destination, noted the compass direction, and flew on. Soon he was over Staten Island. He flew above the Narrows and was over Long Island. Below him for miles glowed the lights of Brooklyn. His plane rushed on like an eagle. Soon Brooklyn was behind him. His own field lay just before him. There were fog clouds and shreds of fog, but it was easy enough to see down between them. Another half hour, Jimmy knew, would probably put the whole island under a deep blanket of fog. He had often seen the fog making up as it was now. But he cared nothing at all about what conditions would be like in half an hour. For he was home. His landing field was just under him.
He nosed his ship downward, shut off his power, and came down in a long glide. The field was well lighted. He could see the earth perfectly. He put his ship down in a three point landing, and rolled across the turf. Then he taxied rapidly to his hangar, gave a shouted order to fill the gas and oil tanks, threw off his parachute, grabbed his camera, and rushed out to the waiting taxi. In another second he was speeding toward Manhattan.