wheels underneath struck a chimney a glancing blow, hurling the bricks in all directions. As they came clattering down, from the house out ran Mrs. Rover, followed by her husband and the hired help. Anderson Rover was away on business.
"What is the matter—is it a—er—a cyclone?" gasped Randolph Rover.
"I don't know, I'm sure," answered Mrs. Rover. "But it's a terrible noise."
"Look! look!" shrieked the cook, pointing upward. "Saints preserve us!" she moaned. "'Tis the end of the world!"
"A flying machine!" murmured Randolp Rover. He gazed around hurriedly. Can it be the boys?"
"Oh, those boys! They will surely kill themselves!" groaned Mrs. Rover. "They know nothing about airships!"
"Say, dar ain't nobuddy in dat contraption!" came suddenly from Aleck Pop. "It am flyin' all by itself!"
"By itself?" repeated Randolph Rover. "Impossible, Alexander! A flying machine cannot run itself. There must be somebody to steer, and manipulate the engine, and"
"Oh, maybe whoever was in it fell out!" screamed Mrs. Rover, and now she looked ready to faint.
