idiom?"

One of his mechanics prompted him:

"Ah, yes," he said, with a smile. "I believe the proper expression is,
'I should worry.'"

Harry threw up his hands and went home. As he buzzed his horn outside
the garage the door was opened by the Marvin chauffeur with a telegram
in his hand. The chauffeur's wife was sick and he wanted a couple of
days' leave of absence. Harry granted it instantly. That evening he
made no mention of either the chauffeur's absence or his trip to the
field. Pauline thought she was teasing Harry by saying nothing of her
plans. She was sure he was eaten up with curiosity to know the result
of her visit and admired his ability, as she thought, to conceal it.

Owen spent a nervous evening. He walked out soon after dinner and from
a drug-store telephone booth called up a friend in the insurance
business. To the secretary's surprise and disappointment he learned
that the percentage of accidents to aviators had become comparatively
small. Passengers were particularly fortunate. The friend even agreed
to obtain accident insurance for any one at a reasonable premium.

If aeroplanes had become reasonably safe the chance of Pauline's being
killed during the flight on the following day was insignificant. He
must give up all hope of wealth from the permanent control of her
estate. As the evening wore on Owen began to feel how he had
unconsciously relied on this hope. He doubled his evening dose of
morphine, but it neither soothed his disappointment nor brought him
sleep.

Hour after hour, during the night, his sleepless eyes seemed to see
that loose wire which the mechanic had explained to be so vitally
important. He could see in imagination the machine flying off into the
clouds with Pauline in it. He could see it suddenly waver, dip and
plunge to the earth. In his mind's eye he saw himself rushing to, the
wreck, lifting out the girl's crushed form, wildly calling for a
doctor, and exulting all the time that she was beyond human aid.

About two o'clock Owen fell into a doze, and in that doze came one of
his vivid opium dreams. He beheld Hicks enter his bedroom. It was not
Hicks, the blackmailer, but Hicks, the counselor, who had told Owen how
he might become rich. Hicks was speaking to him in a sort of noiseless
voice, very different from his usual tones. He spoke in a sort of
shells or husks of words. The consonants were there, but the vowels
were lacking. Yet he heard as