There really wasn’t much danger of the managing editor’s spoiling Jimmy, or of anybody else’s doing it, for that matter; because Jimmy was so intent on doing something, on accomplishing something, on getting ahead and climbing up, that he had little time to think about the things he had done. What interested Jimmy was the things he hoped to accomplish. He was always studying how to be a better flier and how to gain more ability in his new task as a newspaper man.
For a short time he had no assignments that taxed his abilities in either direction. He took the Morning Press camera man out to take pictures, on several occasions; he transported photographs himself; and he did one or two little tasks of reporting. But things moved so slowly for several days after the flight from Cleveland that time began to hang heavy on Jimmy’s hands and he was growing restless for a task that seemed to him worthwhile.
It came, as most newspaper stories come, unexpectedly. Early one evening an A. P. “flash” was received, saying that a great dam had burst in northeastern New Hampshire. A town had been partly wiped out by the wall of water that poured down the narrow valley. Scores were dead or missing. Hundreds were homeless. It was a disaster of the worst kind.
Managing Editor Johnson saw at once that this was no mere local story. This was a story of the widest interest. It was almost a “national” story. The destroyed town was far up in the northern part of the State, is a rough and rugged region. It would be utterly impossible to get one of his own men there in time to get a story for the next day’s paper. He would have to depend upon local correspondents. Fortunately the Press had a correspondent at Berlin, which was not many miles distant from the wrecked village. Mr. Johnson ordered this correspondent to the scene at once, and made what arrangements he could with the telegraph company to expedite the handling of the despatches that might be filed. Then he called up Jimmy.
“We have just had a flash from the A. P.,” he said, “about a dam that has burst north of Berlin, New Hampshire, partly wiping out the town of Northend. It won’t be possible for you to do anything to-night, I suppose, but I wish you would take off at daybreak and get up there as quick as you can. The place is in the very peak of the State. It’s the northernmost town. We will get the general story through the A. P. and I have sent our Berlin correspondent. But we want a story by a staff member. Get all the incidents you can—the sort of stuff you and Handley gathered at Cleveland—and in particular get lots of pictures. We need the pictures especially. Get back here at the earliest moment you can.”
“All right, Mr. Johnson,” said Jimmy, “but I won’t wait until morning. I’ll take off at once. I can follow the New York to Boston lighted airway and stop at Springfield for the night. I know the way well. I could go all the way, but I don’t know anything about the airports up in the White Mountains. I might have trouble in landing. So I’ll stay at Springfield for the night and hop off from there at dawn. That will get me there early in the morning.”
“Good,” replied the managing editor. “That ought to get you back here by late afternoon. Good-bye and good luck to you.”
Jimmy hopped off as soon as he could get ready. He was glad to be in the air again, happy to have a real task ahead of him. To be sure, there was nothing apparently difficult about this job. There was plenty of time, and the work ought to be easy. But Jimmy already knew enough about newspaper work to understand that one can never tell what will develop in any story. Before he got through with it, this assignment might bring him some thrilling experiences. At any rate, here was another chance to make good. This time he was wholly on his own.
Furthermore, the night was perfect. In flying language it was a “C. A. V. U.” night—a night with ceiling and visibility unlimited. Not a cloud flecked the sky. The deep blue inverted bowl of the heavens seemed immeasurable. Myriads of stars hung in the firmament. So clear was the atmosphere that they made the night luminous. Indeed, the stars alone would have lighted the earth. But a glowing young moon added its brilliant beams, making the night almost like day. It was an evening to gladden a pilot’s heart.
It did gladden Jimmy’s. He felt so gay and frolicsome that he could hardly refrain from doing a few barrel rolls, or looping the loop, or in some other way giving expression to his mood. But when he remembered that he was a fully accredited member of the staff of a great newspaper, and saw that it would not be seemly for a real reporter to be doing somersaults like a child, he restrained himself and flew along soberly enough. Yet his heart was singing gaily.