The air of this early dawn is distinctly chilly, and the
A.M.'s are beginning to stamp their cold feet upon the dewy
grass, but very careful and circumspect is the Pilot, as he
mutters to himself, ``Don't worry and flurry, or you'll die
in a hurry.''
At last he fumbles for his safety belt, but with a start
remembers the Pilot Air Speed Indicator, and, adjusting
it to zero, smiles as he hears the Pilot-head's gruff voice,
``Well, I should think so, twenty miles an hour I was registering.
That's likely to cause a green pilot to stall the Aeroplane.
Pancake, they call it.'' And the Pilot, who is an
old hand and has learned a lot of things in the air that mere
earth-dwellers know nothing about, distinctly heard the
Pilot Tube, whose mouth is open to the air to receive its
pressure, stammer. ``Oh Lor! I've got an earwig already--
hope to goodness the Rigger blows me out when I come
down--and this morning air simply fills me with moisture;
I'll never keep the Liquid steady in the Gauge. I'm not
sure of my rubber connections either.''
``Oh, shut up!'' cry all the Wires in unison, ``haven't
we got our troubles too? We're in the most horrible state
of tension. It's simply murdering our Factor of Safety,
and how we can possibly stand it when we get the Lift only
the Designer knows.''
``That's all right,'' squeak all the little Wire loops,
``we're that accommodating, we're sure to elongate a bit
and so relieve your tension.
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