"Are you both ready?" called Bennie.
"Ready!" answered Atterbury.
"Ready!" came the cheery voice of Burke.
Down below, the party had all squeezed into the motor except Rhoda—who stopped with her foot on the steps.
"Oh dear, I forgot to leave the films!" she exclaimed. "Don't wait. I'll just run up the ladder and then hustle after you to the gate."
The chauffeur started the motor. Above her towered the gleaming cylinder of aluminum. What if the air-lock had been finally closed? No; the ladder had yet to be replaced. Hurriedly she climbed up and entered the lock. The door into the chart-room was ajar, and she could see Bennie as he walked to the door of the control-room to ask if all was ready. Swinging it wide enough to slip through, she threw herself on the floor in the shadow of one of the long wicker easy chairs. Bennie turned, glanced at his watch, and, stepping to the lock, hauled up the ladder and closed and clamped both doors. For a moment, he stood under the big lamp, its white light shading the big hollows beneath his eyes, the tense lines about his mouth. No wonder that his face was drawn! He was about to speak the word that would sever—perhaps for all eternity—their connection with the earth.
"Rhoda!" he murmured, unconscious of her presence.
An impulse almost overcame her to cry out to him, to beseech him not to set forth upon this crazy if marvelous adventure. But before she could speak, Burke appeared in the doorway.
"Well," he said, "everything's ready. What are you waiting for?"
Bennie pulled himself together with a jerk, walked over to the window, and looked out and up into the sky.