Fred la Mothe was speaking. After a certain number of beverages composed of Scotch whisky, imported soda, and a cube of ice, it was a matter of comparative ease for him to exhibit a notable fluency. After two o'clock in the afternoon Fred was generally fluent. "''Tain't safe,' I says to him. And the wind was blowin' enough to lift the hair out of your head. 'I wouldn't go up in the thing for the price of it,' I says, 'and, besides, you're seein' two of it. Bad enough drivin' a car when you're lit up,' I says, 'but what these flyin' machines want is a still day and a man that's cold sober. You just let it rest on its little perch in the bird-cage.'"…
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