replied Tom, with a glance at the anemometer. "It's nearly ninety miles an hour now."
"Then, aided by the propellers, we must be making over a hundred miles an hour," said the inventor.
"We are,—a hundred and thirty," assented Tom.
"We'll be blown across the ocean at this rate," exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my soul! I didn't count on that."
"Perhaps we had better go down," suggested Mr. Fenwick. "I don't believe we can get above the gale."
"I'm afraid not," came from Tom. "It may be a bit better down below."
Accordingly, the rudder was changed, and the Whizzer pointed her nose downward. None of the lifting gas was let out, as it was desired to save that for emergencies.
Down, down, down, went the great airship, until the adventurers within, by gazing through the plate glass window in the floor of the cabin, could see the heaving, white-capped billows, tossing and tumbling below them.
"Look out, or we'll be into them!" shouted Mr. Damon.
"I guess we may as well go back to the level where we were," declared Tom. "The wind,
