“Cheerful, isn’t it?” observed Miss Briggs under her breath.
“Fastened to the edge of the parachute, as you can see, are small cords which lead down and attach to half as many light ropes, finally terminating in only two ropes which are fastened to the harness worn by the person for whose use the parachute is intended,” continued the major. “That cone-shaped case contains the entire works. I’ll not go into the mechanism of the contrivance in detail. When a man prepares to descend, the harness being already on him, the parachute is pulled from the case and out he jumps. Then all he has to do is to wait for the parachute to open.”
“Quite simple, sir,” agreed Elfreda. “All one has to do is to jump, and wait. If the parachute breaks or doesn’t open you keep on waiting. Is that it, Major?”
The major laughingly agreed that it was.
“It is well to understand the workings before one goes up. I know it all sounds formidable to you, but it isn’t at all formidable. See that you are fastened all right and make certain that your harness has not fouled, then jump.”
“Do parachutes ever fail to open?” questioned Grace soberly.
“I have heard of such cases, but not in this war. If one thinks fast and clearly and doesn’t lose his head, the chances are that he will be all right.”
“How far does one ordinarily drop before the parachute opens?” asked Miss Briggs.
“About fifty feet, sometimes a little less if one is heavy. If light, he might fall much further than this.”
“Heavens!” exclaimed J. Elfreda. “Grace, I’m sorry for you. Being light you may fall a mile before the thing opens, and by that time you may have no need for a parachute.”