[Illustration: Conway paused. “A helluva lot you know about altitude records, fella! Want to fly this one, for a change?”] ALTITUDE By Leland S. Jamieson Illustrated by William Molt A free-balloon expert soars high indeed--a vivid and authentic story by an officer of the army air service. The silver sphere that was the _Marie IV_, the balloon of all balloons to Captain Conway, tugged lightly at the sandbags that held her to the floor. A faint chill breeze whipped around the corner of the open hangar and swayed her gently; the grace of the oscillations suggested an eagerness to tear away from the moorings that lay in a neat square below her basket. Big beyond comparison with other free balloons, she was an object of affection from airmen. She was not just a free balloon, a fabrication of cloth and rope and wicker, filled with hydrogen; she was the _Marie IV_; her name was painted in tall blue letters on her side beneath the netting, and men spoke of her by name. To those familiar with her exploits she had a definite personality, as inanimate things may often have. In the semi-gloom inside the hangar two men were working. Conway, the larger of these men, was standing in the wicker car of the balloon. Kisner, his aide on many past occasions, knelt upon the floor and sorted paraphernalia, pausing, now and then, to stand and pass some object up to Conway. It was cold; the mercury of the thermometer in the basket huddled in the tube at ten degrees above zero; both men wore heavy fur-lined flying clothes, though only Conway was going on the flight. Their hands were mittened and were huge, like paws; their feet were incased in awkward fleece-lined moccasins. Kisner lifted a small steel cylinder, upon which was attached a parachute pack, and handed it to Conway; the larger man stepped to the opposite side of the wicker cage and tussled clumsily with the straps and lines that were meant to hold the cylinder in place against a framework on the outside of the car. His hands were all thumbs, and he had difficulty. Finally, in exasperation he turned to Kisner. “Here, fella, give me a hand. I’ve got too many mittens.” “Take ’em off,” Kisner suggested gravely, stepping around the basket. “You can’t tie knots in a piece of rope with two thumbs.” Aiding one another, the two accomplished the task, and Kisner turned back to sorting the various lines and gear on the floor. * * * * * An automobile drew to a stop just within the doorway of the hangar, and another man, also dressed in flying clothes--the best protection from the cold--climbed out. Opening the rear door of the car he removed three small, black rectangular boxes. Handling them with infinite care, he walked toward the _Marie IV_. Conway saw him coming and turned to Kisner. “Here comes Welkfurn with our instruments. We’re just about all set now.”