Airplanes from McCook Field, Dayton, often fly over London, Ohio. The aviators, looking down at the spring countryside, watch the housewives of London spread their laundered sheets, smaller than a doll's handkerchiefs, to dry on the grass. The housewives rarely glance at the aviators. Why should they bother? Yet last week a housewife looked at her sheets and then at the sky and telephoned McCook Field. Then the voice of another matron harangued one of the ground pilots; others followed. Each had much the same complaint to make; the planes were, or...

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