Bob glared at him. "I never wrote a poem!" he said defensively.

The Captain looked contrite. "It must have been Hal," he said. "I beg your pardon. Go on with your story. Where does the poetry come in?"

"I was going to tell you, before you interrupted, so rudely, that there's somebody who's written a poem-a lot of poetry, to music-a cantata I think they call it. It's about Lindy's flight, and it tells the story of the flight across the Atlantic. I guess it's pretty thrilling. Maybe that's the only way the story can be told-in poetry and music, because it always sounds pretty flat when you just say Lindy flew across the Atlantic in a monoplane. It needs music, with a lot of trumpets-"

"Go on, go on, my lad. More words, less music." Pat seemed to be getting impatient. The sun was pretty high over their heads now, and bees were buzzing drowsily in the tall gra.s.s all around them. Hal had stretched out on his stomach, facing the little group, which was seated now in a semi-circle. "I'll be falling asleep if you don't get on."

Bob laughed embarra.s.sedly. "All right, you just stop me if I get to rambling. You keep me straight, Irish."

Captain Bill leaned back on a hummock of earth, his arms folded behind his head. "I'm so comfortable, I could listen to anything, even to Bob telling a story. Go on, Bob."

"One more crack, and you don't hear anything," said Bob. "Remember the rules, no interruptions from the gallery."

"We stand corrected. Go on."

Bob settled himself once again into the gra.s.s. "Well, we've got Lindy into the air. No sooner had he set out when people began reporting that they'd seen him. Some of them had. A lot of them were just excited individuals who'd heard a motorcycle back-firing. But somebody actually did see him flying over Rhode Island, and about two hours, nearly, after he had set out, they flashed back that he'd been seen at Halifax, Ma.s.sachusetts. Then he dropped out of sight. n.o.body reported seeing him.

That was because he took an over-water route, and was out some distance, flying along the coast of New England.

"They saw him next over Nova Scotia, running along nicely, and then Springfield, Nova Scotia saw him. It was about one o'clock, and he was going strong. But he was getting into a dangerous region, cold and foggy. They had watchers looking for him everywhere. Lindy left Nova Scotia at Cape Breton, headed for Newfoundland. It was pretty stiff going, about 200 miles without sight of land, and over a pretty treacherous sea. But at 7:15 they saw him flying low over St. John's, in Newfoundland. They could see the number on the wings, and sent back word to the world that he had pa.s.sed there. And that was the last word that anybody received that Friday.

"The going had been pretty good until then. The weather was clear, and the ceiling pretty high. But as soon as it got dark, Lindy and his plane hit some pretty bad weather. It grew mighty cold, and a thick swirling fog came up and swallowed up the plane. This was mighty tough, because if he flew low, he was bound to run into one of the icebergs that were floating in the icy sea. So he climbed up to about 10,000 feet, and stayed there. Flying high was all right, but it added another danger.

Ice was forming on the wings of the Spirit of St. Louis, and if it got thick enough, it would break off a wing of the plane, and send the plane and Lindy into the sea.

"Lindy could have turned back, but he didn't. He kept right on, through fog and sleet and rain. His motor never missed. It was a good pal, and no wonder he included it in his feat, and said later that 'we crossed the Atlantic.'

"When morning came, a whole flock of cables came, too. It seems a whole lot of ships had sighted Lindy's plane, or somebody's plane, anywhere from 500 to 100 miles off the coast of Ireland, where he was headed.

n.o.body knew who to believe, but at 10:00 o'clock came the real news, that he was over a place called Valencia, Ireland.

"Lindy wondered where he was, himself. Flying blind as he had, he didn't know just where he had come out. So he decided to ask the first person he met. Now you can imagine the air roads weren't full of planes flying to Ireland, and Lindy had to wait until he sighted a fishing schooner.

He swooped low and shouted out, 'Am I headed for Ireland?' The fishermen were so astounded that they couldn't answer, so Lindy flew on his course, depending as he had all night, on his compa.s.s. Pretty soon he came in sight of land, and knew that it was Ireland."

"Because it was so beautiful," said Pat.

"No, because it was rocky, and his maps indicated that the land would be rocky," said Bob.

"Oh, no doubt he could tell it was Ireland," insisted Pat. "His mother was Irish, you know, and it needs mighty little Irish blood to make a man long for the ould sod."

"Well, anyway, there he was over Ireland," put in Bob, pointedly. "And from Ireland, on to England, and from England, on to France. Along the Seine, and then Paris. They were waiting for him at Le Bourget, and sent up flares and rockets, long before he got there. Maybe they weren't excited when he flew into range! It was about 8:30, that is, French time, but about 5:30 New York time, when Lindy and the Spirit of St.

Louis circled around the landing field at Le Bourget and landed. Golly, I wish I'd been there. The first man in the world to fly the Atlantic, landing before my very eyes! He'd gone 3,640 miles, and had made it in 33 hours. Some going!

"Well, he was there. And he got out of the plane. And you all know what he said when he got out. I-"

"I am Charles Lindbergh," said Captain Bill and Pat, not quite in unison.

"Yup," said Bob, "'I am Charles Lindbergh.' He thought that they wouldn't know who he was. He'd been flying pretty low over Ireland and England, and so far as he could see, n.o.body had paid much attention to him. So he introduced himself, just as though every man, woman and child in every civilized country wasn't saying that very name all through the day. Remember when we heard the news over the radio, Hal? We were so excited we nearly upset the furniture. Golly, that was a day.

"Well, that was Slim Lindbergh's flight, and now about Slim himself. He was born in Detroit, Michigan, on February 2, 1902, and that means that he was only twenty-five years old when he made his greatest flight, which is pretty young to become the most famous man in the world.

"His dad was Charles A. Lindbergh, and he died in 1924, when he was running for governor of Minnesota on the Farmer-Labor ticket. He'd been a Representative in Congress before. Lindy and he were great pals, and played around together a lot. Lindy's mother was Irish, and taught school in Detroit.

"Lindy went to school in Little Falls, and to Little Falls High School.

He graduated from there when he was 16. He was good in Math and in other things he liked, but not in grammar.

"Lindy didn't go right to college. In fact, he didn't go until three years after he'd graduated from high school, and then he went to the University of Wisconsin, to take up mechanical engineering. He was good at that. He'd always liked to tinker, and he got his chance there. He did at college just what you'd expect him to do. He had some friends and acquaintances, but mostly he kept to himself. He was the same quiet, shy person that everybody got to know later, when he became famous.

"Slim didn't stay at Wisconsin very long, so we don't know what he would have finally done there. He went over to Lincoln, Nebraska, where they had a flying school, and asked them to teach him to fly. They taught him the beginnings of flying, and from the moment his hands touched the controls, he knew that this was what he was cut out for. He just took naturally to those levers and gadgets, and could handle his plane like a toy.

"It seems that Lindy was born to be a pilot. He's built for one, in the first place. Long and rangy, and slim. No extra weight, but plenty of muscle and endurance. He's got a lot of nerve and never gets excited He showed that when he got himself elected to the Caterpillar Club. But I'll get to that later." Here Bob paused, and looked up at the sun, which was just slipping a little westward. "Say," he said. "Would you folks mind if I continued my story later? I feel just a little empty.

How about the food?"

"I've been thinking that for a long time," said the Captain. "But rules are rules. I didn't want to interrupt you."

Bob snorted. "Say, for food you can interrupt me any time. Let's go."

He jumped up, stretched himself, and made for the car, to get out the huge hamper of lunch. "Say," he called back, "Lindy may have been satisfied with five sandwiches all the way to Paris, but darned if I couldn't eat five right now." He carried the hamper over to the knoll where the others were. They were all standing now, limbering up, stretching, sniffing the good air, and looking eagerly toward the food.

"Here, lend a hand," said Bob. He plumped down the basket so that they could hear the rattle of forks and tin cups within, and sat down beside it.

"You're the host," said Hal, seating himself comfortably on the gra.s.s and looking on. "It's your party. We have to listen to your story, so the least you can do is feed us."

Bob had opened the hamper, and was viewing its contents eagerly. He dived into the basket. "Say, anybody who doesn't help himself, doesn't eat. Fall to."

They fell to, doing much eating but little talking. Finally Bob sat back, a sandwich in one hand, a cup of steaming coffee out of the thermos bottle in the other. "I have a suspicion," he said, "that you don't like my story."

"Don't get ideas like that, Bob, my lad," said Pat. "We love your story.

We just like sandwiches better."

"All right, then I won't finish," said Bob. "I'm going to be independent."

Hal looked up. "Not finish? You've got finish any story you start."

"One of the rules? There aren't any rules. You just made that up."

Hal was cajoling now. "Aw, come on, Bob. We want to hear the end. Come on, tell us the rest."

Bob bit into a huge slice of cake. He shook his head. "Nope, no end."

"Well, at least about the Caterpillar Club. At least you'll tell us how Lindy saved his life by bailing out. We've got to hear that."

But Bob was adamant. "I've been insulted. I'm not going on. Anyway, Lindy didn't save his life once by bailing out of a plane."

"He didn't? You said a little while ago that he did."

"I didn't say once. He became eligible to the Caterpillar Club four times."

Hal looked at Bob with disgust. "I must say that you're being very disagreeable."

Captain Bill, who had been looking on in amus.e.m.e.nt, suddenly laughed very loudly. "Don't coax him, Hal. He doesn't need coaxing. He's going to tell the rest of the story, don't you worry. Wild horses couldn't keep him from finishing the tale. Could they, Bob, old man?"