Sleeper, the Master!" "God and the Master!" roared the voices.

And suddenly quite close to him were the black uniforms of the
revolutionary guard, and for the first and last time in his life he saw
Graham, saw him quite nearly. A tall, dark man in a flowing black robe he
was, with a white, resolute face and eyes fixed steadfastly before him; a
man who for all the little things about him had neither ears nor eyes nor
thoughts....

For all his days that man remembered the passing of Graham's bloodless
face. In a moment it had gone and he was fighting in the swaying crowd. A
lad weeping with terror thrust against him, pressing towards the
stairways, yelling "Clear for the start, you fools!" The bell that
cleared the flying stage became a loud unmelodious clanging.

With that clanging in his ears Graham drew near the monoplane, marched
into the shadow of its tilting wing. He became aware that a number of
people about him were offering to accompany him, and waved their offers
aside. He wanted to think how one started the engine. The bell clanged
faster and faster, and the feet of the retreating people roared faster
and louder. The man in yellow was assisting him to mount through the ribs
of the body. He clambered into the aeronaut's place, fixing himself very
carefully and deliberately. What was it? The man in yellow was pointing
to two small flying machines driving upward in the southern sky. No doubt
they were looking for the coming aeroplanes. That--presently--the thing
to do now was to start. Things were being shouted at him, questions,
warnings. They bothered him. He wanted to think about the machine, to
recall every item of his previous experience. He waved the people from
him, saw the man in yellow dropping off through the ribs, saw the crowd
cleft down the line of the girders by his gesture.

For a moment he was motionless, staring at the levers, the wheel by which
the engine shifted, and all the delicate appliances of which he knew so
little. His eye caught a spirit level with the bubble towards him, and he
remembered something, spent a dozen seconds in swinging the engine
forward until the bubble floated in the centre of the tube. He noted that
the people were not shouting, knew they watched his deliberation. A
bullet smashed on the bar above his head. Who fired? Was the line clear
of people? He stood up to see and sat down again.

In another second the propeller was spinning and he was rushing down the
guide