"Our speed has gone up a little, and the wind
pressure seems less."
"It is; a little," agreed Mr. Vardon. "But what is worrying me is
that we'll have a lot of lost time and distance to make up when we
get out of this storm. Still, I suppose it can't be helped."
"Indeed not. We're lucky as it is," admitted the young millionaire.
"But I'm going to get Innis and make some coffee. I think it will
do us all good."
The electric stove was soon aglow, and a little later the aromatic
odor of coffee pervaded the cabin of the airship. Some sandwiches
were also made.
And thus, while the craft was fighting her way through the gale,
those aboard ate a midnight lunch, with as good appetites as though
they were on solid ground. For, in spite of the fact that they were
in the midst of danger, they were fairly comfortable. True the
aircraft was tilted upward, for she was still climbing on a steep
slant, but they had gotten used to this. The gyroscope stabilizer
prevented any rolling from side to side.
"Maybe Grit is hungry, and that's what's bothering him," said Dick,
as he tossed the dog a bit of canned chicken. But though the animal
was usually very fond of this delicacy, he now refused it.
"That's queer," mused Dick. "I can't understand that. Something
surely must be wrong. I hope he isn't going to be sick."
"Had we better go any higher?" asked Innis, at the wheel, as he
noted the hand on the gage. "We're up nearly nine thousand feet
now, and--"
"Hold her there!" cried Mr.
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