It so happened that when the balloon was filled and they were ready to cast off the guy ropes and go up to the extent of the long rope Minerva took it into her sportive head to catch hold of the rope and the next minute the balloon went up with the stout Minerva dangling beneath.
Three things went up—no, four. The balloon, Minerva, a shriek, and a shout—the latter from the crowd.
Ethel and I had been in the main tent looking at the horticultural display, but at the familiar shriek we ran out.
They had stopped the ascent of the balloon but they flew Minerva full a hundred feet above the crowd, one foot around the rope, the other frantically kicking.
It was not an adventure that could have happened to anyone but Minerva or if it had happened to any other person he would have fallen to earth and cast a gloom over the fair.
But somehow the crowd seemed to realize that it was a time for mirth and that the girl would come down all right and they howled advice at her. Some told her to climb into the car, a physical impossibility for her, while others asked her to do tricks, supposing that she was an acrobat in disguise. In fact I think it was the general opinion that she was an acrobat.
Poor Minerva an acrobat. Far from it.
“Oh, James, come an’ git me. I’ll die up here. Oh, Lawdy, why’d I come up?”
Minerva was unconsciously quoting her own utterance of a few weeks before. Why had she come up, indeed. Was it to end her days in the clouds?
Much can happen in a little space of time and although there was a good deal of give and take on the part of Minerva and the crowd I don’t suppose she was up in the air many seconds. We can afford to laugh at it now but at the time, aside from its ludicrous aspect there was a terrifying side to it. Minerva was not built to fly to mother earth from such a height and survive.