Conway was scheduled to begin his flight at one o’clock that afternoon; he could not well delay it beyond two-thirty because, in doing so, he ran the risk of landing his balloon in strange country after night with the consequent hazard of being killed; or, if his parachute was resorted to, of losing the balloon. The flight had been planned with infinite attention to detail in equipment and the weather. The equipment had been ready for a month, but the weather until now had made the flight impossible. Captain Conway wanted to be the man who had gone to “the highest point up” ever attained by man, and he had made of that desire a lifelong ambition. For three years after entering the service he had studied and trained and worked unceasingly. At the end of that time he took a small balloon and flew it as high as he could go without oxygen--some twenty-six thousand feet. That was the beginning of a series of flights, each a little higher. The result of this procedure was that after ten years in the service, Conway knew more about balloons and high-altitude balloon flying than any man had ever known before. But still, he didn’t hold the record: He had held it, to be sure; but each time he got it in his grasp some other man, in a balloon or airplane, went up a few feet higher. Conway wanted to stop that. He wanted to go so high that his record would stand until some one built a bigger balloon than his and learned to fly it better than he could fly the _Marie_. Conway and Kisner were through with the balloon by twelve o’clock, but now, to occupy their time, they made another inspection of the basket, checked every instrument carefully, examined the sand-releases, the barographs and radio. There was nothing more to do, and they drove back to the club and went to lunch, trying to calm their excitement in activity, as the time for the take-off drew nearer. * * * * * From the flying field to Greenburg was about fifteen miles; a car like Welkfurn’s should have been able to traverse the distance in twenty minutes, or thirty at the most. Conway expected Welkfurn back within an hour, and when he returned to the balloon hangar after lunch he looked around for Welkfurn’s car, but could not find it. The sergeant left with the balloon had seen nothing of Welkfurn. “That little cuss!” said Kisner angrily. “I wonder where he is?” Conway did not reply. He was looking appraisingly at the sky, as if he saw it now for the first time that day. High clouds were pushing rapidly in from the southwest. There had been no sign of them that morning; now they had slid well overhead. The sun’s rays were dimming slowly, would be obscured soon. Already the shadow of the hangar was blurred. “Snow tomorrow, Kis,” said Conway. “If it warms up, it’ll rain. We’re in for a bad stretch of weather; there are the signs!”--pointing.