A Transatlantic Tunnel, Hurrah! by Harry Harrison Read Free Book Online Page A

that has come between you I have only one thing I must do. Gus, darling Gus, I really have no choice.”
    There was a gasp and a welter of emotion in the last words she spoke, while a tear brimmed from the cor-ner of each eye as she took the ring from the finger of her left hand and put it into his palm.
    IV. ABOARD THE AIRSHIP
    What a glorious June day it was. Ex-citement filled the streets of South-ampton and washed like breaking waves along her docks. The weather smiled as did the people, calling out to one another, drifting by twos and threes down towards the waterfront and the rapidly approaching hour of noon. Gay bunting and bright flags snapped in the offshore breeze while small boats scudded over the placid surface of the harbor like water bugs. A sudden sense of urgency came unto the strollers and they moved faster when a train’s whistle sounded from the hills. The boat train from London; the passengers were here!
    The echo of the whistle drew Gus Washington from the well of his work, away from the blueprints, charts, diagrams, figures, plans, devices, pounds, dollars and worries that snapped up at him out of the welter of papers he had spread about the train compartment. He pinched at the bridge of his nose where a persistent pain of fatigue nibbled him, then rubbed his sore eyes. He had been doing a good deal, some would say too much, but it was just a great amount of work that could not be avoided.
    Well enough for the mo-ment. The tracks curved down towards the docks and he folded the scattered papers and documents and put them back into his bulging case, a sturdy, no-nonsense, heavy-strapped and brass-buckled case of horsehide, pinto pony hide to be ex-act with the gay white and brown pattern of the hair still there, a pony he had once ridden and ridden well to a good cause in the Far West, but that is another story altogether.
    Now as he filled the case and sealed it the train rattled across the points and out along the quay and he had his first sight of the Queen Elizabeth tied up at her berth ahead.
    This was a sight for sore eyes that rendered them pain-free upon the instant. This was a marvel of engi-neering, of technical skill and daring the like of which the world had never seen before. So white she glistened in the sun, her bow pressed against the wharf and her distant stern far out in the stream. The gang-plank reached up to the foredeck where a Union Jack flew proudly from a flagstaff. Out, far out, to both sides stretched the immense wings, white and wide, with the impressive bulk of the engines slung beneath them. Four to each side, eight in all, each with a four-bladed propeller, each blade of which was taller than a man. The Queen Elizabeth, pride of the Cunard Line, the grandest and most glorious flying ship in exis-tence.
    For six months she had been fly-ing with her select crew, around the world, showing the flag in every ocean and on the shores of almost every land. If there had been any difficulties at all during this trial period the company had kept them a close secret. Now her extended prov-ing flight was over and she would begin the run for which she had been designed, the prestigious North At-lantic route of the Queens, South-ampton to New York nonstop, three thousand miles or more. Nor was it any accident that Gus Washington was on this flight, a simple engineer who ranked almost at the foot of the passenger list, overshadowed by the dukes and lords, the moguls of in-dustry, the handful of European no-bility and the great, titled actor. One hundred passengers only and at least ten or a hundred applicants for every berth.
    There had been pressure in high places, quiet chats over port at certain clubs, discreet telephone calls. The affairs of the tunnel affected both high finance and the court and both were in agreement that every-thing must be done to encourage the American financial cooperation in the venture.
    Washington must go to the colonies, so let him go in the most fitting