“By hooky, if it’s to be done, you’ll do it, and if not, why then, I guess we’ll have to meet death as bravely as we can,” was Mr. Tubbs’ muttered remark, as Nat plunged out of the door.
In the cabin Ding-dong, breathing hard, lay on a narrow bunk. Matco was stretched on the floor, apparently unconscious. Nat gazed at them half stupidly.
“Pretty far gone,” was the thought that came into his dazed mind. Then he plunged on again, reeling as he went, his mind concentrated with bitter intensity on the task that lay before him. Gaining the deck, he found the cold almost too much for him, and he turned back for an instant and donned warmer clothing from the professor’s chest.
Then he doggedly proceeded with his self-imposed task. He noticed that the engine had stopped. The bitter cold had condensed the moisture within it and frozen the lubricating oil.
But Nat wasted no time on these observations. What he had to do must be done quickly if at all.
Gazing upward at the huge bulging curve of the under side of the gas bag, he saw the broken ends of the valve cord fluttering from the bag. They were far above his reach, even if the securing of them would have done him any good.
It was only for an instant that he paused. Then, summoning up every ounce of resolution in his determined mind, he seized hold of the starboard rigging and began clambering up and outward.
Nat climbed by sheer force of will power.