The man in yellow was pointing to two small flying machines driving upward in
the southern sky. No doubt they were looking for the coming aeroplanes. That—
presently—the thing to do now was to start. Things were being shouted at him,
questions, warnings. They bothered him. He wanted to think about the machine,
to recall every item of his previous experience. He waved the people from him,
saw the man in yellow dropping off through the ribs, saw the crowd cleft down
the line of the girders by his gesture.
For a moment he was motionless, staring at the levers, the wheel by which the
engine shifted, and all the delicate appliances of which he knew so little. His eye caught a spirit level with the bubble towards him, and he remembered
something, spent a dozen seconds in swinging the en
