Jerry once more reassured his mother that there was no danger in what he and his chums were about to undertake, and then he retired.
There was a big crowd about the tent early the next morning, for news had spread that the Comet was to be “launched,” if that is the proper term for floating an airship. Probably “floated” would be better.
“Well, is everything in good shape?” asked Jerry of Mr. Glassford, as he greeted the inventor in the canvas shelter.
“I think so. The motor seems to work perfectly. That was my greatest anxiety. I will now proceed to generate the gas necessary to completely fill the bag. I suppose all three of you boys are coming along?”
“Of course; and so is Professor Snodgrass.”
“That will make a nice party, and we will not have to carry so much ballast. Just go over all the cords, see that none are tangled, and test the wire stays and the braces. We don’t want any accident to happen.”
The boys were a trifle nervous, now that the time was at hand for the great test. Would the airship rise? Would she sail through the upper atmosphere—or come down like a stone?
The big gas bag seemed to promise that at least they would go up, but whether they could advance, and whether the Comet would allow herself to be directed in response to the influences of her propellers and the rudders was another matter. Mr. Glassford was busy at the gas-generating machine. The long, cigar-shaped bag began to distend more and more. The frame of the ship quivered as the lifting power of the gas began to make itself felt. But for the weight of many bags of sand, attached to the lower part of the car, it might have risen right in the tent.
“Oh, it’ll go up, all right,” declared Bob earnestly.