“With machines such as he made we could fight these Asiatic fliers on more than equal terms. We could outfly and beat down those scarlet humming-birds wherever they appeared. But it's gone, it's gone, and there's no time to reinvent it now. We got to fight with what we got—and the odds are against us. THAT won't stop us fightin'. No! but just think of it!”
Bert was trembling violently. He cleared his throat hoarsely.
“I say,” he said, “look here, I—”
Nobody regarded him. The man with the flat voice was opening a new branch of the subject.
“I allow—” he began.
Bert became violently excited. He stood up.
He made clawing motions with his hands. “I say!” he exclaimed, “Mr. Laurier. Look 'ere—I want—about that Butteridge machine—.”
Mr. Laurier, sitting on an adjacent table, with a magnificent gesture, arrested the discourse of the flat-voiced man. “What's HE saying?” said he.
Then the whole company realised that something was happening to Bert; either he was suffocating or going mad. He was spluttering.
“Look 'ere! I say! 'Old on a bit!” and trembling and eagerly unbuttoning himself.