And right now, he realized, he needed a job more than he had ever needed one before. Unless Lyle put up an overwhelming defense, she was going to marry him. But she wasn’t going to marry him while he was still a crasher. He’d see to that and so--he grinned rather ruefully to himself--would she. “I understand how you’re placed, Walt,” he said to the boss of the circus and contrived to smile as he said it. “No hard feelings about my quitting suddenly, I hope?” Walt Tennant laughed. “I always figured you’d quit sudden--one way or another,” he said. “If I can’t keep you, I can’t. And anyhow, a young fellow that sort of fancies the way he throws a ship around has been plaguing me for a job.” King Horn flushed at that last sentence. He did not notice that Tennant was surveying him keenly from under his thick, black eyebrows. “It’s easy to fill a fool’s job, I guess,” King said slowly. “They’re sort of plentiful. Well, see you later, Walt.” “So long,” Tennant replied. “Any time you change your mind, King-- There’s nobody that can throw thrills and chills into a crowd like you.” King Horn took another turn about the edge of the field, just to make sure that Lyle had really gone. While he searched he came upon Franklin Cross glumly punching holes in the ground with his stick. “Frank,” King Horn greeted him grasping him by the arm, “please forget about this last crash of mine, will you? And get those other reporters to drop it, too, if you can. I’m through being a fool.” Cross looked up. The aviation editor’s thin face was full of lines--lines that made it rather harsh and old. “What made you decide that?” he asked. King Horn remembered that less than half an hour ago he had twitted the newspaper man for spending time about the field so that he could see Lyle. It had seemed funny to him, then. Half an hour! And now he was in love--had realized he was in love--with Lyle. That made him Frank Cross’ rival. “Lyle did,” he said frankly. “She called me worse than a fool. And--well, I found out somehow that I cared about what she thought of me.” Cross nodded. “All right,” he said emotionlessly. “I understand. I can’t suppress your crash. Thousands of people saw it. You’re noted for that sort of thing. It’s news. Can’t suppress it. But I’ll say you’ve quit.” Syd Scoggins, second in command of the circus, and a flying man himself, came up to them. “King’s quit, Scoggins,” Franklin Cross told him. “Quit!” Scoggins repeated. He shook his head at King. “That’s good. I was thinkin’ of borrowing a gun and shootin’ you full of holes, King, just to save your life. You’ve been headed for hell in a hurry quite a while, now.” “All I’m headed for now is a regular piloting job,” King Horn said. “Know of any?” Scoggins shook his head. “Not for you,” he said. “Nobody who’d ever read a newspaper would trust you to push a baby carriage full o’ bricks across a quiet street, let alone flyin’.”