King Horn nodded somberly. “That’s what I’ve been finding out--suddenly, Syd,” he said. “But I’ve got to get a job, somehow. And I’m not good, for anything but flying.” He stared across the field at a ship gliding in for a landing. “I’ve got to get a job, somehow,” he said again, rather desperately. “I’ve got to!” “Sorry for what I’ve done to spoil things by writing those wild-eyed stories about you,” Frank Cross muttered. He had gone back to prodding the ground with his stick. “I didn’t mind ’em--they helped the circus. But things are different now. And I’ve got to--” Scoggins, who had been thinking hard, nodded toward the huge field that lay to northward of them. “Try the Grand Trunk Airway,” he suggested, though his voice was not hopeful. “They’re just startin’ in--lots of cash an’ no sense. My brother Nat’s got a job with ’em--a guy named Winship, old enough to ha’ promoted horse cars, give it to him. Nat’s a God-awful pilot but he looks like one and he’s put in a lot of hours.” “Winship’s a big man in Wall Street,” Cross commented. “He’s just been bitten by the flying bug, like a lot of them down there, and he’s running things himself.” “Of course--they prob’ly ha’ heard of you, King,” Scoggins said haltingly. “They probably have,” King Horn agreed. “Well--thanks, anyhow.” He smiled at them, jerked a hand in farewell and strode away. Since he needed a job, now was the time to go after it. He caught a taxi and drove to the field which the Grand Trunk Airway had leased. There was nobody around the hangars but three disgruntled mechs. “The big boss will be down for a hop tomorrow,” one grease monkey told him. “Nothin’ doing around here today. No orders or nothin’. We only got one ship anyhow--a three-motor job--an’ no organization. This here airway is hind end to.” That afternoon King tried another barnstorming circus, two air schools, a plane-building company and an outfit that did a growing aerial-taxi business. Everybody was glad to see King Horn. They had cigarettes and conversation for him, but no job. That night he went to see Lyle Tennant at the little hotel near Garden City where she stayed with her father. She was out. At least he was told that she was out. In the morning in his boarding house King looked at the Sunday _Era_. His exploit of the previous afternoon was on the first page: KING HORN CRASHES THIRTEENTH AIRPLANE TO SAVE SPECTATORS Aerial “Deuce” Wrecks Ship at End of Wild Flight SLIGHTLY INJURED All Through with Stunts, He Asserts. King Horn is through. Rising from the wreckage of his thirteenth crashed plane yesterday afternoon at the Long Island field where the Tennant Circus is operating, King Horn announced that never again would he tempt death.