“Safe in a muddy wheatfield,” answered Frank. “But,” he went on, “what’s the odds? It’s rainin’ cats and dogs; but the car seems all right.”
“Almost afloat,” commented Phil, “and we couldn’t get out of this mud to-night if we tried.”
“Therefore,” added his companion, regaining his composure and good nature, “we’ll make the best of it. There’s no risk of an accident now and we’re as dry as toast. It’s half past eight,” he went on looking at his watch, “and as we can’t leave her here alone, let’s make a night of it.”
“Talk about rain on the attic roof, and a dry bed beneath,” added Phil, who had also regained his spirits, “I don’t believe it’s any better than bunkin’ in the closed car of an airship.”
“Particularly when it’s anchored safe and tight in a wheatfield,” suggested Frank, laughing.
Fifteen minutes later the two tired but happy boys, despite the still heavily falling rain, were fast asleep on the hard floor of the strange, glass enclosed car.