So, night after night, perhaps from some small and dingy office, perhaps from a hall bedroom or the study of a palatial home, the Voice sent his message out to the listening world.
And the world did listen. Thousands of letters poured in. Many commended the speaker. Some were sharp in their condemnation. But the Voice never faltered.
Strange men were at times found prowling about the station. Wires were cut and tapped. Some one with power behind him was conducting a thorough search for the mysterious prophet of the air.
“And if they find him!” Johnny said to himself, and shuddered.
The day came when Johnny was able to go about his business once more. And on that day Curlie visited the shack.
For some time the two boys talked of other days and the adventures that had brought joy and sorrow, thrills and terror to them both.
When at last the conversation turned to the future, Curlie’s face fell. Many days had passed. No trace of the missing package had been found. The city police were optimistic. They were following clews. The hard-headed Federal men were quite the reverse. They had made no noteworthy discoveries and, as time passed, had grown cross and surly about the whole affair.
“I go on again to-morrow.” There was more than a touch of gloom in Curlie’s voice. “Take the mail to New York. Hope it’s a fine day for flying. May be my last trip. The company’s been fine about it; truly sporting. But if the Federal men demand my dismissal I’ll have to go.
“And think what it means to leave the air!” He grew suddenly eloquent. “Up with the dawn. The cool damp of night still all about you. Leaping away into the clouds that are all red and gold with the dawn. Sweeping over broad stretches of green and brown and gray, of the dull, slow-going earth.
“And again to do battle with wind and rain, lightning, sleet and hail. To soar aloft above it all; to glory in wings, in flight; to be a bird, a bloomin’ wild duck, free as the air!