"Garage?"
"Sure, for flyers—remember? Here we are."
The door Junior unlocked let them into a space sufficiently garage-like in its bareness, but the thirty feet of gold-and-crystal grace it sheltered was a thing of beauty, enough to warm the cockles of any limousine-lover's heart. As H.D. gave himself up to the upholstery's caress he felt his old confidence return.
The thirty feet of gold-and-crystal grace the garage held was a thing of beauty.
The wall rolled away as Junior made some unperceived signal. With the slightest of vibration the flyer wafted out into the shadowed evening. As the wingless craft emerged into space H.D.'s hands instinctively tightened their grip on the arms of his chair. Then he relaxed with a smile. He looked around with appreciation, ready to accept each new thrill with easy complacency.
When the mounting flyer finally cleared the shadow of that Everest of a building they must have been six thousand feet up. In the western distance the dipping sun shed its fire on a doll's garden of patched green, with here and there a spot of cheerful early autumn color. Charming, he thought patronizingly, charming!
"Let's go down closer and have a good look at those suburbs," he exclaimed on sudden impulse.