that--Just now he was by no means
on his way home. He was flying off to America to fight there. "Not
much fighting," he considered; "all our own way." Still, if a shell did
happen to hit the Vaterland on the underside!...

"S'pose I ought to make my will."

He lay back for some time composing wills--chiefly in favour of Edna. He
had settled now it was to be twenty thousand pounds. He left a number
of minor legacies. The wills became more and more meandering and
extravagant....

He woke from the eighth repetition of his nightmare fall through space.
"This flying gets on one's nerves," he said.

He could feel the airship diving down, down, down, then slowly swinging
to up, up, up. Throb, throb, throb, throb, quivered the engine.

He got up presently and wrapped himself about with Mr. Butteridge's
overcoat and all the blankets, for the air was very keen. Then he peeped
out of the window to see a grey dawn breaking over clouds, then turned
up his light and bolted his door, sat down to the table, and produced
his chest-protector.

He smoothed the crumpled plans with his hand, and contemplated them.
Then he referred to the other drawings in the portfolio. Twenty thousand
pounds. If he worked it right! It was worth trying, anyhow.

Presently he opened the drawer in which Kurt had put paper and
writing-materials.

Bert Smallways was by no means a stupid person, and up to a certain
limit he had not been badly educated. His board school had taught him
to draw up to certain limits, taught him to calculate and understand a
specification. If at that point his country had tired of its efforts,
and handed him over unfinished to scramble for a living in an atmosphere
of advertisments and individual enterprise, that was really not his
fault. He was as his State had made him, and the reader must not imagine
because he was a little Cockney cad, that he was absolutely incapable
of grasping the idea of the Butteridge flying-machine. But he found it
stiff and perplexing. His motor-bicycle and Grubb's experiments and the
"mechanical drawing" he had done in standard seven all helped him out;
and, moreover, the maker of these drawings, whoever he was, had been
anxious to make his intentions plain. Bert copied sketches, he made
notes, he made a quite tolerable and intelligent copy of the essential
drawings and sketches of the others. Then he fell into a meditation upon
them.

At last he rose with a sigh, folded up the originals that