In London

Airplanes from McCook Field, Dayton, often fly over London, Ohio. The aviators, looking down at the spring countryside, watch the housewives of London spread their laundered sheets, smaller than a doll's handkerchiefs, to dry on the grass. The housewives rarely glance at the aviators. Why should they bother? Yet last week a housewife looked at her sheets and then at the sky and telephoned McCook Field. Then the voice of another matron harangued one of the ground pilots; others followed. Each had much the same complaint to make; the planes were, or rather they had--well, just let someone come down--and look at her sheets!

Three grave officers--Lieutenants Barksdale, Lockwood, Amis--examined the laundry of London, pock-marked with gobs of oily dirt. Then the officers rendered their decision--the stains, fallen from heaven upon the sheets, were not oil, engine grease or any airplane droppings. No, the stains were mud. Perhaps it had been raining mud. This is exactly what had happened. In other cities the same phenomenon occurred. A high wind had carried dust into the atmosphere until saturation brought dust and water down together. . . . Flyers were vindicated.