"No, it would be too bad to disappoint Mr. Fenwick, now that we have made such a good start. He wants to make a long flight, and I can't blame him," spoke Tom, in a low voice.

"But if there's danger--"

"Oh, well, we can soon be at Cape May, and start back. The wind is freshening rather suddenly, though," and Tom looked at the anemometer, which showed a speed of twenty miles an hour. However, it was in their favor, aiding them to make faster time.

The speed of the WHIZZER was now about forty miles an hour, not fast for an air craft, but sufficiently speedy in trying out a new machine. Tom looked at the barograph, and noted that they had attained an alt.i.tude of seven thousand five hundred feet.

"That's better than millionaire Daxtel's distance of seven thousand one hundred and five feet," remarked the lad, with a smile, "and it breaks Jackson's climb of seven thousand three hundred and three feet, which is pretty good for your machine, Mr. Fenwick."

"Do you really think so?" asked the pleased inventor.

"Yes. And we'll do better than that in time, but it's best to go slow at first, until we see how she is standing the strain. This is high and fast enough for the present."

They kept on, and as Tom saw that the machinery was working well, he let it out a little, The WHIZZER at once leaped forward, and, a little later they came within sight of Cape May, the Jersey coast resort.

"Now to drop down and visit my friend," said Mr. Fenwick, with a smile. "Won't he be surprised!"

"I don't think we'd better do it," said Tom.

"Why not?"

"Well, the wind is getting stronger every minute and it will be against us on the way back. If we descend, and try to make another ascension we may fail. We're up in the air now, and it may be easy to turn around and go back. Then, again, it may not, but it certainly will be easier to shift around up here than down on the ground. So I'd rather not descend--that is, not entirely to the ground."

"Well, just as you say, though I wanted my friend to know I could build a successful airship."

"Oh, we can get around that. I'll take her down as low as is safe, and fly over his house, if you'll point it out, and you can drop him a message in one of the pasteboard tubes we carry for that purpose."

"That's a good idea," a.s.sented Mr. Fenwick. "I'll do it."

Tom sent the WHIZZER down until the hotels and cottages could be made out quite plainly. After looking with a pair of opera gla.s.ses, Mr. Fenwick picked out the residence of his friend, and Tom prepared to circle about the roof.

By this time the presence of the airship had become known to hundreds, and crowds were eagerly watching it.

"There he is! There's my friend who didn't believe I would ever succeed!" exclaimed Mr. Fenwick, pointing to a man who stood in the street in front of a large, white house. "I'll drop him a message!"

One was in readiness in a weighted pasteboard cylinder, and soon it was falling downward. The airship was moving slowly, as it was beating against the wind.

Leaning out of the cabin window, Mr. Fenwick shouted to his friend:

"Hey, Will! I thought you said my airship would never go! I'll come and give you a ride, some day!"

Whether the gentleman understood what Mr. Fenwick shouted at him is doubtful, but he saw the inventor waving his hand, and he saw the falling cylinder, and a look of astonishment spread over his face, as he ran to pick up the message.

"We're going up now, and will try to head for home," said Tom, a moment later, as he shifted the rudder.

"Bless my storage battery!" cried Mr. Damon. "But we have had a fine trip."

"A much better one than we'll have going back," observed Tom, in a low voice.

"Why; what's the matter?" asked the eccentric man.

"The wind has increased to a gale, and will be dead against us,"

answered Tom.

Mr. Fenwick was busy writing another message to drop, and he paid little attention to the young inventor. Tom sent the craft well up into the air, and then tried to turn it about, and head back for Philadelphia. No sooner had he done so than the airship was met by the full force of the wind, which was now almost a hurricane. It had steadily increased, but, as long as they were moving with it, they did not notice it so much. Once they attempted to stem its fury they found themselves almost helpless.

Tom quickly realized this, and, giving up his intention of beating up against the wind, he turned the craft around, and let it fly before the gale, the propellers aiding to get up a speed of seventy miles an hour.

Mr. Fenwick, who had dropped the last of his messages, came from his small private cabin, to where Mr. Damon and Tom were in a low-voiced conversation near the engines. The owner of the WHIZZER, happened to look down through a plate-gla.s.s window in the floor of car. What he saw caused him to give a gasp of astonishment.

"Why--why!" he exclaimed. "We--we're over the ocean."

"Yes," answered Tom, quietly, as he gazed down on the tumbling billows below them. They had quickly pa.s.sed over Cape May, across the sandy beach, and were now well out over the Atlantic.

"Why--why are we out here?" asked Mr. Fenwick. "Isn't it dangerous--in an airship that hasn't been thoroughly tried yet?"

"Dangerous? Yes, somewhat," replied Tom, slowly. "But we can't help ourselves, Mr. Fenwick. We can't turn around and go back in this gale, and we can't descend."

"Then what's to be done?"

"Nothing, except to keep on until the gale blows itself out."

"And how long will that be?"

"I don't know--a week, maybe."

"Bless my coffee pot, I'm glad we've got plenty on board to eat!"

exclaimed Mr. Damon.

CHAPTER XI

A NIGHT OF TERROR

After the first shock of Tom's announcement, the two men, who were traveling with him in the airship, showed no signs of fear. Yet it was alarming to know that one was speeding over the mighty ocean, before a terrific gale, with nothing more substantial under one that a comparatively frail airship.

Still Mr. Damon knew Tom of old, and had confidence in his ability, and, while Mr. Fenwick was not so well acquainted with our hero, he had heard much about him, and put faith in his skill to carry them out of their present difficulty.

"Are you sure you can't turn around and go back?" asked Mr. Fenwick.

His knowledge of air-currents was rather limited.

"It is out of the question," replied Tom, simply. "We would surely rip this craft to pieces if we attempted to buffet this storm."

"Is it so bad, then?" asked Mr. Damon, forgetting to bless anything in the tense excitement of the moment.