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Army Bomber. As a spectacular climax to the Army's air maneuvers in Ohio last fortnight, a Keystone bomber was despatched from Dayton to attack Manhattan. It passed over the stormy Appalachians without trouble and reached the island without a stop. There it dropped trick bombs over Wall Street and the precious neighborhood, and continued on to Boiling Field near Washington. Next evening it returned to Manhattan with a Douglas service plane. While the com munity gawked into the twilight the Doug las pretended to refuel the bomber. Five times the gesture was made, always successfully, although the men in the Key stone did get soaked by spraying gasoline.
Three Musketeers — Martin Jensen, Lieut. Henry B. Clarke, William Ulbrich— shook hands and smiled before starting their flight at Roosevelt Field. Their cata pult refueling device worked successfully the first five times. The sixth time the hook rebounded, tore their rudder and stabilizer. Damage was repaired. Again they shook hands, smiled, mounted. Four times again the catapult served them efficiently, except that the hook tore small holes in the fabric bottom of their fuselage. Once when a gasoline line-leak developed and again when their motor needed adjustment Flyer Jensen went out on the catwalk and made repairs. Then, after 22½ hours, the Three Musketeers landed. The crew climbed out grim and furious with one an other. Lieut. Clarke had decided that the fuselage holes would grow dangerously larger. Flyer Jensen believed that the holes could be repaired. Flyer Ulbrich considered the air quarreling foolhardy.
Fort Worth.— The new refueling-endurance world record is 172 hr., 32 min., 1 sec. Two flying novices accomplished it Reginald L. Robbins, 26, onetime rail road mechanic, and James Kelly, 23, cattle puncher. Cowboy Kelly was graduated from a flying school only a month ago, at the time of his marriage. Flyer Robbins has been at the game about five years. He too is married, and has a six-year-old son. The families watched the two take off from Fort Worth a fortnight ago, in a rebuilt Ryan brougham which had flown 50,000 mi. and with an overhauled Wright Whirl wind motor which had run 500 hours. Few others watched the takeoff, for news of new air record-seekers has become boresome even in facilely enthusiastic Texas.
Thrice daily they were refueled by hose, and received their meals and messages by rope. It was Cowboy Kelly's job to grease the motor rocker arms twice daily. He would crawl out of the cabin and cat walk along a narrow support. The second day up as he greased he came too close to the propellers. The blades struck his belt button, which gouged a notch in each blade. They slept one hour nightly in a seaman's hammock slung over their extra gasoline tank. They counted the hours, minutes, scratched their unshaven faces, dropped notes. They rejoiced when they passed the trimotored Question Mark's 150-hour record. Last Saturday rain, thunder and lightning came upon them. They were scared, but kept going. The rain made their propeller swell and crack from the accidental notches. The motor began to vibrate at its fastenings. It might rip off. But they continued on until last Monday afternoon. Night might bring them death. They descended. Most of Fort Worth was on the muddy flying field. Women lost their slippers in the muck. Men carried Mrs. Kelly, Mrs. Robbins and the Robbins son on