“Too high up,” Jimmie grinned. “Too high up for me, anyway. I thought I’d die up there, on the night of the fire.”
“In all the history of air navigation,” Frank observed, soberly, “there was never a trip like that. When I think of the quick start, and the wind and the rain, the whole thing seems like a dream. How did he ever do it?”
“I don’t know,” Jimmie replied. “He boosted me into the seat, and the next I knew we were off, an’ the fire was dropping away from us, an’ the mountains were growing smaller, an’ the peaks looked like warts on the world. I felt like I was fallin’ over the edge of somethin’.”
“And the wind?” questioned Frank. “Didn’t it take your breath away?”
“Wind, nothin’,” the boy said, scornfully. “There wasn’t any wind where we were. We went along with it. It was like sailin’ on a swift stream. Ned tuned the engine up to keep steerway, an’ shut his teeth. Then, in half a minute, we were above the clouds, an’ the moon an’ stars were askin’ what we were doin’ up there.”
“You’re saying it well,” Pat said, joining the little group. “If you were going so merrily before the wind, why did he want steerway?”
“You don’t know much about the atmosphere,” laughed Frank, answering for Jimmie. “If you did, you’d know that the air blanket of the earth is a good deal like a river. It has eddies, and currents, and ripples, and holes, too.”
“You’re good, too!” exclaimed Pat. “Holes in the air is about the best I ever heard!”
“Of course there are holes in the air,” Frank replied, with the air of one imparting valuable information, “especially when there are fires beneath. And, let me tell you this, you old red-head,” he added, with an exasperating grin, “when the air, driven swiftly by the wind, or what we call the wind, comes to mountain peaks, and tall trees, and sky-scrapers, it just backs up, just the same as water does when it comes to a dam, or any obstruction.”
“Go it!” Pat cried. “Make it a good one! Where does this air go when it backs up?”