Stagger, she had, and dihedral, and retreat, mystic technicalities of wing construction which came very near to realizing the dreamer’s goal of automatic stability. Control wires had a safety factor of eight. There was a dashboard before each of the dual control yokes dotted with a maze of glass-dialed instruments.
The two seats were tandem, with telephonic communication so that the occupants could converse above the roar of the engine. Nothing, in fact, which might contribute to speed and safety and accuracy had been omitted. And now—she was going out into the approaching night beyond her capacity of return, like a swimmer who swims out to sea beyond the limit of his strength. No wonder that the owner swore at his old Uncle Sam even while he made his gift.
On the beach, where the great machine floated like some graceful, swift storm petrel, Jim suddenly pushed Rankin to the rear seat.
“What’s the matter?” asked Rankin hurriedly. “Aren’t you going to fly her?”
“Nope,” said Jim with determination. “’S your job. You’re a better flier anyway. Me for the instruments. I’ve been boning up a lot on this new dope about wave crest length and wind ratio and bomb dropping and all. Kinder hoped to get a commission myself—once; but—hell! Hop in and make your tests. If I’m in on this funeral I’m going to phone good-by to the girl.”
Then for the first time did Rankin remember his girl, and her trust, and his promise, and what it meant between him and her.
He hesitated a moment; he, too, would have liked to telephone. For he was very human and just then some mysterious providence or other which looks after those who strive with a great purpose flashed to him a vague realization of his own weakness. Telephoning, the voice on the wire, with its note of appeal from the purely personal view point of the woman who waited, might undermine that high resolve. He set his teeth and climbed into the seat ready for action.
With lips hard pinched, he tested his controls to see that everything was running smoothly. He tested the Christensen self-starter. With an explosive whir the propeller caught up the ignition. He ran the engine at idling speed, watching his oil pressure and water gages for free feeding. Everything ran with the smoothness of a fine watch.
Jim came running.
“Give her the gun!” he shouted, hurling himself into his seat.