"I wish he would come," said Kate. "It would be terrible if anything went wrong at the very last. How far is it across the Atlantic?"
"It's three thousand five hundred miles to Liverpool from New York, and rather more from Toronto; a ticklish journey, with no chance of landing till he gets to Ireland."
"It makes me shudder to think of him crossing the sea in that frail machine."
"People shuddered at the first railway train, speed ten miles an hour; now we grumble at fifty. In a few years we shall have an aerial Marathon, with the circumference of the globe for the course."
"Hark! What is that?"
"The rumble of a train," said Barracombe, after a moment's silence. "Shall we walk down to the sheds? There's a clear view from there, without trees; we could see the aeroplane a long way off, though probably we should hear it first."
They went on, remained at the sheds for some minutes, scanning the sky, then retraced their steps. A quarter-past eleven struck. Kate grew more and more anxious, and Barracombe found it more and more difficult to talk unconcernedly. They returned to the house, and entering through the conservatory, discovered Mrs. Smith asleep in her chair. Barracombe noiselessly put some coal on the fire, and they stole out again.
Half-past eleven.
"Don't you think you had better go to bed, Kate?"
"I couldn't sleep if I did, Billy. I couldn't even lie still. Oh, how helpless one feels! Charley may be drowning, and we don't know it, and can't do anything to help."