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Updated: June 24, 2025
The long, low car slid forward and then dropped like a bullet down the descent our steam toy had so painfully climbed. Our guest's face blanched, and he clutched the back of the tonneau. "New commander's evidently been trained on a destroyer," said Hinchcliffe. "What's 'is wonderful name?" whispered Pyecroft. "Ho! Well, I'm glad it ain't Saul we've run up against nor Nimshi, for that matter.
I was filled to my moist eyes with the almost sacred beauty of sense and association that clad the landscape. "Does 'unger produce 'alluciations?" said Pyecroft in a whisper. "Because I've just seen a sacred ibis walkin' arm in arm with a British cock- pheasant." "What are you panickin' at?" said Hinchcliffe. "I've been seein' zebra for the last two minutes, but I 'aven't complained."
Our guest gasped like a sea- bathed child, as four efficient hands swung him far out-board on to the turf. The car ran back noiselessly down the slope. "Look! Look! It's sorcery!" cried Hinchcliffe. There was a report like a pistol shot as the beaver dived from the roof of his lodge, but we watched our guest. He was on his knees, praying to kangaroos.
Who am I but the instrument of vengeance in the hands of an over-ruling Providence? I would be alone." "Leggat," I said to my man, "help Salmon home with my car." "Home? Now? It's hard. It's cruel hard," said Leggat, almost with a sob. Hinchcliffe outlined my car's condition briefly to the two engineers. Mr.
"Right-O!" said Moorshed, putting down the wheel, and as we left those scant waters I felt 267 move more freely. A thin cough ran up the speaking-tube. "Well, what is it, Mr. Hinchcliffe?" said Moorshed. "I merely wished to report that she is still continuin' to go, Sir." "Right-O! Can we whack her up to fifteen, d'you think?"
There's a whole switchboard full o' nickel-plated muckin's which I haven't begun to play with yet. The starboard side's crawlin' with 'em." "Change, or I'll kill you!" said Hinchcliffe, and he looked like it. "That's the 'tiffy all over. When anything goes wrong, blame it on the lower deck. Navigate by your automatic self, then! I won't help you any more." We navigated for a mile in dead silence.
I heard him volunteer the fact that he had a brother an artificer in the Navy. "They couple very well, those two," said Pyecroft critically, while Hinchcliffe sniffed round the asbestos-lagged boiler and turned on gay jets of steam. "Now take me up the road," he said. My man, for form's sake, looked at me. "Yes, take him," I said. "He's all right."
I would speak of Hinchcliffe Henry Salt Hinchcliffe, first-class engine- room artificer, and genius in his line, who was prouder of having taken part in the Hat Crusade in his youth than of all his daring, his skill, and his nickel-steel nerve.
"You've noticed it?" said Pyecroft, and embraced him with one anaconda- like left arm. "Don't kill him," said Hinchcliffe briefly. "I want to show him what twenty-three and a quarter is." We were going a fair twelve, which was about the car's limit. Our passenger swore something and then groaned. "Hush, darling!" said Pyecroft, "or I'll have to hug you."
I've been there. Now, Sir?" I saw the white of his eye turn broad on Mr. Moorshed. The boy dropped his chin over the speaking-tube. "Mr. Hinchcliffe, what's her extreme economical radius?" "Three hundred and forty knots, down to swept bunkers." "Can do," said Moorshed. "By the way, have her revolutions any bearing on her speed, Mr. Hinchcliffe?" "None that I can make out yet, Sir."
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