The Skipper was undergoing untold tortures, for he could only guess at what was going on. Jack’s body at the window shut off his view of Kiwi. He was doing everything in his power to hold the plane steady, using every particle of his skill to keep the bumps from causing Kiwi to lose his footing.
But in spite of all the Skipper’s efforts, one particularly vicious bump caused Kiwi to slip, and for just a second he wondered wildly if Jack could hold him from dropping off into that awesome space. His feet found the struts again, and he rested.
Slowly another layer was put on, and the flow stopped. To make sure, another coat of shellac was put on and another layer of tape. Just then a few drops of rain warned of another shower.
At last the job was finished, and only time could tell if it would hold.
Then came the struggle to get the boy back into the plane. Slowly and painfully he was drawn up to the level of the window. With a final tug he was pulled inside, and Jack, with his last remaining strength, lifted Kiwi to the top of the tank.
They were an exhausted crew for the next few minutes, there in the middle of the broad Atlantic.
A great deal of altitude had been lost, and they were now in the midst of churning clouds. It was quite probable that the Skipper, in trying to make things as easy as possible for Jack and Kiwi during their terrific ordeal, had gone considerably off the course. In tipping the plane over sideways he had flown in big circles, and it was necessary that they lose no time in resuming their straight flight.
The Skipper at once began to climb back above the clouds. The plane was still soaked from the rain squalls they had passed through. Not long after, they came out into the bright sunshine, and there directly ahead of them, like a promise for their success, was a tremendous rainbow. It reassured their worn spirits, and the Skipper pointed it out to Kiwi with the comforting words:
“There’s your pay for a good job done.”