| 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 |
| 1 | 76 | 152 | 227 | 303 |
|
too much immersed in certain interesting problems concerning a Cavorite
flying machine (neglecting the resistance of the air and one or two
other points) to perceive that anything was wrong. And the premature
birth of his invention took place just as he was coming across the field
to my bungalow for our afternoon talk and tea.
I remember the occasion with extreme vividness. The water was boiling, and
everything was prepared, and the sound of his "zuzzoo" had brought me out
upon the verandah. His active little figure was black against the autumnal
sunset, and to the right the chimneys of his house just rose above a
gloriously tinted group of trees. Remoter rose the Wealden Hills, faint
and blue, while to the left the hazy marsh spread out spacious and serene.
And then--
The chimneys jerked heavenward, smashing into a string of bricks as they
rose, and the roof and a miscellany of furniture followed. Then overtaking
them came a huge white flame. The trees about the building swayed and
whirled and tore themselves to pieces, that sprang towards the flare. My
ears were smitten with a clap of thunder that left me deaf on one side for
life, and all about me windows smashed, unheeded.
I took three steps from the verandah towards Cavor's house, and even as I
did so came the wind.
Instantly my coat tails were over my head, and I was progressing in great
leaps and bounds, and quite against my will, towards him. In the same
2
6
Page
Quick Jump
|