I groped in a wandering mind for some adequate way of escape, and it occurred to me presently that I could order a thousand envelopes, with my name printed in the corner, and bring him to terms. No, I'd order _five_ thousand--and utterly obliterate him! "Wull?" said Fergus. If it had not been for this second "Wull?" I might have gone back to my immemorial existence and never have brought my new vision to the hard test of life, never have known Anthy, never have felt the glory of a new earth. But with that second "Wull?" which was even more devastating than the first, I felt something electric, warm, strong, stinging through me. I had a curious sense of high happiness, and before I knew it I was saying: "After all, men _do_ fly!" I laugh still when I remember how Fergus MacGregor looked at me. For a long moment he said nothing as eloquently as ever I heard it said. I began to feel the humour of the situation (humour is the fellow that always waits just around the corner until the danger is past), but I said in all seriousness: "I'm looking for the man who wrote an editorial last week headed 'Fudge.' He doesn't appear to approve of flying machines." Fergus had not stirred by so much as the fraction of an inch. He looked at me for another instant and then paid me, if I had known it, a most surprising compliment. He smiled. His face slowly cracked open--I can express it no other way--and remained cracked for the space of two seconds, and returned to its usual condition. Fergus's smile is one of the wonders of nature. "What ye going to do?" asked Fergus. "Thrash the editor?" "No," said I, "convert him." Fergus slowly shook his head. "Ye can't," said he. "I've already begun," said I. Fergus looked me over for a moment, and smiled again, this time winding up with a snort or a cough, which started to be a laugh, but stopped away down somewhere inside of him. "Ye think I wrote it?" "Well," said I, "you look perfectly capable of it." I was just beginning to enjoy thoroughly this give and take of conversation, which of all sports in the world is certainly the most fascinating, when I heard steps behind me and, turning half around, saw Anthy for the first time. "There's the editor," said Fergus. "Ask her yourself." She came down the room toward me with a quick, businesslike step. She wore a little round straw hat with a plain band. She had a sprig of lilac on her coat, and looked at me directly--like a man. She had very clear blue eyes. I have thought of this meeting a thousand times since--in the light of all that followed--and this is literally all I saw. I was not especially impressed in any way, except perhaps with a feeling of wonder that this was the person in authority, really the editor.