"... when all at once, I thought: Speed! Endurance! That is the problem!" said Webb, breaking in on Whitlow's reverie.
"I beg your pardon?" said the Secretary of Defense.
Webb whacked the dottle out of his pipe into a meaty palm, tossed the smoking cinders rather carelessly into a waste-basket, and leaned forward to confront the other man face to face, their noses almost nudging.
"Why are parachutes out?" he snapped.
"They go too slow," said Whitlow.
"Why do we use parachutes at all?"
"To keep the men from getting killed by the fall."
"Why does a fall kill the men?"
"It— It breaks their bones and stuff."
"Bah!" Webb scoffed.