“I guess we’ve got pressure enough.”
“Then fill the containers. I’m anxious to get at some of Chunky’s grub.”
In a short time the airship floated almost motionless above the sea, the propellers moving just enough to overcome the slight wind. Then, needing no attention on the part of the boys, the Comet could look after herself while our friends ate.
“Say, this is all to the horse radish!” cried Ned, as he tasted something which Bob put on his plate. “What is it?”
“Fried chicken,” answered the stout youth. “Glad you like it. It’s only canned, of course, but I seasoned it up, and——”
“It’s dandy!” interrupted Jerry. “Got plenty of it, Chunky, my boy?”
“You needn’t ever ask Bob that,” mumbled Ned, with his mouth full. “You can always trust him to cook enough. He’s thinking of himself.”
“Thanks,” returned the amateur cook.
With occasional glances through the glass floor of the dining cabin, the boys finished their meal. They felt much better after it, and, strangely enough, more hopeful.
It is wonderful how a satisfied appetite can make a person feel less gloomy. While before dinner something may seem impossible of execution, after a good meal difficulties vanish as if by magic.