He, therefore, repeated his no, with increased vehemence, adding, as he marked the reproach in his brother’s eye, “I cannot wait.  The test must be made on Saturday evening next, whatever the conditions; whatever the weather.  An air-car to be serviceable must be ready to meet lightning and tempest, and what is worse, perhaps, an insufficient crew.”  Then rising, he exclaimed, with a determination which rendered him majestic, “If help is not forthcoming, I’ll do it all myself.  Nothing shall hold me back; nothing shall stop me; and when you see me and my car rise above the treetops, you’ll feel that I have done what I could to make you forget—­”

He did not need to continue.  Oswald understood and flashed a grateful look his way before saying: 

“You will make the attempt at night?”

“Certainly.”

“And on Saturday?”

“I’ve said it.”

“I will run over in my mind the qualifications of such men as I know and acquaint you with the result to-morrow.”

“There are adjustments to be made.  A man of accuracy is necessary.”

“I will remember.”

“And he must be likable.  I can do nothing with a man with whom I’m not perfectly in accord.”

“I understand that.”

“Good-night then.”  A moment of hesitancy, then, “I wish not only yourself but Miss Scott to be present at this test.  Prepare her for the spectacle; but not yet, not till within an hour or two of the occasion.”

And with a proud smile in which flashed a significance which startled Oswald, he gave a hurried nod and turned away.

When in an hour afterwards, Doris looked in through the open door, she found Oswald sitting with face buried in his hands, thinking so deeply that he did not hear her.  He had sat like this, immovable and absorbed, ever since his brother had left him.

XXXV

SILENCE—­AND A KNOCK

Oswald did not succeed in finding a man to please Orlando.  He suggested one person after another to the exacting inventor, but none were satisfactory to him and each in turn was turned down.  It is not every one we want to have share a world-wide triumph or an ignominious defeat.  And the days were passing.

He had said in a moment of elation, “I will do it alone;” but he knew even then that he could not.  Two hands were necessary to start the car; afterwards, he might manage it alone.  Descent was even possible, but to give the contrivance its first lift required a second mechanician.  Where was he to find one to please him?  And what was he to do if he did not?  Conquer his prejudices against such men as he had seen, or delay the attempt, as Oswald had suggested, till he could get one of his old cronies on from New York.  He could do neither.  The obstinacy of his nature was such as to offer an invincible barrier against either suggestion.  One alternative remained.