A moment later, amid the wild and enthusiastic cheers of the crowd, Tom brought the _Osprey_ to earth, the first time she had touched it since leaving Denver. The car landed with a gentle thud, rolled along a little way and then came to a stop while the crowd of reporters, cameramen, and general curiosity seekers rushed forward in an overwhelming wave. It was a reproduction of the same scenes that had taken place in Chicago and Denver, only this was more intensified, for it marked the end of the journey. But before Tom would reply to the score of questions hurled at him by the reporters he called to Ned: “What time do you make it?” The manager figured rapidly. “Eighteen hours and sixteen minutes from Long Island to San Francisco,” he answered. “Not so bad,” murmured Tom. “But we’re going to do better than that the next time.” And then, as he stepped down from the plane, he was surrounded by an excited and curious crowd. “Tell us about it! What was the exact running time? Did you have any accidents? How do you feel? When are you going to make the return trip?” These, and dozens of other questions, were fairly volleyed at Tom by the newspaper men, and he answered as best he could. By this time he was used to the printed publicity that followed his work, and he knew the value of it. So he was always courteous and kind to the reporters and photographers, patiently posing for the latter and letting them take as many pictures as they wanted. It was a great feat, and every one realized that. As soon as enterprising reporters had telephoned the facts in to their papers in San Francisco, whistles were blown and bells were rung to celebrate the event. Tom was a popular hero, much as he disliked the role. The news of his arrival was flashed back over land wires and by means of radio to New York and the East, though Tom did not wait for Mary and his father to receive the good news in this indirect way. As soon as he had given the reporters the gist of the story, speaking of the terrible storm through which they had run, Tom had his operator get in touch with his home on the radio. In a short time Tom’s voice was heard in the house at Shopton where Mary, her father and mother, and Mr. Swift had been sitting, anxiously waiting. It was night there, though still daylight in San Francisco. “I’m all right, Dad!” reported the young inventor. “Didn’t make it quite as speedily as I hoped, but I’ll do better on the return trip. How’s Mary?” “She’s all right,” answered Mr. Swift. “She will speak to you in a moment. But, Tom, be careful. I’m worried about you. A number of mysterious messages have come in over the telephone wires during the day. I’m afraid your enemies are still on your trail.” “Well, maybe they are, Dad, but I think I have given them the slip,” laughed Tom. “Anyhow, they couldn’t stop me from making this one trip. And now let me talk to Mary.”