mes Whitlow, with mystery stories and ham
sandwich, had taken the first plane from the Capitol ...

"... when all at once, I thought: Speed! Endurance! _That_ is the
problem!" said Webb, breaking in on Whitlow's reverie.

"I beg your pardon?" said the Secretary of Defense.

Webb whacked the dottle out of his pipe into a meaty palm, tossed the
smoking cinders rather carelessly into a waste-basket, and leaned
forward to confront the other man face to face, their noses almost
nudging.

"Why are parachutes out?" he snapped.

"They go too slow," said Whitlow.

"Why do we use parachutes at all?"

"To keep the men from getting killed by the fall."

"Why does a fall kill the men?"

"It-- It breaks their bones and stuff."

"_Bah!_" Webb scoffed.

"Bah?" reiterated Whitlow. "Bah?"

"Certainly bah!" said the general. "All it takes is a little training."

* * * * *

"All _what_ takes?" said Whitlow, helplessly.

"Falling, man, falling!" the general boomed. "If a man can fall safely
from ten feet-- Why not from ten times ten feet!?"

"Because," said Whitlow, "increasing height accelerates the _rate_ of
falling, and--"

"_Poppycock!_" the general roared.

"Yes, sir," said Whitlow, somewhat cowed.

"Muscle-building. That's the secret. Endurance. Stress. Strain.
Tension."

"If-- If you say so ..." said Whitlow, slumping lower and lower in his
chair as the general's massive form leaned precariously over him.
"But--"

"Of _course_ you are puzzled," said the general, suddenly chummy.
"Anyone would be. Until they realized the use to which I've put the
Whirligig!"

"Yes. Yes, I suppose so ..." said Whitlow, thinking longingly of his ham
sandwich, and its crunchy, moist green smear of pickle relish.

"The first day--" said General Webb, "it revolved at _one_ gravity! They
withstood it!"

"What did? Who withstood? When?" asked Whitlow, with much confusion.

"The men!" said the general, irritably. "The men in the Whirligig!"

Whitlow jerked bolt upright. "There are _men_ in that thing?" It's not
possible, he thought.

"Of course," said Webb, soothingly. "But they're all right. They've been
in there for thirty days, whirling around at one gravity more each day.
We have constant telephone communication with them. They're all feeling
fine, just fine."

"But--" Whitlow said, weakly.

General Webb had him firmly by the arm, and was leading him out of the
office. "We must get to