Jimmy Donnelly had just arrived at the hangar at the Long Island flying field where his plane was housed. To be sure, the plane really wasn’t Jimmy’s, because it belonged to the New York _Morning Press_; but Jimmy was its pilot, and had flown it ever since that great newspaper had decided that it must have a plane of its own. And Jimmy had piloted it so long, and had taken such loving care of it, that he felt as though it were his very own. Indeed, he could not have lavished more attention on the plane if it _had_ been his own. He was forever polishing and cleaning it, and checking over the engine, and keeping it tuned up to concert pitch. But just now Jimmy was not thinking about his plane…
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