"What--what's the matter, old boy?" he asked. "In trouble again?"
There came another and louder howl. "Where is he?" asked Mr.
Vardon, looking in from the pilot-house.
"I can't see him," Dick answered. "Can he be out on deck?"
A moment later there was a flash as of lightning, within the cabin,
and Grit mingled his howls and barks as though in great pain.
"Something's wrong!" cried the aviator. "Look about, Dick, I can't
leave the wheel. We seem to be going down!"
The young millionaire sprang up and leaped toward the place where
he had heard Grit howling. The next moment Dick laughed in a
relieved fashion.
"Where are those rubber gloves?" he asked.
"Rubber gloves?" repeated Mr. Vardon.
"Yes. Grit has gotten tangled up in the little dynamo that runs the
headlight, and he's short-circuited. He can stand more of a shock
than I can. I want to get him off the contacts. Where are the
gloves?"
The aviator directed Dick to where the insulating gauntlets were
kept, and in another moment Grit was pulled away from the contact.
He had been unable to move himself, just as when one grasps the
handles of a galvanic battery the muscles become so bound as to be
incapable of motion.
Fortunately the current, while it made Grit practically helpless,
for the time, was not strong enough to burn, or otherwise injure
him. He gave a howl of protest at the accident, as Dick released
him, and shuffled off to his kennel, after fawning on his master.
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