He flew on. The radio beacon kept him straight on the course. His clock and his tachometer assured him that he was well past Easton. He felt easier in his mind. There were no more mountains to face. The waves of land that make Pennsylvania so rugged were flattening out. Nowhere before him, Jimmy knew, were there hills higher than 800 feet and soon he would be over country as flat as a sea on a calm day. The thought cheered him. His radio signals were growing much stronger. He knew that meant that he was approaching Hadley Field. He began to peer out into the mist, hoping to find it lessening. Presently a bright flash of light shone for a second against a bank of fog. Jimmy almost cried out with joy. It was the beam of a revolving beacon. Soon he saw another flash of light. He began to descend and came down cautiously until he was within a thousand feet of the earth. And now he could see, here and there as he flew, luminous patches in the fog. He knew well that these bright spots were the lights of towns. He calculated his position and slowly dropped down another hundred feet. He knew now that he was nearing Hadley Field. All about him were Jersey towns. He could begin to make them out more plainly. The mist was no longer in unbroken clouds. It was growing thin and stringy. Occasionally through a rift in it he could catch a clear glimpse of lights on the ground. And now he began to see the beams of the revolving lights at frequent intervals. He decided to try to talk with the Hadley radio man. Picking up his mouthpiece, he sent forth a call: “Jimmy Donnelly, in the _New York Press_ plane, calling Hadley Field.” The call was answered as soon as he had done speaking. “Hadley Field answering Donnelly,” came the reply, sharp and crisp. “Is everything all right with you?” “Couldn’t be better,” replied Jimmy, “except for fog. That is growing less. What can you tell me about the weather between here and Long Island?” “It improves all the way. Long Island just told us that there was almost no fog there.” “Won’t you ask them to have a taxi ready for me when I arrive,” said Jimmy. “I’ve got to rush some films to the _Press_ office. I mustn’t lose a minute.” “We’ll call them right away and tell them you want a taxi. Have you any idea where you are?” “I ought to be near—why, there’s your neon light and the beacon over the hangar. Now it’s gone again. I must be very close to Hadley. It didn’t seem to be more than two miles away.” “We can hear your motor,” came back the reply. “We’ll tell Long Island you’ll be there very soon. Good luck to you. We’ll call them at once.”