It only remained for them to repair the broken handle, and then the Ocean Flyer was once more responsive to the slightest touch of the hand upon her delicate steering mechanism. Fully two hours had elapsed; Alan’s watch showed nearly eight o’clock.
As the airship continued to drop, the ice melted on the port windows and a grateful warmth began to make the blood circulate freely again. The heavy overcoats were discarded and everybody began talking excitedly about what they were going to do when they reached the earth once more. All agreed that, even if it were only for a few minutes, they wanted to land and feel good solid ground beneath their feet.
“But where do you suppose we’ll strike terra firma?” asked Bob. “It’s pretty certain that we won’t find ourselves over Belgium as when we left.”
“What difference does it make anyhow?” exulted Alan. “We’ll be on earth again, and that’s enough of a guarantee for me just now. I don’t care whether we land in Germany or Japan.”
“Hold on there! It does make a difference to me though,” cried Buck. “Remember that the New York Herald really sent yours truly along on this expedition as a war correspondent, and I haven’t yet had a chance to write a word of ‘copy’ or even to see a battle in progress. I didn’t bring along all of those notebooks for nothing, Alan!”
Everybody had to laugh heartily at that. Bob agreed with Buck.
“I’m a newspaper man too, you know,” he said, “and I also would like to see the actual fighting at close range.”
“Thanks, old man,” rejoined Alan dryly, “but I’ve seen quite enough fighting lately to last me the rest of my natural life. However, your words remind me that we haven’t yet heard the story of your experiences in the war zone, or how it was that the Germans came to arrest you as a spy. Now that none of us have anything much to do for a while, give us the yarn, won’t you, Bob?”
Bob nodded, but before he could begin, Buck cried:
“Wait a minute. Let’s all go up to the pilot house where Ned can hear the story too.”