Soon now, he would be flying out over the ocean. Soon he would be famous
and rich. Lindbergh had made it. Why shouldn't he?
His ship was almost ready. Its belly bulged with new tanks. Its wings
stretched with new width to take the added gas load. Its motor emitted a
perfect sound that his trained ears could find no fault with.
Only the final adjusting of his instruments remained. Lindbergh had
taken great pains with his instruments. He would too. When the ground
crew had finished with them, he flew his ship on a short cross-country
trip to check the instruments in flight. They worked fine.
He brought his ship down to put it in the hangar until he got his break
in weather. He lingered in the cockpit for a few moments, contemplating
his instruments in anticipation of the weary hours he would have to
watch them during the long flight.
A thought occurred to him. Lindbergh had been lucky. He would be too.
His girl (sweet kid--maybe when he came back ... but he would do the job
first) had already wished him luck. She had given him a token of her
wish. It was only a cheap thing she had picked up in some novelty shop,
but he treasured it. He took it out of his pocket. He tied it to the
instrument board and fashioned its bright red ribbon into a neat bow
knot that reminded him of the way she fastened her apron when she made
coffee for him in her kitchen late at night. There. Yes, he too would
have luck now.
Several days later his break in the weather hadn't come yet. He got
worried about his instruments. There were no landmarks in the ocean.
Maybe he had better check his compass again.
He went out to the field and flew his ship. The compass was off! It was
way off! When the ground crew checked it again it was off twenty degrees
on the first reading.
They soon found the trouble. As everybody knows, metal near a compass
will throw it off. They found a metal imitation of a rabbit's foot
suspended on a red ribbon tied to the bottom of the compass case.