"Now go ahead!" roared Crayford. "Work your motors and let's see!"
There was a sound like a rushing mighty wind.
At two o'clock in the morning Crayford was still smoking, still watching, still shouting. Charmian and Alston were still in the darkness of the box, gazing, listening, sometimes talking. They had not seen Claude again. If he came into the front of the theater they meant to call him. But he did not come. The hours had flown, and now, when Alston looked at his watch and told Charmian the time, she could scarcely believe him.
"Where can Claude be?"
"I'll go behind."
"Jimber!" roared Mr. Crayford. "Where is Jimber?"
Mr. Mulworth, who looked now as if he had lain awake in his clothes for more nights than he cared to remember, rushed upon the stage almost fanatically.
"The locusts are all in one corner!" shouted Crayford. "What's the use of that? They must spread."
"Spread your locusts!" bawled Mr. Mulworth.
He lifted both his arms in a semaphore movement, which he continued until it seemed as if his physical mechanism had escaped from the control of his brain.