nounced. "I hope they are in no worse plight than we are." Then, there suddenly came to him a thought of the parents of Mary Nestor, who were somewhere on the ocean, in the yacht Resolute bound for the West Indies.
"I wonder if they're out in this storm, too?" mused Tom. "If they are, unless the vessel is a staunch one, they may be in danger."
The thought of the parents of the girl he cared so much for being in peril, was not reassuring to Tom, and he began to busy himself about the machinery of the airship, to take his mind from the presentiment that something might happen to the Resolute.
"We'll have our own troubles before morning," the lad mused, "if this wind doesn't die down."
There was no indication that this was going to be the case, for the gale increased rather than diminished. Tom looked at their speed gage. They were making a good ninety miles an hour, for it had been decided that it was best to keep the engine and propellers going, as they steadied the ship.
"Ninety miles an hour," murmured Tom.
"And we've been going at that rate for ten hours now. That's nearly a thousand miles. We are quite a distance out to sea."
