He took note of the windy walls about their vessel, rising upward for many yards, irregular in shape and curvature here and there, but retaining the general semblance of a tube with flaring top. He peered over the edge of the basket, to draw back dizzily as he saw naught but yeasty, boiling, seething clouds below,—a veritable air-cushion which had served to save the pet of his brain from utter destruction at the time of falling within—
Yes, there was no longer room for doubt,—they were actually inside the distorted balloon, so dreaded by all residents of the tornado belt!
“What is it, uncle?” huskily asked Bruno, likewise rallying under that beneficial influence. “Where are we now?”
“Where I'm wishing mighty hard we wasn't, anyhow!” contributed Waldo, with something of his usual energy, although, judging from his face and eyes, the youngster had suffered more severely than either of his comrades in peril.
Professor Featherwit broke into a queerly sounding laugh, as he waved his free hand in exultation before speaking:
“Where no living being ever was before us, my lads,—riding the tornado like a—ugh!”
The air-ship gave an awkward lurch just then, and down went the little professor to thump his head heavily against one corner of the locker. Swaying drunkenly from side to side, then tossing up and down, turning in unison with those fiercely whirling clouds, the aeromotor seemed at the point of wreck and ruin.
Desperately the trio clung to the life-lines, clenching teeth upon the life-giving tubes as that terrible pressure increased so much that it seemed impossible for the human frame to longer resist.
Fortunately that ordeal did not long endure, and again relief came to those so sorely oppressed. A brief gasping, sighing, stretching as the aerostat resumed its level position, merely rocking easily within that partial vacuum, and then Waldo huskily suggested:
“Looks like the blame thing was sick at the stomach!”