“Not where I am concerned,” said Graham, “You seem to forget.”
The aeronaut scrutinised his face “No,” he said. “I do not forget, Sire. But in all the earth—no man who is not a sworn aeronaut—has ever a chance. They come as passengers—”
“I have heard something of the sort. But I’m not going to argue these points. Do you know why I have slept two hundred years? To fly!”
“Sire,” said the aeronaut, “the rules—if I break the rules—”
Graham waved the penalties aside.
“Then if you will watch me—”
“No,” said Graham, swaying and gripping tight as the machine lifted its nose again for an ascent. “That’s not my game. I want to do it myself. Do it myself if I smash for it! No! I will. See I am going to clamber by this—to come and share your seat. Steady! I mean to fly of my own accord if I smash at the end of it. I will have something to pay for my sleep. Of all other things—. In my past it was my dream to fly. Now—keep your balance.”
“A dozen spies are watching me, Sire!”
Graham’s temper was at end. Perhaps he chose it should be. He swore. He swung himself round the intervening mass of levers and the monoplane swayed.
“Am I Master of the earth?” he said. “Or is your Society? Now. Take your hands off those levers, and hold my wrists. Yes—so. And now, how do we turn her nose down to the glide?”