“In a few minutes, Mrs. Gray. Good morning, Miss Briggs. Looks like wind to-day. Ever get sea-sick, Mrs. Gray?”
“No, sir.”
“Then you should not be air-sick. Sometimes we flop about a bit, but we shall be all right.”
“Is—is that the thing that you ride in?” questioned Elfreda pointing to the basket that was resting on the truck.
The major laughingly said it was.
“It does look rather too delicate for two human beings to ride in,” agreed Grace. “I hope it is stronger than it looks.”
The officer assured her that it would hold, though its smallness did not permit of much moving about.
“Flying now, as compared with wartime, is a perfectly safe sport. It is different when enemy artillery are trying to pot one, and enemy airplanes are dropping incendiary bombs at you or trying to rake you with machine-gun fire. That sometimes makes it quite interesting for the balloonist. As a matter of common prudence, however, we always attach ourselves to parachutes, as we will do this morning,” added the major.
J. Elfreda shot a significant glance at her companion and Grace looked a little troubled, but this soon passed and she began asking questions about the parachute. She observed that two of them were attached to the basket.
“Our parachutes,” explained the major, “when open are thirty-five feet in diameter, with a circular hole in the top about a foot wide to permit the imprisoned air to escape. Otherwise the parachute would go into a side-slip in making a descent.”