Boston, easily recognized for its expanse and illumination, as well as by the name-markers on certain roofs, painted there by air-minded owners, finally came into view.
They circled until Larry located the large airport there.
Noting its white boundary lights, its red warnings, its windsock to give him the direction of the air currents, he circled the field several times, to be sure he would not foul any other ship, and to see if any signal would be sent him.
Presently, after a commercial freight carrier had taken off, he got two red lights, a signal to land, and as the field was wonderfully well lighted, and he had learned to judge distance from the ground well, Larry was repaid for his self-control and confidence and care by making a perfect three-point landing.
Mr. Whiteside’s explanations seemed to clear away need for formality.
While they were gassing up the airplane, he went to the administration building and chatted with the field manager.
“The others are still ahead of us,” he reported to Larry and Dick as they munched a hurried meal and drank hot coffee, also securing additional flying togs to supplement what they had.
“I wonder how much we’ve caught up on them,” Larry said.
“Well, the amphibian stayed only a few minutes, and it wasn’t gone five minutes before the other one came in——”
“A two-place biplane?” asked Larry.