  Elated at the assignment, Flash rushed after Joe Wells to get his own camera equipment. “Glad Riley is sending you instead of Orris,” his friend commented briefly. On their way to the street, the two photographers stopped at the cashier’s office, and were given an envelope containing nine hundred dollars. Flash carefully placed it in an inside pocket. Hailing a taxi, they rode directly to the harbor where Dave French awaited them with his seaplane already warmed up for the trip. “Think you’ll have any trouble contacting the Belmonia?” Wells asked the pilot. Dave French smiled and shook his head. “No, I have her position. But we ought to get started so we can get back before dark.” Flash and Joe climbed into the cockpit. Before the plane could take to the water, a man came out of a building, and ran toward them, waving his hand. “Hold it!” he shouted. Dave French throttled down and waited. “Now what?” muttered Joe Wells. “Riley of the Ledger just telephoned,” the man informed. “He says the captain of the Belmonia refuses to pick up a passenger.” “Then the trip is off!” Wells exclaimed in disgust. “I was afraid of this. Sorenson is one of the worst crabs on the line.” “Did Riley say we were to come back to the office?” Flash inquired thoughtfully. “He didn’t say anything about that. His message was that the captain wouldn’t pick up a passenger.” Wells had started to climb from the cockpit, but Flash pulled him back. “Wait, Joe! I have an idea!” “Spill it.” “Riley didn’t order us not to make the trip. Why don’t we try anyway?” “That is a brilliant brain wave,” Wells said scornfully. “We’d have a trip for nothing, run up a nice bill, and get fired for our trouble!” “Maybe not, Joe. We’d be taking a chance all right, but I have a hunch we can get aboard the Belmonia.” “How?” “Listen, Joe, sea captains are supposed to have humanitarian instincts, aren’t they? If Sorenson saw a fellow swimming in the ocean miles from shore wouldn’t steam away and let him drown, would he?” “Sorenson might,” replied Wells. “No ordinary trick will work with him. But what’s your scheme?” “It’s simple. Dave flies us out to meet the Belmonia. When we’re certain we’ve attracted attention, one of us jumps overboard—” “Breaking a leg, smashing six ribs, not to mention a neck—” “It could be done, couldn’t it?” Flash demanded of the pilot. “Yes, I could fly low enough so a person wouldn’t be slapped very hard,” Dave French answered reluctantly. “But why not land the plane on the water?” “With a seaplane handy, Sorenson never would pick up a fellow. My idea is to jump, then have the plane fly back to shore.” “And who is to do the jumping, brother?” inquired Wells. “I will. I’m a pretty fair swimmer.” “Do you realize that if Sorenson doesn’t pick you up, it would mean curtains?” “He will,” Flash said confidently. “The only risk is that he might not see me in the water. But if I jump it will attract attention.” “The idea is just crazy enough that it might work,” Wells said slowly. “I’m sure it will! Let’s try it!” “See here! You’re overlooking one point—an important one,” said Wells. “How are you going to protect your money? You’ll have to keep it dry.” “I can get you a waterproof container,” the pilot offered quickly. “And I can use it to protect the films after I get them,” added Flash. “Sorenson may be decent enough to put me off in a boat so I can contact the plane for the return trip. If he doesn’t, I’ll jump.” “We’ll have to arrange an exact schedule,” Dave French declared. “How long will you need aboard the ship?” “Give me three quarters of an hour from the time I first jump,” Flash decided. “That ought to be long enough.” “A man can drown in thirty seconds,” murmured Wells gloomily. “But if you’re willing to try it, I shouldn’t kick.” A waterproof container was quickly found. Then Dave French speeded up the motors, and the big seaplane scooted along the water. The waves were fairly heavy. Several times before flying speed was attained, the ship was thrown a little way into the air, but each time the pilot minimized the stall by pushing the stick forward. In a moment the plane took off smoothly and climbed. Flash transferred his money to the waterproof container which he pinned securely inside his shirt. He divested himself of shoes and coat, but decided not to use the life-belt which the pilot had procured for him. He was afraid it might check his fall into the sea too suddenly, thus adding to the shock of impact. The plane flew steadily eastward, sighting small sailing boats and larger vessels. Presently, Dave French throttled down, and pointed to a large steamship which could be seen some distance away. “The Belmonia!” he shouted. Flash’s pulse quickened and a queer feeling came into the pit of his stomach. His plan had seemed simple back on land. But now, peering down at the ruffled surface of the water far below, he realized what a small speck a swimmer must appear to a lookout stationed on the Belmonia. “Better give it up,” admonished Joe Wells, with a worried frown. Flash shook his head and, feeling of his money to be certain it was securely fastened, signaled Dave French that he was ready. The plane drove steadily on and circled the Belmonia twice. Flash and Joe waved, but the only response they received was from a few of the passengers. Obviously, the captain of the vessel had no intention of lowering a boat so they might board. “All right, I’ll jump!” Flash said. “Any time, Dave.” The pilot brought the plane lower and motioned for the photographer to get out on the right wing. While Joe helped give him support, Flash struggled from the cockpit. The wind struck him full in the face and, catching him off guard, nearly toppled him from his perch before he was ready to make the plunge. He recovered and clung tightly. “We’ll wait to see that you’re picked up,” Wells shouted. “No!” Flash hurled back. He was convinced that as long as the seaplane remained in the vicinity, Captain Sorenson never would rescue him. The plane dropped lower and lower until it flew level not more than fifty feet above the surface of the sea. Dave waggled the wings slightly, a signal that it was time to jump. For an instant, Flash’s courage nearly failed him. Never in his life had he dived more than thirty feet. The water looked miles away. But he dared not think about it or he would be lost. Taking a deep breath, he jumped. As he shot down feet foremost, Joe Wells shouted something after him which sounded suspiciously like: “Get names!” At the moment, Flash’s one concern was to keep from losing his balance and being toppled head over heels in the air. He must strike the water feet first. If he didn’t, he would suffer a nasty blow, and perhaps crack a rib or injure his back. Fighting a desire to look downward, he kept his head held high. Straight as a bullet he shot downward, gathering speed. The wind rushed past his face, taking his breath. Then the water loomed up and he bent slightly to take it with as little shock as possible. Even so, he struck it with a resounding crack and a jar which shook every muscle. The force of the fall plunged Flash to a tremendous depth. He fought his way to the surface, only to have a wave sweep over his head, burying him again. Once more he struggled up, gasping for breath. Taking air in great gulps, he rolled over on his back and rested. The seaplane had banked and was heading in the direction of shore. Three hundred yards away the Belmonia plowed steadily on her course. Flash waited a moment and then began to wave to attract attention. He felt certain the skipper of the Belmonia must be aware of his plight, yet there was no indication from the steamship that he had been seen. Wave upon wave pounded down upon the photographer, burying him and cutting off his view of the steamship. Minutes passed, and Flash’s panic grew. The seaplane no longer was visible as a speck in the sky so he could not expect rescue from his friends. What a fool he had been! He had not realized that he must battle such high waves. Unless the Belmonia picked him up he could not hope to keep afloat until Wells and French returned. “Sorenson must have seen me jump,” he thought bitterly. “But he has no intention of taking me aboard. He means to let me drown!” |
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