“Remember how the hose sort of kicked back when the water came rushing out?”
“Sure,” Jack grinned. “I’ve been soaked more than once by just that.”
“That’s the sort of thing that makes our ship go. The jets come out at great speed and just push the plane along. It practically flies itself.”
“How about taking me along on your next flight?” Jack held his breath.
“Impossible. We can’t take a soul on board. No, not even if he were wounded and would die if we left him. It’s that much of a secret. So much—so very much depends upon this plane.
“But I’ll tell you a little more about it,” the man went on, sensing Jack’s disappointment. “It burns kerosene. You’ve noticed that, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“It’s hard on fuel. We have to carry a belly tank if we want to go far. The Italians made a plane somewhat like this one. But it just ate up the fuel. If you’ve got to land every half hour for fuel, your plane’s no good. We’ve overcome that. But this plane still has weak spots.”
Jack wondered what the weak spots were, but dared not ask. “Should be fine in the stratosphere,” he suggested.
“Say! You do know planes, don’t you?” the man answered with respect in his tone.