"I mean it," I said. "I've been thinking it over. I've made up my mind.
It's no good arguing. I shall go in for work--real work. No! this isn't
work; it's only laborious cheating. But I've got an idea! It's an old
idea--I thought of years ago, but it came back to me. Look here! Why
should I fence about with you? I believe the time has come for flying to
be possible. Real flying!"
"Flying!"
I stuck to that, and it helped me through the worst time in my life.
My uncle, after some half-hearted resistance and a talk with my aunt,
behaved like the father of a spoilt son. He fixed up an arrangement that
gave me capital to play with, released me from too constant a solicitude
for the newer business developments--this was in what I may call the
later Moggs period of our enterprises--and I went to work at once with
grim intensity.
But I will tell of my soaring and flying machines in the proper place.
I've been leaving the story of my uncle altogether too long. I
wanted merely to tell how it was I took to this work. I took to these
experiments after I had sought something that Marion in some indefinable
way had seemed to promise.
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