"What's the trouble?" asked Larry.
"Not a drop of gasolene left!" said Mr. Vardon, with a tragic gesture, as he made an examination. "There's a leak in the tank. We haven't a drop left. The vibration must have opened a seam and we've been spilling our fuel as we went along."
"There goes the other airship!" cried Innis, as the big biplane flashed by them. They had now crossed Oakland and the bay.
"And the Presido Park is in sight!" yelled Paul, pointing to a big field, now black with people, for the coming of Dick had been flashed all over San Francisco and Oakland.
"We can never make it," the young millionaire murmured. "We'll have to volplane down, but we can't reach the park. Oh, for a gallon of gasolene! One gallon would do!"
"What's that!" cried Uncle Ezra, coming from his bunk room. "What do you want of gasolene?"
"To complete the trip," cried Dick. "Ours is all gone! A gallon would do."
"Then, by hickory, you shall have it!" suddenly cried Mr. Larabee.
"Where can you get it?" demanded Dick. "There isn't a drop aboard!
"Oh, yes there is!" his uncle answered. "Here it is," and he brought from his room a square, gallon can.