"And what is our present supply of this wonderful element?"
"Do you see this?" said the Rittmeister, pointing to a few small cylinders, each about two feet long, and six inches in diameter, which lay carefully piled upon each other on the floor near the Scorpion.
"Yes."
"That is the world's supply at present, excluding the two cylinders which are already fitted on the machine."
"The world's supply," ejaculated Carl, who was thinking of the huge petrol tank, which in a Fokker scout would last only three hours with the throttle wide open. "That won't last long, unless the pressure is enormous."
"The pressure is enormous, my friend; so enormous that if anything happened it would----"
"Blow a hole in the universe, I reckon," interposed Max.
"You are right, and that is the only danger connected with the Scorpion. The other danger you mentioned, that of fire, is altogether eliminated. There would be nothing to burn if one of these cylinders exploded, for there would be nothing left--in the vicinity."
"Sacre bleu!" exclaimed Carl, sotto voce, for, brave youth that he was, he shuddered at the thought.
Max was the more practical of the two, however, for he belonged not to the highly sensitive scouts, but to the heavy bombers, and he merely asked to satisfy his curiosity:--