After a hasty lunch Tim and Ralph returned to the News office to complete the polishing up of the stories which had appeared in the noon edition. They expanded on the details of their adventures in the valley of the Cedar and by two o’clock Tim was through. George Carson came out of his office.

“Have any idea how long this Caribbean trip is going to take?” asked the managing editor.

“At least two months; perhaps longer,” replied Tim.

“I expected as much. You’ll be on full time pay while you’re away and I’ve made arrangements for the New York Journal’s radio station to keep in contact with your submarine and relay your stories on to us. The Journal, in return, has the exclusive right in New York to print any of your stuff it desires.”

“That’s certainly fair enough and it insures speedy transmission for my yarns,” nodded Tim.

“I’ve told the cashier to provide you with an extra $500 to use in case of an emergency and he’s preparing a letter of credit should it be needed. That ought to cover any financial difficulties. Take care of yourself and good luck.”

The managing editor shook Tim’s hand and then turned back to his own office. Other members of the staff stopped to say goodbye and to envy him the adventurous trip.

Ralph was the last. His eyes were misty as he grasped Tim’s hands.

“I wish I could go along with the Jup. You may need a little rescuing before this trip is over.”

“I wish you could go,” replied Tim, “but there’ll probably be plenty of excitement around here while I’m gone and you’ll thrive on that. Make arrangements for the return of the cars we left at Auburn.”

Tim had only an hour to get to his room and pack his bag. He hastened there in a cab, jammed shirts, toilet kit, underwear and other necessities into a sturdy leather case, and then was on his way toward the airport.

At the field Carl Hunter shot one question after another at him for the noon edition had been delivered there. Tim answered them as best he could and countered with one of his own.

“Did the amphibian come back here?”

“We haven’t seen it or heard anything. I’ve asked other ports along the line east to keep a lookout for it but they haven’t reported a thing. They’ll probably stop at only the smaller fields until they reach the east again.”

Grenville Ford arrived in a speeding cab just as the afternoon eastbound express roared over the field and circled to point its nose into the wind and land.

“All ready?” he shot at Tim as he dashed into the ticket office.

“Anxious to go,” replied the flying reporter.

By the time the big twin-motored all-metal transport was in the hangar Ford had reappeared with their tickets in one hand and baggage checks in the other.

The eastbound express had been bucking headwinds all afternoon and as a result was ten minutes late. Every effort was made to cut down the time required for refueling and Tim and Ford were hurried aboard the ten-passenger plane and shown their seats with little ceremony. Their baggage was placed in the special compartment in the rear of the plane.

While the co-pilot superintended the refueling and oiling of the super-charged motors, the chief pilot scanned the weather reports in the radio room. The ground crew fairly ran from one task to another and less than ten minutes after landing, the big ship was ready to take off.

The chief pilot took a final glance at the weather chart, then entered the cabin and made his way to the cockpit up ahead. The blocks were pulled from the wheels, the landing stage pulled into the clear, and with a deep drumming of the motors they rolled out of the hangar.

Tim, looking from a window, saw Carl Hunter waving at him. Then they were swinging down the runway, headed on the first lap of what was to be Tim’s greatest adventure.