went back to his lonely room too utterly depressed to think.
Apathetically he read the paper which his jailer brought him along with
the tobacco which Johnny had sent for. Smoke was a dreary comfort--the
paper was not. The reporters had lost interest in him. Whereas two
columns had been given to his personal affairs the day before, his
troubles to-day had been dismissed with a couple of paragraphs. They
told him, however, that the "irate father" had taken the weeping maiden
out of town and left the "truculent young birdman pining in captivity."
It was a sordid end to a most romantic exploit, declared the paper.
And in that Johnny agreed. He could not quite visualize Mary V as a
weeping maiden, unless she had wept tears of anger. But the fact that
her irate father had taken her away without a word to him seemed to
Johnny a silent notice served upon him that he was to be banished
definitely and forever from her life. So be it, he told himself
proudly. They need not think that he would ever attempt to break down
the barrier again. He would bide his time. And perhaps some day--

There hope crept in,--a faint, weary-winged, bedraggled hope, it is
true,--to comfort him a little. He was not down and out--yet! He
could still show them that he had the stuff in him to make good.

He went to the window and listened eagerly. Once more he heard the
high, strident droning of the Thunder Bird. He watched, pressing his
forehead against the bars. The sound increased steadily, and Johnny,
gripping the bars until his fingers cramped afterwards, felt a
suffocating beat in his throat. A great revulsion seized him, an
overwhelming desire to master a situation that had so far mastered him.
What were six days--five days now? Why, already one day had gone, and
the Thunder Bird was still in town.

Johnny let go the bars and returned to his cot. The brief spasm of
hope had passed. What good would it do him if Bland carried passengers
from morning until night, every day of the six? Bland couldn't save a
cent. The more he made, the more he would spend. He would simply go
on a spree and perhaps wreck the plane before Johnny was free to hold
him in check.

Once more the motor's thrumming pulled him to the window. Again he
craned and listened, and this time he saw it, flying low so that the
landing gear showed plainly and he could even see Bland in the rear
seat. He knew him by the drooping shoulders, the set of his head, by