“I don’t mind bein’ an hour and a half late goin’ over,” he said at last, “but we’ve got to come back in twelve hours.”
“I’d like to,” said Alan. “We can save some of it by shortening the stop in London.”
“We’ll save all of it!” announced the young captain decisively.
“We may catch a fair wind,” suggested Roy.
“Fair wind or not,” exclaimed Ned, “we’ll come back on time if we have to go up above the clouds to do it.”
By this time the Flyer was only a few hundred feet in the air. In the silence that followed Ned’s positive assertion a strange sound fell on the ears of all. On the instant, Alan’s face paled and the wing wheel sped around to throw the airship upward. It was the unmistakable, frightened grunting of pigs.
“Off our course,” yelled Roy springing forward to examine the compass.
“Then the chart’s wrong,” exclaimed Alan. “We’re on our line within half a point.”
Ned burst out laughing.
“Aren’t you hugging the shore along here?” he asked, still chuckling.