"I perceive, sir," said the Babu, "that your countenance is sicklied o'er with pale cast of apprehension. Nothing is here for tears; in short, there is nothing to be afraid of; I have worked it out. Engine makes 1500 revolutions per minute: propeller geared down to 750: ascensional velocity, by my calculations----"
"Your calculations be hanged!" cried Mr. Appleton, whose wonted urbanity gave way under the strain of Ditta Lal's loquacity. "Get out!"
Ditta Lal looked hurt, but tried to smile. It was an hour before the aeroplane reappeared, and another hour before the boys rejoined their uncle.
"We made a splendid flight," said Bob, who was in the highest spirits. "Everything worked perfectly. You must come for a trip yourself, Uncle."
"No, thank you. I am vastly relieved to see you back safe and sound. The Babu has begun calculating again, and got on my nerves."
"Calculating, is he?" said Lawrence. "I should have thought he had had enough of that. I wonder if we can cure him."
He called to Ditta Lal, who was standing at the door of his store-shed.
"What weight do you suppose the aeroplane will carry?" he asked.
"I do not suppose, sir," replied the Babu. "I have worked it out. Permit me to express jubilation at successful trip, sir. You ask about weight." He drew a paper from his pocket. "Here are correct figures. You can carry fifteen hundred and eighty-six pounds six ounces, with four decimals of no account."
"What do you scale, Bob?" asked Lawrence.