Scoggins, brusquely declining offers of company, moved toward the car. As he passed King, he let his left eyelid flutter. It was apparent that Mr. Scoggins had recovered from the jolt of the fracture and was now privately rejoicing that he did not have to take the impressive board of directors on the flight over the city. The door of the plane opened and one of the uneasy directors looked out at Winship. “A mishap,” the old man reported. “I am afraid that----” He turned suddenly to King Horn. “You are a pilot; are you--ah----” He switched his gaze suddenly to Franklin Cross. “He’s one of the best in the business,” the aviation editor assured Winship. “I’ll be delighted to ride with him, for one, if you intend to carry on.” “Glad to take you over, if you want,” King Horn said. His heart was thumping, but he kept his voice as casual as he could. “You understand I’m not gunning for Nat Scoggins’ job.” Winship looked at him again. Obviously this young man was a pilot. He certainly looked like one and the aviation editor of the _Era_ said that he was a good one. Moreover, he had acted quickly in the recent emergency--even more quickly than Scoggins, who had been nearer to him. “We will carry on,” Winship decided. “That’s what men do in aviation--carry on.” “Right!” said King Horn. “’By, Lyle.” He looked at her. “I’ll be back.” He scrambled aboard in a hurry, lest Winship should ask his name. From behind, the nervous board of directors looked at him apprehensively as he slipped into one of the control seats in the open operating cockpit. King Horn looked over his instrument board while Winship took his seat in the cabin and Franklin Cross came forward and sat in the other pilot’s seat, beside him. “D’you understand all these dinguses?” Cross asked, a trifle nervously, as he saw the array of instruments. “Certainly,” King Horn answered. “Don’t need most of ’em except for flying blind through a fog or night.” He leaned over and caught the eye of the nearest mechanic. “All set, sir,” said the young mech promptly. King Horn opened his throttles at once. If these old birds were kept waiting much longer he was confident some of them would blow up or melt away. With the three motors hitting in concert he held the ship on the ground until he had something more than flying speed. Then he eased it off and, still flying straight upwind, went after altitude. There was no need to circle the field; for already another field was under his wheels. He decided it would be safer--since he was now playing safe--to get some air under this ship before he tried turns. Franklin Cross was peering backward over the side. “There’s a man back there waving at us,” he reported uneasily. “It’s either fleas, St. Vitus or we’ve left a member of the board behind,” King Horn answered. “The mech gave me the ‘all set’ and the motors are ticking over fine. Take a look at our wheels, though.”