Few penalties exacted by the law for misdoings excel in rigor that demanded by the public of those who have committed the crime of becoming famous. Ridden through the city in an open car in the rain, surrounded by vociferous mobs whenever they dared show their faces, and finally forced to escape a throng of their well-wishers by a service elevator, the aviators now visiting Boston will have memories of a trip that was exciting if not always comfortable. Not that theirs is an exceptional case, for the past year has given the public many victims, but even an "annus mirabilis" with repeated offerings of heroes cannot state its appetite.

The fate of the flyers if they ever fall unprotected into the hands of their admirers is to be doubted. Large portions of Lindbergh's plane disappeared under the onslaught of the souvenir-hunters, and whether the attack would have spared him is not easy to say. But the welcome is sincere, if enthusiastic, and if they are careful to stay under police guard they will survive to tell many thrilling tales about American greetings.