“Yes. Well, it’s done and can’t be helped. It appears that I’ve set the indicator west instead of east, so west we must go. It’ll be a longer journey, but who cares! We’ll sail right back across America and over the Pacific. I’ll open her up and let her fly.”
He gave a turn or two to the thumb-screw; and the balloon shot forward—at the speed of a comet, almost. The two aëronauts dropped flat upon the floor of the car and remained silent, for the uproar occasioned by their rapid passage through the air prevented conversation. Soon, however, the mercurial boy grew restless; and he cautiously drew himself up across the locker and peeped over the edge of the basket. The goblin caught his venturesome companion by the heels and attempted to draw him back; but Bob wriggled and gesticulated, pointing downward over the rim of the basket, and finally grabbed Fitz by the arm and pulled him up on to the locker. The goblin took one peep; then rolled to the bottom of the car, and tightened the thumb-screw and gradually brought the balloon to a standstill.
“We’re over the land again,” Bob gasped.
“Yes,” panted Fitz Mee, climbing to his comrade’s side.
“Well, what does it mean? We haven’t reached America already, have we?”
The goblin shook his head, frowning in a puzzled way.
“Well, where are we, then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Fitz, we’re lost.”