Relieved of the burden of his other duties, Tim devoted all of his energies to the development of his aviation department. He chronicled the arrival and departure of the mail and express planes at the field in addition to all of the private ships which made overnight stops or called for supplies. He also made it a point to use the plane in covering the dedication of every new airport in the state and thus created much good will for his paper.

One day early in May the telegraph editor handed Tim a short story which had just come in over the wire. Its contents were such that Tim picked up the sheet of copy and started for the managing editor’s desk.

Carson was closing his desk and preparing to leave the office when Tim accosted him.

“Oh, Mr. Carson,” said the flying reporter. “I’d like to talk with you for a few minutes.”

The managing editor glanced at the clock. “I haven’t much time, right now,” he said. “I have an appointment at the dentist’s in ten minutes.”

“It won’t take long,” explained Tim and he handed the folded paper to the managing editor, indicating the article which had attracted his attention.

Carson scanned the item and then re-read it, his news sense instantly aroused to the value of the idea behind the story. He smiled at Tim.

“I’ll bet you want me to send you and the News’ plane on this good will air tour,” he said when he had completed reading the story for the second time.

“That’s it exactly,” enthused Tim. “It seems to me like a great chance. Good publicity for the News and at the same time boosting aviation. According to the tentative plans, this will be a good will air tour of the state, open to every licensed pilot and plane, with stops at all of the larger airports in the state.”

“Wouldn’t it be pretty expensive?” asked the managing editor.

“Not necessarily,” replied Tim. “Gas and oil would be the main item of expense and the advertising value of having a plane in the tour would more than offset the expense.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised but that you are right, Tim,” said Carson. “I’ve got to hurry along for that appointment. I’ll consider your plan tonight and let you know first thing in the morning.”

That evening Tim told Ralph of his hope that the News would enter its plane in the good will air tour and Ralph agreed that it would be a great stunt, both from the standpoint of advertising the paper and of popularizing aviation.

Tim was busy on a handful of rewrites from the morning papers when the managing editor stopped at his desk the next day.

“We’ve decided to enter our plane in the air tour,” he said. “I talked it over with Mr. Adams, the advertising manager, and he agrees that it is an excellent plan. I’m glad you called it to my attention, Tim. We’ll work out the details later.”

When Tim completed his work on the rewrites he presented himself before the managing editor’s desk.

“Sit down, Tim,” said Carson, as he indicated a chair at his side.

“We want plenty of local interest in the air tour,” he went on, “so what do you think of having a contest to select a name for our plane?”

“That sounds fine, Mr. Carson,” replied Tim heartily. “It ought to arouse interest here because Atkinson is getting more and more air-minded. You ought to see the number of people who come out to the field every day to watch the planes, and especially when the transcontinental air mail comes in. There’s a fascination about flying that’s getting into everyone’s blood.”

“You certainly have a real case of it,” laughed the managing editor, “but I’m glad you have, Tim, for you are doing fine work.”

“Now,” he continued, “I want you to take complete charge of the contest over the naming of our plane. Offer $100 in prizes to be distributed in any way you see fit. We want to stage the contest in one week and you can have a column a day for your publicity stories. Select your own judges and give me a name by next Thursday. Let’s see, this is Tuesday, that will give you two days to get ready, announce the contest this Thursday and the winner in one week. How does that strike you?”

“Dandy, Mr. Carson, and thanks a lot for the opportunity.”

Tim threw all his energy into formulating plans for the big contest and by Monday morning, three days before the announcement of the winning name, his desk was piled high with letters. The deadline for entries was set for Wednesday at 6 p. m. with the announcement of the winner in the next day’s paper.

The first prize was $50, the second best name would get $25, while the next 25 would be given honorable mention and $1 apiece. Tim selected Carl Hunter, “Tiny” Lewis, the mail pilot, and Ralph to help him open the letters and judge their contents. By the time the final mail arrived Wednesday afternoon more than 5,000 letters had been received and excitement was at a high pitch. A big picture of the plane had appeared in the editions of that day with a question mark on the side where the winning name would be placed.

All evening long Tim and his helpers ripped open letters, scanned their contents, and sorted them as they thought best. It was early morning when they had completed their task and narrowed the 5,000 suggestions down to 27 letters. Out of that 27 would come the first and second place winners and the list of 25 honorable mentions.

Each one of the judges read the 27 letters and then wrote down his choice for the first prize. Tim gathered up the four slips. They were all alike; every one had agreed on the name for the plane, the Good News.

When Tim informed the managing editor of the prize winning name, Carson was elated.

“Great,” he bubbled, “great! Couldn’t have been better if I had named it myself. That ought to make a real hit.”

The managing editor’s hunch was right and for the next two or three days there was a steady stream of visitors at the airport to inspect the Good News. The contest and the appropriateness of the name caught the public fancy.

With the success which attended the selection of a name for the plane, Carson gave Tim free rein in writing stories of the good will air tour which was to start from Prairie City, the state capital, and finish at Atkinson. Tim, by dint of much correspondence, persuaded the officials in charge of the tour to bring it to a close at Atkinson instead of going back to Prairie City. The chamber of commerce woke up to the possibilities of the air tour. Tim was frequently consulted and the News occupied a prominent place in the preliminary arrangements.

The day before Tim was to start for Prairie City to join the air tour, Carson called him to his desk.

“Better take Ralph with you,” he suggested. “He can relieve you of the burden of writing a lot of the stories and can also help you in piloting. I’ll have him take a high speed camera and he may be able to get some good action pictures of planes in the clouds.”

Tim welcomed the suggestion that Ralph accompany him for there would be plenty for two reporters to do and the managing editor had indicated that he wanted the tour fully covered. That would mean two or three columns of news a day in addition to about 250 miles in the air with an average of four stops a day for each of the five days on the tour.

When Tim and Ralph reached the airport the next morning ready to start for Prairie City, the state capital and starting point for the good will tour, they found Kurt Blandin waiting for them.

“Hello Murphy,” greeted the head of the Ace flying circus. “Little surprised to see me?”

“Why, yes, Blandin,” admitted Tim. “You’re more or less of a lone wolf and a stranger at this field.”

“Right,” smiled Blandin and in spite of himself, Tim couldn’t help liking the other for the moment. “I’m entering a plane in the tour and since you fellows were going, thought you’d better know my flyer.” Blandin called to a slightly built man who had been working over the motor of a nearby biplane.

“I want you to know Daredevil Dugan,” said Blandin when the other flyer joined them. Ralph and Tim acknowledged the introduction but Tim felt an instant wave of dislike for Dugan. The air circus flyer who was going on the tour was short of stature, with a peaked face and eyes that shifted constantly. There was no question about Dugan’s ability as a flyer for he had a reputation as a daredevil, but there might easily be some question about his ethics.

“I’d like to make the trip,” said Blandin, “but I have to ride herd on the bunch of flying lunatics I’ve got over at my own field. Let them alone and they might decide to make a raid on the treasury.”

“I’m not so sure they wouldn’t get away with it,” added Tim. He was surprised at the effect his words had for Blandin’s face clouded with a sudden fury that shook his entire body.

“What do you know about my outfit?” he said hoarsely.

“Nothing,” admitted Tim. “But I’d like to know a whole lot more.”

With that he turned and walked over to the Good News.

“Why did you stir Blandin up like that?” asked Ralph.

“I honestly don’t know,” replied Tim. “Maybe it hasn’t got me anywhere and maybe it has.” He glanced toward the plane Blandin was entering in the air tour and saw the head of the flying circus talking with Dugan. “One thing, though,” he added, “I’m going to keep my eyes on Dugan.”

When Tim and Ralph landed the Good News at Prairie City, they found thirty-one other flyers and planes registered for the tour. One side of the big field was lined with the heavier-than-air craft. At one end a sport monoplane was almost lost under the wings of a giant tri-motor and there were cabin planes of almost every type represented. The planes were classified in three groups according to the displacement of their motors but that arrangement did not affect the Good News for Tim and Ralph were not competing for the prizes offered to the flyers with the best elapsed time in each class.

They secured a complete list of the flyers and their planes, dug up interesting bits about the famous pilots in the tour, and dispatched their stories to the News that night.

The morning for the start of the state’s first air tour was bright and clear, with a soft May wind out of the south; a veteran air man by the name of “Spin” Beeker, gave the pilots their final instructions and then waved them off the field at one minute intervals.

The air was alive with the throbbing of motors, now low, then rising to a crescendo as each pilot tested his plane, then gunned it hard for the takeoff. The Good News was No. 18 in the starting order and Tim sped down the field and into the air on the first lap of the five day tour.

The first night found them at Rollins, a crowded factory town, with 325 miles and three other stops, behind them. The first day had been successful without even a motor failure reported for any one of the 32 planes.

On the second day one plane threw a connecting rod through its crankcase and was forced down in a corn field while on the third day another pilot washed out his landing gear when he came down on the field at Marion.

The noon stop on the fourth day was made at Newton where the flyers were given a reception and dinner in the hangar at the airport. They were late in getting away for the two afternoon hops and Beeker was sending them away at half minute intervals. When he waved his flag at Tim, the flying reporter opened up his throttle and sent the Good News scooting down the field. The sound of another motor, near at hand, drew Tim’s attention for a moment.

Some pilot, evidently mistaking Beeker’s signal for his own, was speeding down the field for a takeoff. Evidently he had not seen Tim for in another second their courses would converge. Tim, acting by instinct, pulled his stick back hard and at the same time jammed the throttle to the end of its arc.

It was a risky thing to do but he fairly jerked his plane off the ground. The Good News shot skyward, then settled rapidly, but Tim leveled off and after a shaky moment, was heading for the next control point. He had fairly hopped his plane over the other ship. It had been a master bit of flying.

Tim was unable to identify the other plane and it was not until they landed at Beldon, the night stop, that he learned the name of its pilot.

Tim and Ralph had hardly climbed from their plane when “Daredevil” Dugan, accosted them with bitter words.

“Whoever told you two pencil pushers you could fly,” he cried. “What do you think this is, a game of Washington tag? You came mighty near wrecking me back there at Newton.”

Dugan’s attitude angered Tim, who felt that he was in no way responsible for the mixup which had occurred at the noon control station. Before he could answer someone else joined in the party.

“What’s this you’re saying, Dugan?” The voice was cold with sarcasm and “Daredevil” Dugan swung around to face “Spin” Beeker, the head judge. “Don’t you think you’d better pull in your oars,” continued Beeker. “I’ve a good mind to disqualify you for that stunt you pulled back at Newton. Trying to blame these boys, are you? Not while ‘Spin’ Beeker’s judging this tour, you won’t.”

“You deliberately jumped your flag,” he accused Dugan, “and if Tim says you go out, out you go. What do you say, Tim?”

Tim knew that Dugan had a good chance to win first prize in the Class C division for small planes and the call down the field judge had given the “Daredevil” more than satisfied him for the injustice he felt from Dugan’s accusation.

“Oh, that’s all over now, Mr. Beeker,” said Tim. “Only a misunderstanding and it’s better to forget all about it.”

“Just as you say,” agreed the head judge, as he turned back to Dugan, but the Daredevil was already on his way.

Tim watched Dugan as he hurried toward a waiting car. Was it possible that the Daredevil had deliberately attempted to crash them? His thoughts flashed back to the scene at the Atkinson airport and his words with Blandin. Could the boss of the flying circus have instructed Dugan to get them? It was a question Tim himself couldn’t answer and he decided to let things take their course after promising himself that he would keep a closer watch than ever on Dugan.

On the final day of the air tour, Tim, in recognition for his work in promoting the big aviation day at Atkinson, was given the lead-off position and he swept away from the Beldon airport at the head of the caravan of thirty planes.

When familiar scenes again came into view and Tim sighted the field at Atkinson, he was astounded at the size of the crowd which had gathered to see the end of the tour. Every side of the field was jammed with cars, parked row on row, and police and national guardsmen were hard put to keep the milling thousands from sweeping on to the landing field.

Tim had pushed his plane hard and was nearly ten minutes ahead of the others. To keep the interest of the crowd he stunted over the field, looping, falling and zooming in manoeuvres that had the crowd gasping for breath. When he saw the first of the planes in the tour heading in from the west, he nosed down for the field.

Ping! For a second Tim did not realize what had happened. Ralph, in the forward cockpit, had heard the noise and he looked around at the flying reporter. Tim wiggled his stick and it was then that he discovered their predicament. The main control wire to the ailerons on the left wing had parted and was dangling from the wing. By rare good luck the Good News had been in an easy dive when the accident occurred and had leveled off of its own accord.

Below, Tim could see the banked masses of humanity. They’d come out for a thrill, had they? Well, they’d get it but he didn’t dare risk a crackup in the crowd. The slogan all through the tour had been to play safe and now here he was up better than 3,000 feet and with a slim chance of getting down alive.

Ralph had sensed what they were up against and was staring back, the color drained from his face. Tim wondered what his own face looked like. Probably he was just as white as Ralph for he was sure enough up against it. What irony! After spending days promoting the aviation day to mark the close of the air tour, then an accident like this. If he could only get his hands on that strand of loose wire he might be able to get the ship down after all.

Tim motioned to Ralph, who leaned back until the flying reporter could make his shouts understood. Ralph’s eyes got as big as cart wheels and his mouth dropped open but he nodded and took a firm grip on his nerve.

Carefully the two men in the little plane started to move. Tim thanked his lucky stars that Ralph was a competent flyer and he was ready to bless his managing editor for his foresight in having another reporter trained as an aviator.

To the 25,000 packed around the airport it was something new in the way of thrills. To Tim and Ralph it meant taking their lives on luck and consummate nerve for they had sacrificed their parachutes to make room for their baggage on the five day tour. Tim edged forward and Ralph slid back. In less than a minute they had exchanged places and Ralph was giving the plane an easy rudder to swing it back toward the airport.

Tim stretched his six feet of muscular body over the side of the forward cockpit as Ralph headed for the field. His nerves were remarkably calm; he felt sure he could accomplish the task before him.

Tim swung both legs over the side of the cockpit. Ralph had throttled the motor down as slow as he dared but even then the blast of air from the propeller tore at Tim. The flying reporter anchored his right foot in the step in the fuselage while his right hand was locked in the safety belt which was too short to go around his body as he swung from the side of the ship.

The broken aileron wire dangled tantalizingly from the wing. Tim gauged his distance and thrust an outstretched hand to grasp it. The wire was just beyond his reach!