nearly sixteen hundred miles. We certainly did travel at top speed. I wonder where we are?"
"Still over the ocean," replied Mr. Damon, as he looked down at the heaving billows rolling amid crests of foam far below them. "Though what part of it would be hard to say. We'll have to reckon out our position when it gets calmer."
Tom came from the engine room. His face wore a troubled look, and he said, addressing the older inventor:
"Mr. Fenwick, I wish you'd come and look at the gas generating apparatus. It doesn't seem to be working properly."
"Anything wrong?" asked Mr. Damon, suspiciously.
"I hope not," replied Tom, with all the confidence he could muster. "It may need adjusting. I am not so familiar with it as I am with the one on the Red Cloud. The gas seems to be escaping from the bag, and we may have to descend for some distance."
"But the aeroplanes will keep us up, said Mr. Damon.
"Yes—they will," and Tom hesitated. "That is, unless something happens to them. They are rather frail to stand alone the brunt of the gale, and I wish"
Tom did not complete the sentence. Instead,
