The Foot of Time: A Novel of Australia and the South Seas: (1933)

246 THE FOOT OF TIME
my darling, I loved you all along! Get Mascot, I
tell you!"
So Clare got on to Mascot and Edith flung herself
at the instrument like one possessed.
"Are you there?" The girl with astonishing suddenness
became completely composed. She was
Australian—a product of the phlegmatic British
race; the most pig-headed lot of never-know-whenthey-are-defeated
race this world has ever known.
All hysteria left her—left her with action. It was
thought that killed and action killed thought.
In a quick, clear, calm voice she asked for Captain
Hargreaves. "Are you there? Is that Mascot
Aerodrome? Miss Edith Burne speaking. I want to
speak to Captain Hargreaves or the officer on duty
instantly. It's vitally urgent—do you get that?
Look, in case we are cut off, my number's—
what's your number, Mrs. Swinton? Quick,
please!" Clare was at her elbow.
"Vaucluse 25."
"Vaucluse 25 . . . . Is that you, Captain Hargreaves?
Miss Edith Burne speaking. Look, I'm
on my way to the aerodrome—it's vitally urgent.
I want Gipsy Moth 2241 got ready without one
single second's delay. Is that clear? Yes, I'll be
along. What's that? Oh, damn the mechanic, I'll
hop off without one; can't possibly wait, my dear
chap! Jump to it, now. I'll be over in no time."
Edith turned to Clare. "Never mind about the
Orange people; 'phone them after you get back.
Come with me, quick, and bring Bruno. He won't
come without you—I want him. He'll scent his
THE FOOT OF TIME
247
master out, and, if we die, at least we'll go together
—all three of us."
But it was too late to start that day. Mascot did
the impossible, but it was hopeless. Clare returned
to Vaucluse, but telephoned first to Orange on her
way—to do this and to do that, while Edith lay
—and being the creature she was, slept—in an office
chair at the aerodrome.
As daylight began to creep in they woke her;
pushed breakfast into her under the excuse that
the plane would be ready in one hour. Actually it
was ready then. Bruno, amazed out of himself, was
put aboard with the refreshments—beef tea (fatless)
, water, and again water—oceans of it!
No mechanics were available under any circumstances.
They started her engine, and Edith Burne
took the air and headed straight for the Blue Mountains
There they lay, visible from Mascot fifty
odd miles away, and Bruno, seasick behind, wished
he had never started—wished he had never been
born.
The plane lapped up the miles. They were over
the mountains and beyond them to others—Edith
and Bruno, her lover's dog!
"You love him, you little fool!" she shouted into
the screeching wind. But the roar of the engine
drowned her voice. She headed dead for her
father's home, dropped low to danger point—cool,
collected, searching, searching. At times she circled
in great spirals, ever searching. But Edith Burne
was no fool, she looked ever up as well as down.