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You bet I do! Well?" "He was togged out in an old brown ulster, worn trousers, and boots that were all splashed with plaster or paint, and he had white hair, a white beard, a slouch hat, and a bag. It may not be he at all, you know; but his hands say hello hello Davis hello the darn operator's cut me off." "Maybe not. More likely Davis hung up the 'phone."
There was the usual propeller in front, operated by a four cylinder motor, the cylinders being air cooled, and set like the spokes of a wheel around the motor box. The big gasolene tank, and other mechanism was in front of the right-hand operator's seat, where Tom always rode.
Luck must have been in a strange condition, for he beat it promptly and without any retort, and slid furtively into a chair between two old range-men just as the operator's boy-usher switched off the lights.
The mystery of the thing beat against Kettle's brain. Of course he could not read the deposed operator's thoughts, though he could see easily that the man was reading the messages which White was so glibly sending off. But it was clear that the man's agitation was growing; growing, too, out of all proportion to the coolness he had shown when his room was first invaded.
Then we thundered by a freight train, loaded with still more ties and iron, standing upon a siding guarded by the idling trainmen and by an operator's shack. Smoke was welling from the chimney of the shack and that domestic touch gave me a sense of homesickness. Yet I would not have been home, even for breakfast. This wide realm of nowhere fascinated with the unknown.
He kept pretty close to the wireless operator's office, and was particularly attentive to the spitting crackle of the instrument. About eleven o'clock an incomprehensibly long message began to rattle out of the air.
The Deimos tower operator's voice droned over the loud-speaker on the control deck of the Space Lance " ... minus five, four, three, two, one" then the breath-taking pause before the climactic "zero!" The ship shot spaceward, rockets roaring loudly in the thin atmosphere of the small satellite.
He was of those who shirk all or shirk nothing. "I don't know why I should care to, but I do," she replied, with charming and childlike wilfulness; so the three of them trudged up the slippery path to the operator's den on the slope. Not to evade his hospitable duty in any part, Adams explained the use and need of a "front" wire, and Miss Carteret was properly interested.
Everything seemed to us to confirm the correctness of our original opinions that practice is the key to the secret of flying; that it is practicable to assume the horizontal position; that a smaller surface set at a negative angle in front of the main bearing surfaces, or wings, will largely counteract the effect of the fore-and-aft travel of the center of pressure; that steering up and down can be attained with a rudder without moving the position of the operator's body; that twisting the wings so as to present their ends to the wind at different angles is a more prompt and efficient way of maintaining lateral equilibrium than that employed in shifting the body of the operator of the machine.
Fearing that the operator's "rag" might fail in the strict enforcement of the regulations that had been thrown about the night-time movements of her husband, that he might break out of the circle of his wife's fondness and call on me at the tavern, I left that place soon after supper and resumed my walk about the town.
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