tonight just bend an ear to whatever this little lady
has to say, for if you do some rough flying and the G. M. hears about
it, one Charlie Fischer will have a lot of explaining to do."

"The special's coming in right now," called the radio operator. They
turned to the full-length windows which looked out on the field. The
wing lights of the plane were swooping down and a moment later the big
ship rolled down the runway and nosed toward the hangar.

"I've got a complete kit ready," Miss Comstock told Jane. "There's
plenty of salad and hot coffee, fresh fruit, and I put in an extra
thermos bottle of bouillon. I imagine your passenger is nervous and
scared as much as anything. Make her comfortable and talk to her.
Remember that the reputation of the stewardess service may depend on
your work tonight."

Almost before the tri-motor had stopped rolling the ground crew,
enlarged to speed the refueling of the special, was swarming over the
plane. Only five minutes had been allowed for the Cheyenne stop and it
meant fast work on the part of every man.

Jane and Miss Comstock hastened toward the cabin. As they reached it
the co-pilot threw open the door.

"For heaven's sake, hurry," he begged. "I'm afraid this woman is going
to faint."

Jane got a glimpse of the white, drawn face of Mrs. Van Verity Vanness
and she knew that she was going to be in for some busy minutes. The
landing stage was wheeled up to the plane and Jane hurried into the
cabin. The one passenger aboard the special was clinging to the
co-pilot and Jane gently disengaged her arms and placed them about her
own shoulders.

Mrs. Van Verity Vanness was sobbing softly. "I'll never be able to go
on. I'm too ill."

Jane didn't argue with her, but with the aid of Miss Comstock, helped
the passenger out of the plane and into the cool, sweet night air. It
was then that she got her first good look at the woman she was to care
for on the trip to Chicago.

Mrs. Van Verity Vanness was between sixty-five and seventy. The cheeks
were still full and bore few wrinkles, but the hands gave away the fact
that Mrs. Van Verity Vanness was well past middle age.

"I can't walk. Don't make me," she begged.

"We'll only take a few steps," said Jane, her own strong arms
supporting the older woman. "Breath deeply and enjoy the air. Don't
think about flying."

"But I've got to get to New York." There was a sob in the older woman's
voice, and she shuddered as she looked at th