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"Where's Charleton, Peter?" "He went out after a stray stallion he thinks has wandered up on Lost Chief." Douglas gave Peter a startled glance. "Jimmy Day just said he'd gone into Mountain City." Peter shrugged his shoulders. "All I know is what Charleton told me last Monday." He slid a new record into the machine. "Wait a moment!" Douglas put his hand on the starting-lever.
When Droop had completed his lecture, Phoebe found that she understood the uses of three of the levers. The rest was a mystery to her. "This is the starting-lever," she said. "This steers, and this reverses. Is that it?" "That's correct," said Droop, "an' if " She cut him short by whisking out of the room. "What drives the thing?" she asked, as he meekly followed her.
"We'll make some speed on this road," said Nyoda resolutely, "and if we don't catch Lady Gladys before she gets to Ft. Wayne, I'll know the reason why. This is the road to Bryan, isn't it?" she asked, with her hand on the starting-lever. "No," said the man. "This here road goes through Napoleon and Defiance. It gets to Ft. Wayne all right, but it doesn't go through Bryan."
And no living man may swim in this manner high out of water, patting and splashing with one hand. It was a ghost. It had come to punish them. "Por qué nos atormentan así, hombre, deja?" cried a white-faced officer. "Can't you hear me?" asked the apparition. "I'll come closer." He threw back the starting-lever, and the thing began moving. Then a rifle-barrel protruded from a dead-light.
In five minutes he was near enough to the steamer to read her name. He pulled the starting-lever forward, stopping his headway; for he must be sure of his welcome. "Say, boss," he called faintly and hoarsely, "take me along, can't you? Or else gi' me some medicine. I'm blamed sick I'll die if I stay here."
With a yelp of mischievous glee he proved his daring to his comrades by snatching at the starting-lever. He was quick as a flash of summer lightning, but if I hadn't been quicker, the big car might have leaped into life, and run amuck through the most crowded street in busy Marseilles.
With a final wave of his hand, Wertheimer grasped the starting-lever. Its brool deepening, the Parrott stirred, shot forward abruptly. In two seconds it was fifty yards distant, its silhouette already blurred, its wheels lifting from the rim of the hollow. Then lightly it leaped, soared, parted the mists, vanished....
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