Then he sat and listened. His motor ran as well as ever it had run. It was purring as smoothly as a sewing-machine. He ran his eye over his instrument board. The oil gauge was registering now. Everything looked right. He did not take time to make his usual tests. Throttling down his engine, he leaned from the cabin. “A million thanks, everybody,” he said. “I’ll get into touch with you later. I’ve got to be off this instant or I’ll be late with my stuff. Goodbye and good luck to you all. Thanks ever so much.” He closed the cabin door and stepped into the pilot’s seat. The engine began to pick up. It beat faster and faster. Presently the plane started to roll forward, very slowly. Jimmy drove it straight on until he could see the little, low boundary lights that marked the edge of the landing field. He drove the ship close to them, turned it about to head it into the wind, then went charging blindly back across the field through the fog, almost straight at the reddish blur that he knew was Johnnie’s bonfire. His engine functioned perfectly. He gathered speed. Suddenly the plane lifted from the ground and soared almost directly above the blazing pyre. For a single instant it was visible in the red mist above the flames. Then it vanished from view in the fog as a stone disappears beneath the water. Inside the plane Jimmy sat tense. His first effort was to gain elevation. Before him, at almost no distance, the hills once more reached an elevation of 2,000 feet. He had to climb a thousand feet to reach their tops, another thousand to be safe. But there was this factor in his favor. He was flying with the wind. The air would rush upward when it struck the slopes of the mountains and he would be borne upward with it. But Jimmy was not waiting for any ascending currents of air to carry him aloft. He opened his throttle wide and climbed as rapidly as he could push his ship upward. For a few moments he thought of nothing else. He wanted to gain altitude. With every second he breathed more easily. His altimeter showed him he was mounting fast. Now he was at 1,300 feet, now 1,500, now 1,800, now 2,000. Up he went. His altimeter registered 2,500 feet. Jimmy knew he was safe. No hilltop in the region towered so high. At 3,000 feet he felt still better. But he did not stop climbing until he was thousands of feet aloft. All the time he had been climbing, Jimmy had also been trying to keep on his course. The radio beacon made that easily possible. All the time it had been singing in Jimmy’s ears, “dah, dah, dah, dah,” and Jimmy thought he had never heard sweeter music.