In Washington was Riley. Thurston had been in touch with him frequently.
"Sure, it's a crazy machine," the pilot had told him, "and 'tis not much I think of it at all. Neither bullets nor guns, just this big glass contraption and speed. She's fast, man, she's fast ... but it's little hope I have." And Thurston, remembering the scientist's words, was heartless and sick with dreadful certainty.
There were aircraft ready near New York; it was generally felt that here was the next objective. The enemy had looked it over carefully. And Washington, too, was guarded. The nation's capital must receive what little help the aircraft could afford.
There were other cities waiting for destruction. If not this time--later! The horror hung over them all.
The fourth day! And Thurston was suddenly certain of the fate of New York. He hurried to a telephone. Of the Secretary of War he implored assistance.
"Send your planes," he begged. "Here's where we will get it next. Send Riley. Let's make a last stand--win or lose."
"I'll give you a squadron," was the concession. "What difference whether they die there or here...?" The voice was that of a weary man, weary and sleepless and hopeless.
"Good-by Cy, old man!" The click of the receiver sounded in Thurston's ear. He returned to the roof for his vigil.
To wait, to stride nervously back and forth in impotent expectancy. He could leave, go out into open country, but what were a few days or months--or a year--with this horror upon them? It was the end. MacGregor was right. "Good old Mac!"
There were airplanes roaring overhead. It meant.... Thurston abruptly was cold; a chill gripped at his heart.
The paroxysm passed. He was doubled with laughter--or was it he who was laughing? He was suddenly buoyantly carefree. Who was he that it mattered? Cyrus Thurston--an ant! And their ant-hill was about to be snuffed out....
He walked over to a waiting group and clapped one man on the shoulder. "Well, how does it feel to be an ant?" he inquired and laughed loudly at the jest. "You and your millions of dollars, your acres of factories, your steamships, railroads!"
The man looked at him strangely and edged cautiously away. His eyes, like those of the others, had a dazed, stricken look. A woman was sobbing softly as she clung to her husband. From the streets far below came a quavering shrillness of sound.