“There, there, Griggs! Sit still! It's all right. We're safe!”
“Safe!” I gasped, when sufficient breath had returned. “It looks as if we were safe, doesn't it?”
“N-n-never mind how it looks, Griggs. We are. The propeller's working now.”
“What good does that do us?” I demanded.
“Good!” cried the inventor, pulling himself together. “Why, we shall simply steer for the roof of a house and alight.”
“Always provided that this cursed contrivance doesn't heave us out first!”
“Oh, it won't,” smiled Hawkins, settling down to his machinery once more. “Dear me, Griggs, do look at the crowd!”
There was indeed a crowd. They had sprung up on the instant, and they were racing along beneath us across the common, quite regardless of the “Keep Off the Grass” signs.
“How they will stare when we step out on the roof, won't they?” observed Hawkins.
“If we don't step out on their heads!” I snapped. “Steer away from those telegraph wires, Hawkins.”