Both might have been graven images of coolness.
The Celt, however, got up and leaned at the window-jamb, unable to keep still.

He turned suddenly to Alden.
"Come, man!" he exclaimed, half angrily.

"Got no heart in you, eh?
No interest?
Come along out of that, now, and see what's what!" He laid hold on the captain, and drew him to the window as the airship accelerated her plunge along the rails.

The hum of the propellers had now risen to a kind of throaty roar; the craft was shaking with strange quivers that no doubt would cease if she but once could launch herself into the air.

Under her, in and in, the shining metal rails came running swiftly and more swiftly still, gleaming silver-like under the vivid beam of the searchlight.
Wind began to rise up against the glass of the pilot-house; the wind of _Nissr's_ own making.
Cool as if in his own easy-chair in the observatory, the Master sat there, hand on wheel.