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Automobile headlights threw a low glare over the Army polo field at Havana as Col. Charles Augustus Lindbergh settled himself in the Spirit of St. Louis in the blackness of the wee small hours. Farewells were called and the ship angled up into the night, circled, and shot out for home. Dirty fog shut down over all of the south-east by daylight, forcing the flyer to steer a compass course over a mist-blotted earth. Random reports of an airplane motor pounding through the fog were the only milestone of his progress. Three hours late at St. Louis, the country grew apprehensive for the punctual ambassador.

Meanwhile a board of education at Interlaken, N. J., busied itself with a stormy protest against national publication in the press of a picture of Col. Lindbergh in

Panama facing a pretty girl and a cold quart of wine.

Out of a dripping dusk the great flyer dropped at St. Louis to a squashy field, safe, fit, smiling. After 9,000 miles of spreading through Central and South America the glad tidings of U. S. good will toward men he was at rest at last in his home airport.