“Yes, we’ve got to have goose feathers to refill our balloon bag.”
“Oh, I see! Well, what’re you going to try to do, Fitz?”
“Going to try to make the coast of Portugal. We’ll find geese there.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes; Portuguese.”
And Fitz Mee laughed at his own pun until his fat face became purple and his breath came and went in wheezing gasps.
“Oh, shut up!” Bob cried angrily. “This is no time to be laughing.”
“Laughing will do just as much good as crying, Bob,” Fitz made answer, but instantly sobering. “I believe we’ll come out all right. There are geese in Portugal; and I think we’ll be able to make the coast of that country. We’re making good time; and we’ve not had to exhaust the air-tank yet. We’ll drive ahead and hope for the best.”
One hour, two hours, three hours passed. The balloon descended so low that the car threatened to dip into the waves. The goblin released the remaining air in the tank, and again they soared aloft, but only a few hundred feet. Another hour and again they were dangerously near to the water.