young pilot looked at the various gages, noting that to hold her way against the wind that had risen he would have to increase the speed of the motor.
"I don't like it," murmured Tom, "I don't like it," and he shook his head dubiously.
With a suddenness that was almost terrifying, the storm broke over the ocean about three o'clock that morning. There was a terrific clap of thunder, a flash of lighting, and a deluge of rain that fairly made the staunch Falcon stagger, high in the air as she was.
"Come on, Ned!" cried Tom, as he pressed the electric alarm bell connected with his chum's berth. "I need you, and Mr. Damon, too."
"What's the matter?" cried Ned, awakened suddenly from a sound sleep.
"We're in a bad storm," answered Tom, "and I'll have to have help. We need more gas, to try and rise above it."
"Bless my hanging lamp!" cried Mr. Damon, "I hope nothing happens!"
And he jumped from his berth as the Falcon plunged and staggered through the storm that was lashing the ocean below her into white billows of foam.
