The producers news. [volume] (Plentywood, Mont.) 1918-1937, 1929-09-06

grabs the BURBERRY ple-n sort
of al will" Chicago way. don't
like cheese sandwiches anyhow, so
he ate my lunch lone. It's dark
now, beacon lights flash intermlt-
tingly, guiding us on our way. A
feeling not akin to anything ever
felt before steals over me and the
immensely of it all quickens the
pulse and the imagination. MIL
lions of lights, fleeing automobiles
upon the highways, lighted farm
homes, little hamlets and larger
towns rush by US like meteors
through the sky. l am fully aware
that we are night-flying In a mail
plane, and that the young man IN
the rear cockpit is tried and prov
! en-; that he values his life as much
] as do mine, and since passengers
: are carried, every safeguard has
] been applied. The trusty motor
e sings its eager song, and not only
d pulls us through the air at rate
S of 100 miles per hour, but also
g generates the electricity which
: lights up the instrument board and
S the wing lights. To the left it is
e red, and the right is green. I'm
IS derneath the wing there are the
'. land lights, which signal to landing
f. fields as we pass and to other
W ships approaching and passing. 1t
d is a thrill to see another ship
II shoot by-like shooting star. One
ell Just passed within a few hundred
Y yards. drove my left elbow into
re the ribs of my friends and asked
We him if he saw it. He woke VI
Le, from a deep slumber and has seer
is nothing. That BURBERRY pie wa
es too much for him-some men ar
G. just meant to consume. That /
sc all right too-we must have con
wv sumers as well as producers. Blu
ny how can he sleep at a time Xix
,ty this?
er 1t is nearing ten O'Clock and tn
glowing distant sky tells me tina
" we are nearing our goal. The haz
ma has disappeared entirely, the star
SIS are shining, and the horizon is nc
hit. now observable; the handiwork {
IN man mingles with the handiwor
lst of God-lights or stars, one cannC
aes tell. The instrument board an
les the flashing beacons must now
md our sole guide. The altimett
lie gives the height, the bank-ant
ms, turn indicator indicates the ang
ems of flight, and following its gui,
cks ance holds the ship on an even kee
I'd, Then there is the oil pressul
CHI guage, the speed Indicator, Il
ust compass and speed of motto
led Should the motor fail, the pill
ry- springs a trap in the bottom of Il
rye cockpit, which releases flares su
at pended to small parachutes, ligh
ills, ing up the landing area, and a
in sisting materially in its selectio
ses, In fact, without such flares
God crack-up would almost be certa
on in an area such as we are flyil
ms, over now. We are now sailing o
ere er a sea of lights; miles of light
ght avenues and streets; street-ca
pro- and cars shutteling back and fort
the slyscrapers with light streamil
ear from every window; there is col
rial and life and action in this gre
this restless, seething city; the 81
glides quickly to the munich
port in Cicero, circles it on,
and flashes its signal lights, receiv
aha its answer, and then slips into (
cad field, and we are again on ter
ON firma. We alight, take a go
fIv- stretch, my friend asks to be
els rected to a nearby lunch roc
me- (why do these fat men alwa
cold thmK OF eats when tnere Is
AXE much 1000 Tor the soul we s
tick "good bye" they unpack the sh