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Rh finished the directions in perfectly good English. I felt like demanding my monkey back.

The lure of another park began to draw us to Yellowstone, so we returned to the United States. In this curious region it is easy to see the origin of Indian legends of the Great Spirit. With big geysers spouting here and there and the little muddy ones called “paint pots” plopping away continuously during the twenty-four hours, one ig­norant of any scientific facts would certainly im­pute such phenomena to strange gods. Mother said she was almost afraid to go to sleep lest one should plop into bed with her.

As thrilling to me as the national parks were the long stretches of open country dotted with air mail beacons. I saw these first at Cheyenne for the mail route follows somewhat that of the Lincoln High­way. Omaha is one of the oldest stations in the mail development and every time I pass that way I remember the first trip. It is such things which make the real thrills in aviation. I have never been on the ground in this section since, except to drive in from the airport, but I have followed the air route many times.

I finally reached Boston and had so many tourist stickers on the windshield there was little space left to see through it. When I parked the car, groups gathered to ask me questions about conditions of roads, how I’d come, why I’d come, and any number of other questions. The fact that my roadster was a cheerful canary color may have