Though we shall soon control the air, that won't be enough, so long as fogs and mists escape us.

Our next problem--hello! Now what the devil's _that_ ?" "What's what ?" retorted Waldron, testily.

He had been drinking rather more heavily than usual, that day, both because of the dull weather and because the Falls invariably got on his nerves, during his brief sojourns there.

Away from New York and his favorite haunts, Waldron was lost.

"What's what ?" he repeated with an ugly look.