The poor Scot was really to be pitied. He could not look
upon the azure vault without a sombre terror: when asleep,
he felt oscillations that made his head reel; and every
night he had visions of being swung aloft at immeasurable heights.
We must add that, during these fearful nightmares,
he once or twice fell out of bed. His first care then was
to show Ferguson a severe contusion that he had received
on the cranium. "And yet," he would add, with
warmth, "that was at the height of only three feet--not
an inch more--and such a bump as this! Only think, then!"
This insinuation, full of sad meaning as it was, did not
seem to touch the doctor's heart.
"We'll not fall," was his invariable reply.
"But, still, suppose that we WERE to fall!"
"We will NOT fall!"
This was decisive, and Kennedy had nothing more to say.
What particularly exasperated Dick was, that the doctor
seemed completely to lose sight of his personality--
of his--Kennedy's--and to look upon him as irrevocably
destined to become his aerial companion. Not even the
shadow of a doubt was ever suggested; and Samuel made
an intolerable misuse of the first person plural:
"'We' are getting along; 'we' shall be ready on
the ----; 'we' shall start on the ----," etc.
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