_ And yet--we have brought
each other fortune, this young Monsieur Power and I. Fix a little the
pillows up, and you shall hear.
A man-eagle, I assure you! A veritable condor of the Andes hatched
in human shape, who has, nevertheless, discovered his gift only to
renounce it at once and forever.
Our first meeting was curiously disturbing. He appeared suddenly at a
door of my ateliers on the flying ground at Mineola, very tall, very
_soigne_, smiling in the way he had that showed all his strong,
square teeth as he recognized me in conversation, with my faithful
mechanician, Georges. This latter, grown portly and nervous since
marrying a Montmartre shopkeeper, I have since promoted to be my chief
designer.
"Pardon the intrusion," said the stranger. "I perceive you are about
to murder the stout gentleman. I will wait your convenience."
"Quite on the contrary, monsieur," I explained, bowing. "We discuss
merely the theory of the explosion turbine. If monsieur will give
himself the trouble to enter--"
"That is my card," he replied, advancing. "I want a strong, swift
biplane, and a mechanic to attend to it."
I glanced from the card to this extraordinary young man with interest.
For the name itself, John Hamlin Power, told me of a career in Wall
Street--brief, but conspicuous in its daring and success; a career in
which this immaculate, smiling young cotillion leader had made the
very monarchs of finance fear the elan of his attack, the relentless
quality of his grip.
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