“She will be finished about the first of June. Then she must make some trial flights. You can take off by the fourteenth or fifteenth. You will go, won’t you?”
“You bet! I’m commander of that ship. And I want you to pick out a few of the students, all grades, for staff. I think it would be a wonderful try-out for them.”
“I’ll do it,” said Colonel Porter with enthusiasm.
“Why don’t you come along, Port? You need a rest.”
Colonel Porter groaned.
“Rest? Why, Harry, we are simply swamped with work. I couldn’t possibly get away.”
“I wish you could,” said Mr. Hammond, and was silent a few moments. “Those gas bags,” he continued, following the train of his thought, “they are absolutely impervious to any kind of gas, aren’t they?”
“Absolutely, when made of the substance we call, for lack of a better name, gold-beater’s skin. You know gold-beaters beat their gold into the tissue-like sheets used by the trade, by putting it between layers of the split and cleansed intestines of the ox, and pounding it. For the gas bags, they split and clean the intestines, and lay them out with overlapping edges. Others are laid on top, at right angles. These congeal into a mass of fabric, which is flexible, yet perfectly impervious.”
“It certainly beats all,” said Mr. Hammond. “By the way, Port, whom shall I take on as captain? Got a good man?”
“The best!” said Colonel Porter heartily. “A man named Fraine. Captain Fraine is as good a man as flies. During the war he was shot down and badly wounded, and wears a small silver plate on his head. He has been with us for six years. I advise Fraine.”