a fool as you did, Arnott! Hullo! What on earth is that? Dad coming home
from Chicago?'

There was a rattle and a rush, and a five-plough cultivator, blades in
air like so many teeth, trundled itself at us round the edge of the
timber, fuming and sparking furiously.

'Jump!' said Arnott, as we bundled ourselves through the none-too-wide
door. 'Never mind about shutting it. Up!'

The _Victor Pirolo_ lifted like a bubble, and the vicious machine shot
just underneath us, clawing high as it passed.

'There's a nice little spit-kitten for you!' said Arnott, dusting his
knees. 'We ask her a civil question. First she circuits us and then she
plays a cultivator at us!'

'And then we fly,' said Dragomiroff. 'If I were forty years more young,
I would go back and kiss her. Ho! Ho!'

'I,' said Pirolo, 'would smack her! My pet ship has been chased by a
dirty plough; a--how do you say?--agricultural implement.'

'Oh, that is Illinois all over,' said De Forest. 'They don't content
themselves with talking about privacy. They arrange to have it. And now,
where's your alleged fleet, Arnott? We must assert ourselves against
this wench.'

Arnott pointed to the black heavens.