“If I succeed everything will be swell. If I fail, I won’t know it. So what’s the difference?”
The man spoke with attempted carelessness. Yet, he could not hide his real feelings from the two observant photographers. He was not so confident as he would have them believe.
Joe Wells set up his automatic hand camera near the edge of the cliff, winding the spring motor and loading the film. Flash stationed himself at a slightly different angle, focusing his Speed Graphic.
“Any old time,” said Wells, and signaled the _News-Vue_ men below.
A dizzy, nauseous sensation came over Flash as he gazed downward. If the ’chute failed to open—and the odds were against Brooks—would he have the courage to keep on taking his pictures? He wondered.
“Good luck, Brooks,” said Wells. “Happy landing.”
“I won’t need luck,” the man answered jerkily. “Not with a ’chute like this baby.”
He stepped to the edge of the cliff. For a long moment he stood there, gazing out across the sea, savoring the glint of sunlight upon the tumbling waves.
“Whatever happens,” he said, “keep grinding.”
Then with lips compressed, face tense, he stepped off into space.
At terrific speed the body of the jumper hurtled toward the earth. The parachute did not open.
Grim-faced, his horrified eyes focused upon the falling figure, Flash shot his first picture. His heart was in his throat, but he was able to keep his hand steady. Swiftly he extracted the holder and made ready to take a second exposure.
“It’s curtains,” he thought. “The ’chute never can save Brooks now.”
And then, even as he abandoned hope, the silken umbrella cracked open.
Perspiration oozed from Flash’s forehead. Joe Wells laughed aloud, so great was his relief.
The danger, however, was not entirely over. As Flash took a picture of the great umbrella drifting downward, he noted that it was falling at a rapid rate toward the sea. For a time it appeared that Brooks would strike the water with great force.
But the aviator began to pull on the risers, and succeeded in working away from the shore. He landed in a plowed field some distance away. The wind billowed the ’chute, dragging him for a few feet. Brooks then skilfully pulled on the underside risers and the big umbrella flattened out.