“What’s the matter with Bob, I wonder?” remarked Jerry as he went in the engine room, to look at the motor.
“Oh, probably he’s eating his second breakfast,” replied Ned, who was inspecting the gas machine.
“She isn’t making vapor very fast,” spoke Jerry, as he looked at the dial of the containing tank, and noted how much of the lifting gas was in storage.
“No, it needs a new valve,” decided Ned. “But we can go up as an aeroplane, and by the time we get up a mile or two there’ll be gas enough.”
The Comet was a roomy craft. There was a good-sized dining room, plenty of sleeping apartments, a storeroom, a large motor compartment, a neat little galley or kitchen, where Bob spent much of his time, and a living room, where they all gathered during the day to read, talk or make observations as they scudded through space, high above the earth.
“I wish Bob would come, if he’s going to get here,” went on Jerry. “He is always more or less late. We won’t have time to get anywhere before we have to be back again to meet the professor.”
“There he comes now,” exclaimed Ned, as he caught sight of a stocky figure hurrying across the field. “And by Jove, if he isn’t swallowing the last of his breakfast on the run! He must have overslept.”
“What’s the matter, Chunky?” asked Jerry, as his chum approached, panting from his unusual speed.
“One of our rabbits got loose—had to chase it—might eat up the neighbors’ fruit trees—never saw such a rabbit—thought I had it in the cage half a dozen times—but it got out—that’s what made me late.”