"But see here, Tink," says I. "You ain't goin' to turn down an offer like that, are you?"
"I am," says he, "and I'll tell you why. It's because I know I'm no good and never would be any good, even if I could live, which I can't. Oh, I don't need any doctor to tell me how much longer I've got. They gave me only three months over a year ago. I knew better. I knew I should hold out until I finished my flyer. Father didn't have anything like that to keep on for; so he went quicker. He didn't want to go, either. And it was awful to watch him, Torchy, just awful! But I'm not going to finish that way. No, not now," and he walks up to the machine and runs his hand loving along one of the smooth planes.
"How's that?" says I. "What are you drivin' at, Tink?"
"I can't tell you how I shall do it exactly," says he; "for I'm not sure. But I mean to go up once; way, way up, out over the ocean just at sunrise. Won't that be fine, eh? Just think! Sailing off up there into the blue; up, and up, and up; higher than anyone has ever dared to go before, higher and higher, until your gasoline gives out and you can't go any more!"
"Yes; but what then?" says I, beginnin' to feel some chilly along the spine.
"Why, that's enough, isn't it?" says he. "Anyway, it's all I ask. I'll call it all quits then."
"Ah, say, cut out the tragedy!" says I. "You give me the creeps, talkin' that rot! What you want to do is to go up for a short sail if you can, forget to try any Hamilton stunts, and then beat it back to collect that five thousand while the collectin's good. Say, when do you try her again?"
"At daylight to-morrow morning," says he.
"Gee!" says I. "I've got a notion to stick around and watch how you come out."
"No, don't," says he. "I—I'll let you know. Yes, honest I will. Goodnight and—good-by." He kept his word as well as he could, too. The postmark on the card was six A.M.; but I guess it must have been dropped in the box earlier than that. All it says is: