material of the bag will act as a sort of parachute."
Mr. Damon darted to a window in the rear of the cabin, where he could obtain a glimpse of the main wing planes. He gave a cry of terror and astonishment.
"Two of the planes are gone!" he reported. "They are torn and are hanging loose."
"I feared as much," retorted Tom, quietly. "The gale was too much for them."
"What of the lifting gas?" asked Mr. Fenwick, quickly.
"It has nearly all flowed out of the retaining bag."
"Then we must make more at once. I will start the generating machine."
He darted toward it.
"It will be useless," spoke Tom, quietly.
"Why?"
"Because there is no bag left to hold it. The silk and rubber envelope has been torn to pieces by the gale. The wind is even stronger than it was last night."
"Then what's to be done?" demanded Mr. Damon, with a return of his alarmed and nervous manner. "Bless my fingernails! What's to be done?"
For an instant Tom did not answer. It was
