You know, the Brennan
monorail car will stand up some time after the power is shut off.
And I carry a small storage-battery that will run it for some
time, too. That's all been guarded against."
Jaurette cranked the engine, a seven-cylindered affair, with the
cylinders sticking out like the spokes of a wheel without a rim.
The propellers turned so fast that I could not see the blades--
turned with that strong, steady, fierce droning buzz that can be
heard a long distance and which is a thrilling sound to hear.
Norton reached over and attached the little dynamo, at the same
time setting the gyroscope at its proper angle and starting it.
"This is the mechanical brain of my new flier," he remarked,
patting the aluminum case lovingly. "You can look in through this
little window in the case and see the flywheel inside revolving--
ten thousand revolutions a minute. Press down on the gyroscope,"
he shouted to me.
As I placed both hands on the case of the apparently frail little
instrument, he added, "You remember how easily you moved it just
a moment ago."
I pressed down with all my might. Then I literally raised myself
off my feet, and my whole weight was on the gyroscope. That
uncanny little instrument seemed to resent--yes, that's the word,
resent--my touch.
Pages:
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269