The Flying Reporter

by Herbert Strang

  CHAPTER IV

  Jimmy Makes Good

  His mind white-hot with the fire of interest, his very soul atremblewith eagerness to get the gripping story on paper, Jimmy drove his planethrough the air like an eagle cleaving the sky. A stiff west wind thathad sprung up hurled him onward. And Jimmy climbed high to get everyounce of help possible, for at the higher altitudes the wind was almosta gale. So he reached his hangar in an amazingly short time. He ran hisship under cover and saw that the gasoline supply was replenishedimmediately, to prevent the condensation of moisture in the fuel tanksas the ship cooled. Eager though he was to write, Jimmy was taking nochances of getting water in his gasoline. His oil supply was alsoreplenished. These things attended to, Jimmy turned immediately to thebusiness of getting his story ready for print.

  A taxi took him speedily to the _Morning Press_ office in Manhattan.There he told his city editor what he had learned. And he told it soeagerly and so convincingly that that usually bored individual sat upand listened with interest.

  "If you can put that on paper as well as you tell it," said the cityeditor, "you may write three-quarters of a column. We'll run two orthree pictures with it, if they are any good, and play the story up forall it's worth."

  "What did you learn from Hadley?" asked Jimmy. "Have you heard from theman you sent down there?"

  "He couldn't get a thing at first-hand. Your friend the pilot is in bed,under the doctor's orders, and could not see our reporter. All thelatter could get was what he picked up from men about the airport. Therewasn't anything you don't have and nothing half so good. So there willbe no facts for you from that source. Write what you have, as plainlyand simply as you told it to me just now. I'll send you prints of yourphotographs as soon as they are done. We ought to have proofs veryshortly."

  Jimmy had not expected to write the entire story. Indeed, he had notbeen certain that he would have a chance to write any of it. The man whohad been sent to see Warren Long was an experienced and able reporter,and Jimmy rather expected that this reporter would do the writing, andthat all Jimmy could do would be to tell his story to his fellowreporter. But the matter had turned out just the opposite. Jimmy himselfwas to write the story.

  He realized that once more a big chance had come to him. For weeks--eversince he had won his new job, in fact--he had been doing littleassignments, hoping every day that something worthwhile would come hisway; and now this thing had happened. He meant to make the most of it.

  Altogether without realizing it, Jimmy had prepared himself to do a goodpiece of work. He did not understand that the surest way to write areally great story is to be so full of a subject and to feel the storyso intensely that one is just bursting with it. Yet that was exactly thesituation Jimmy was in. His love for Warren Long, his admiration forthat heroic pilot, and his desire to tell all the world what a trulyremarkable thing his friend had done--all this, coupled with Jimmy'skeen sense of the dramatic, had prepared him to write a gripping story.It was the same thing that had happened when he wrote the story of theAir Mail bandit. Jimmy was so full of the subject that he could think ofnothing else.

  Now he sat down at a typewriter in a corner, where he was not likely tobe disturbed, and got ready to write. He had been turning the story overand over in his mind. He wanted to begin it in a way that would catchand hold the imagination of the reader. The feature of the story thatappealed to his own imagination most powerfully was the picture ofWarren Long sitting in his flaming cockpit and being slowly roastedwhile he guided his plane away from the little hamlet and out to theuninhabited districts, where it could not possibly fall on a house andburn up some humble home. To Jimmy's mind that picture was even morecompelling than the one of Warren Long's falling headfirst to earth andcalmly waiting for his blazing ship to pass him before he opened hisparachute. In almost any other case, this latter picture would have beenan unparalleled feature. But to Jimmy, while it was extremelyspectacular, it lacked the appeal of the other picture. And Jimmy wasright. His news sense in this case was unerring. For Warren Long,risking death in his cockpit in order to save others, was a far moreappealing figure than Warren Long doing something spectacularly cool andbrave to save his own life.

  Jimmy rightly judged that what appealed to him most powerfully wouldalso probably appeal most powerfully to others. So he began his storywith this feature of greatest appeal--the picture of Warren Long'ssacrificing himself to save some humble country folk that he didn't evenknow. When he had written what he had to say about this, Jimmy took upthe story of the pilot's drop to earth, and the breathtaking experiencehe had had as his flaming plane dived after him. Finally he told thestory, simply but graphically, of how Johnnie Lee had rushed over therough mountain in the dark to aid the fallen pilot, and how he had takencare of him from the moment he came upon him, entangled in his parachutein the scrub growth, up to the moment that the pilot stepped on theeast-bound train.

  So full of the story was Jimmy that he heard nothing, saw nothing,thought of nothing but the tale he was putting on paper. Before him hecould see the scene he was picturing--see it as vividly as though hewere still on the spot. And unconsciously he found himself using almostword for word the vivid description of the accident that Johnnie Lee hadgiven him. His mind was so full of the story that, once he had begun towrite, the tale came pouring from his typewriter as tumultuously andsparklingly as a mountain torrent rushes down its rocky bed. When atlast he ended his story, he had done a truly fine piece of work. Histale was so fresh and vivid that it could not fail to attract attention.Jimmy, of course, did not realize that. All he knew was that he had donethe very best he could. If there was any luck about the story, it was inthe matter of the photographs. They were as clear and sharp as Jimmy'sword pictures. And they illuminated the text excellently.

  When Jimmy had read the story over and made such corrections as appearedto him desirable, he took it to the city editor. Then, thinking thelatter might wish to question him about some of the facts, he sat downand waited until his editor could read the story. Jimmy was right in hisguess that Mr. Davis might want to ask about the story. But he was muchsurprised at the question Mr. Davis put to him.

  The latter read the story and then glanced through it a second time.Then he looked at Jimmy. "Where did you get the idea of writing thisstory as you have written it?" he demanded.

  Jimmy felt his heart sink. He was sure he had made a failure. But heanswered cheerfully enough: "I wrote it that way, Mr. Davis, because Icouldn't write it any other way. All I could see when I tried to writewas Warren Long sitting in his burning cockpit and roasting while hepiloted his ship to a point where it wouldn't do any damage when it camedown."

  "Just keep on seeing things that way," said the city editor. And withoutanother word he picked up the story and the photographs and walked away.

  Jimmy left the office somewhat puzzled and almost disconsolate. He feltsure his effort had been a failure. The city editor had not said onegood word about it. And yet what did he mean by telling Jimmy to "keepon seeing things that way"? Jimmy was sorely puzzled. But if he couldhave seen where the city editor went and what he did with the story,Jimmy would have been amazed. For Mr. Davis went straight to themanaging editor and laid the manuscript and the pictures on the latter'sdesk. All he said was this: "Here is a story young Donnelly just wrote.He flew over to Ringtown to get a follow-up on this morning's A. P.despatch about the parachute jump of a mail pilot there last night. Iwish you'd read it."

  But Jimmy had no way of knowing this, and even if he had had he wouldhardly have understood the significance of the thing. He could hardlyhave known what it meant for the city editor thus to call the attentionof the managing editor to a story before it got into type. But Jimmywould have been well enough pleased if he could have heard Mr. Johnsonmutter to himself, after carefully reading the story, "Well, I guess wemade no mistake in making a reporter out of Donnelly. I'll tell the cityeditor to try him out on something bigger than
the assignments he hasbeen getting."

  So was illustrated the law that "To him that hath shall be given." Jimmyhad demonstrated his ability. And as is always the case, a display ofability was soon followed by greater opportunity.