On and on rushed the airship. Now and then she was speeded up for
a time, as Dick and the aviator wanted to see what she could do when
called on suddenly. She responded each time.
"I think she'll do," said Lieutenant McBride, when it came his turn
to take a little rest. "You have a fine craft, Mr. Hamilton."
"Glad of it," responded Dick. "We'll see what she does when we
straighten her out on the long run to San Francisco."
The night wore on. Above the earth, like some gigantic meteor, flew
the airship, her propellers forcing her onward and onward. Now and
then some of the machinery needed attention, but very little. The
gyroscope stabilizer worked well, and as it was automatic, there was
no need of warping the wing tips, or of using the alerons, which
were provided in case of emergency. The Abaris automatically kept
herself on a level keel, even as a bird does when flying.
The gray dawn crept in through the celluloid windows of the
aircraft. This material had been used instead of glass, to avoid
accidents in case of a crash. The celluloid would merely bend, and
injure no one.
"It's morning!" cried Dick, as he sprang from his bunk, for he had
had the previous watch.
"Morning?" repeated Innis. "Well, where are we?"
"Have to go down and take an observation," suggested the lieutenant.
"I think we must be very near New York."
Paul, who was in charge of the wheel looked for confirmation to
Dick. The latter nodded, and the cadet pulled the lever that would
send the airship on a downward slant.
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