He bent over her and kissed her, not with the kiss of a lover, but with the kiss of an ascetic. "Come," he said.
She thanked him silently. "Now?" she asked.
Together they opened the wide doors. In another moment there burst upon them the thunderous roar of the powerful motor, _his_ motor, his country's motor that was to carry her to victory in her battle to free the world from hideous blackness.
He helped her to her seat, and mounted to his own. In another moment they were moving out upon their quest.
They mounted swiftly into the face of the moon, higher, ever higher. Beneath them lay a cold world making ready for sleep. Behind them glowed the lights of the city, of the city going about its affairs, unconscious of the calamity that threatened. Richly gowned men and women occupied theater chairs; cafés, restaurants with their gaudy cabarets, were preparing to receive their guests. Lights were blinking out in the homes of working-men and of millionaire as the inmates retired, conscious of security, for the night. In many homes were dancing and gaiety; in other homes--a scattering few--nightly family prayers were being said. As on any other nights, the down-town streets were quick with moving motor-cars, or black with automobiles parked and waiting until their owners should issue from theater, from club, from innocent amusement, or from squalid place of license and artificial joy.
Detroit lay spread out in great panorama, sleeping, spending, each inhabitant flying high or flying low, according to his means and his desires ... all defenseless against the thing that threatened; defenseless save for that frail craft of the air that mounted and mounted on fragile wings until it was but a speck against the illuminated heavens!
Steadily, swiftly it sped to take its place as sentinel at those high gates; to bar the roads of the sky; to ride the clouds a challenger, a champion, a winged guardian, steadfast, courageous, eagerly dauntless....
Potter felt the splendor of it; it uplifted him. Soaring there above the lake, he knew a strange sense of detachment from the fetters of the flesh. He felt, not like a man, liable to weaknesses, ills, death, but like an immortal upon a mission for Olympus. He was not afraid of the issue. He was confident. His exhilaration was not of the sort that makes men shout and sing; it was as if some great, glowing dignity rested upon him, to be worn with worthiness. The fate of a city was in his hands, and he rejoiced to have it there....