"Ay me, to think of a nice pleasant young gentleman like Mr. Wilfred lying at death's door through one o' they dratted airyplanes! That venturesome he always was, as a little small chiel. 'Tis against Nature to try to fly like the birds, that's what I say, and what can you expect? The world do be turning topsy-turvy, and all through they Germans."
That night, just as Eves had turned over to sleep, he was roused by a call from Templeton in his companion bed.
"What is it?" he murmured, drowsily.
"I've got an idea," was the reply.
"Well, sleep on it, old man."
"You know very well that I can't get a wink till I see daylight."
"Then you've got about five hours. Good night!"
"Of course I meant a light on the problem; you're so literal. You see, the evolution of a perfectly stable machine——"
Eves interrupted with a groan.
"I suppose I must be a martyr," he said, "but I wish you'd arrange for your ideas to come in the morning. Fire away! I'll keep awake if I can, but cut it short."