“Say, Con, I’ll order flowers this afternoon. Got a friend in town who’s a florist. I can get ’em cheap,” he added. “I’m supposed to laugh at that, I guess!” Conway said to Kisner. Then to Welkfurn: “Little stale this morning, son.” Kisner seemed annoyed. “You talk like a fool, Welk!” he said soberly. “You talk like that, and something might happen!” “Don’t see any harm in it,” Welkfurn replied defensively. “No harm meant; you don’t need to get sore about it.” He slipped into a moody silence. Kisner climbed into the basket to help Conway with the equipment there. For two hours the three men worked, saying little. The sun crawled up in the east and stood almost overhead, but it brought no warmth as it climbed. When the preparations for the flight were almost completed, Conway sent Welkfurn down to headquarters on an errand. Welkfurn was gone almost an hour, and when he returned Conway yelled to him: “Hey, fella, where’s my clock?” “Clock?” Welkfurn asked blankly. “Search me; didn’t know you sent a clock.” Conway paused. “Sure I sent one. Sent it with the barographs to have the oil cleaned out of it.” “Use another one,” Welkfurn suggested. “I’ll get one out of another balloon.” “Use another one?” Kisner asked sourly. “Gosh, I thought you knew more than that! Con’s got to have a clock that’s dry--no oil inside of it--or the oil’ll get stiff up high where it’s cold, and the clock’ll freeze! He’s got to have that clock running to tell him when it’s time to start back down. He’s got oxygen for an hour and a half; he’s got to save enough oxygen to get back down to fifteen thousand feet--where he can breathe air again. If the clock stops up there and he uses up all his oxygen--not knowing when the time’ll be up--he’ll suffocate before he gets back down!” Conway laughed at Kisner’s agitation. “You better go back to town and get it,” Kisner said. “Con’s got to have it. And don’t waste any time!” “I don’t think he’s got time enough now,” Conway said dryly. “I’m going to take off right after lunch, and Welk might get to talking downtown and not get back in time. Eh, Welk?” Welkfurn looked up at the two men in the basket a moment, then at the floor. He tried to grin. “I’ll get your damn’ clock!” he said hastily. He ran to the automobile, climbed in. Gears clashed for a moment, and he was gone. “Good scout, Welkfurn,” Conway said to Kisner. “Just young and inexperienced. Means everything fine. Just like a woman, though--always talking. Gets started to talking and forgets everything else. He doesn’t remember it, but I told him yesterday about that clock. Some day he’ll have to make a parachute jump from a balloon--if there’s anybody else in the basket, Welk’ll get started talking on the way down and forget to pull his rip-cord!” * * * * *