Norton took the cue. "Now you newspaper men are the first that
I've allowed in here," he said. "Can I trust your word of honour
not to publish a line except such as I O.K. after you write it?"
We promised.
As Norton directed, the mechanicians wheeled the aeroplane out on
the field in front of the shed. No one was about.
"Now this is the gyroscope," began Norton, pointing out a thing
encased in an aluminum sheath, which weighed, all told, perhaps
fourteen or fifteen pounds. "You see, the gyroscope is really a
flywheel mounted on gimbals and can turn on any of its angles so
that it can assume any angle in space. When it's at rest like
this you can turn it easily. But when set revolving it tends to
persist always in the plane in which it was started rotating."
I took hold of it, and it did turn readily in any direction. I
could feel the heavy little flywheel inside.
"There is a pretty high vacuum in that aluminum case," went on
Norton. "There's very little friction on that account. The power
to rotate the flywheel is obtained from this little dynamo here,
run by the gas-engine which also turns the propellers of the
aeroplane."
"But suppose the engine stops, how about the gyroscope?" I asked
sceptically.
"It will go right on for several minutes.
Pages:
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268