"'Oh, will you?' grunted the other. 'What awful rot it is! Oh, the devil—where's my hat?' and out he plunged.
"Two minutes later he was struggling into a heavy leather coat and, feeling thoroughly ill-used, climbed into his machine.
"The propeller was swung, emitting one hollow cough.
"'Switch off. All right, contact.'
"At the third attempt the engine remembered its manners and started up with a jerk. A few moments to get her running smoothly, a rapid test to see that she was 'giving her revs.' and the chocks, were waved away from the wheels.
"Within twenty yards he was off the ground and, throttle wide open, climbing towards the little white dot thousands of feet above.
"And all the time he was grumbling.
"'What awful rot it is! I've about as much chance of reaching the blighter as ... Running my engine to bits as it is ... May be able to cut him off when he's dropped his eggs.'