"That's all right," squeak all the little Wire loops, "we're that accommodating, we're sure to elongate a bit and so relieve your tension." For the whole Aeroplane is braced together with innumerable wires, many of which are at their ends bent over in the form of loops in order to connect with the metal fittings on the spars and elsewhere—a cheap and easy way of making connection.
"Elongate, you little devils, would you?" fairly shout the Angles of Incidence, Dihedral and Stagger, amid a chorus of groans from all parts of the Aeroplane. "What's going to happen to us then? How are we going to keep our adjustments upon which good flying depends?" "Butt us and screw us,"[9] wail the Wires. "Butt us and screw us, and death to the Loops. That's what we sang to the Designer, but he only looked sad and scowled at the Directors."
"And who on earth are they?" asked the Loops, trembling for their troublesome little lives.
"On earth indeed," sniffed Efficiency, who had not spoken before, having been rendered rather shy by being badly compromised in the Drawing Office. "I'd like to get some of them up between Heaven and Earth, I would. I'd give 'em something to think of besides their Debits and Credits—but all the same the Designer will get his way in the end. I'm his Best Girl, you know, and if we could only get rid of the Directors, the little Tin god, and the Man-who-takes-the-credit, we should be quite happy."
Then she abruptly subsides, feeling that perhaps the less said the better until she has made a reputation in the Air. The matter of that Compromise still rankled, and indeed it does seem hardly fit that a bold bad Tin god should flirt with Efficiency. You see there was a little Tin god, and he said "Boom, Boom, BOOM! Nonsense! It MUST be done," and things like that in a very loud voice, and the Designer tore his hair and was furious, but the Directors, who were thinking of nothing but Orders and Dividends, had the whip-hand of him, and so there you are, and so poor beautiful Miss Efficiency was compromised.
All this time the Pilot is carefully buckling his belt and making himself perfectly easy and comfortable, as all good pilots do. As he straightens himself up from a careful inspection of the Deviation Curve[10] of the Compass and takes command of the Controls, the Throttle and the Ignition, the voices grow fainter and fainter until there is nothing but a trembling of the Lift and Drift wires to indicate to his understanding eye their state of tension in expectancy of the Great Test.
"Petrol on?" shouts the Fitter to the Pilot.
"Petrol on," replies the Pilot.
"Ignition off?"
"Ignition off."