noon
The men in the car above were watching the field , hanging inert , a point of glistening metal , high in the deep velvet of the purple sky , for fifteen miles of air separated them from the Transcontinental machine below . Now they saw through their field glasses that the great plane was lumbering slowly across the field , gaining momentum as it headed westward into the breeze . Then it seemed to be barely clearing the great skyscrapers that towered twenty-four hundred feet into the air , arching over four or five city blocks . From this height they were toys made of colored paper , soft colors glistening in the hot noon sunlight , and around and about them wove lines of flashing , moving helicopters , the individual lost in the mass of the million or so swiftly moving machines . Only the higher , steadily moving levels of traffic were visible to them . `` Just look at that traffic ! Thousands and thousands coming back into the city after going home to lunch -- and every day the number of helicopters is increasing !