“That plane has no propeller,” Jack whispered, half to himself and half to the girl.
“No,” she agreed.
“It’s run by jets going out from the back,” he went on. “If you held a large balloon before you and it exploded, it would push you over. That plane works something like that. The Italians tried it. Their jet went straight back out of the fuselage. It ran the plane, but took too much fuel. This one takes air from the sky into a large compressor. When it is under high pressure it is mixed in a chamber with explosive gas from kerosene. This mixture is ignited under terrific pressure, then carried round a right-angle bend and blown through fans that somehow give it a lot more power.”
The girl was silent. Did she understand? He wondered.
But now the man in the cockpit was ready for one more move. Once again he set the motor howling. This time however he released the brakes, dropped his lantern into the cockpit, touched the accelerator, and went gliding away into the night.
Jack had watched his every move. “That,” he whispered, “is about the easiest flying plane in the world. I could fly it right now.”
“So could—” The girl stopped, then added, “Yes, yes, I am sure you could.”
“I will, too,” Jack told himself, but did not say it aloud. No use telling too much.
They listened to the plane until its strange wail faded into nothing.
“He’s gone,” the girl said, half rising.