Decoy

A peasoup fog blew in over New Jersey one day last week, just after Pilot Albert Vale and his wife had taken off from Preakness, homeward bound to Philadelphia. The mist enveloped them. It was impossible to go on, too late to turn back. They would make for the field at Paterson nearby. Cautiously Pilot Vale flew as low as he dared, straining for the welcome sight of wind-sock or hangar-roof. After a nerve-wrenching period of groping his heart leapt. There on the ground was a plane! Pilot Vale carefully swung around into the wind, put his ship into a glide, and--Crash! . . . The fuselage of the Vales' plane, with its two occupants uninjured was wedged tight in the branches of a tree. Wings & motor were strewn about. The plane on the ground, which had decoyed Pilot Vale into a landing, was one which a youth was building in his yard.

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