Some disturbance had occurred in the atmosphere—a vortex movement, reminding Jack of a Kansas tornado he had seen in his boyhood. It swooped down upon the car with a long, whistling scream. The vertical line of their descent was immediately modified, and they were driven off in a circular direction, like a boat gyrating on the circumference of a whirlpool. The little talisman blazed like a purple star. The car still approached the earth, but was so buoyed up on the wings of the tornado as greatly to counteract the attraction of gravitation, and the angle of incidence was so much enlarged that they would strike the surface at but a slight deviation from the parallel. Even this, however, might give them an awkward jolt, for their speed was immense.
“Hurray, boss, we’re saved!” called out Jim, with a gesture of triumph. “We gits a bat’ an’ dat lets us out. Pipe de lake!”
In fact, they were skimming toward a handsome sheet of water, with tall trees grouped along its margins; at its further side rose a lofty butte with perpendicular walls that gleamed like crystal. In another moment the car struck the lake near its center, and was carried along by its impetus, amidst showers of spray, at a pace which no electric launch could have rivaled. Before the impetus had exhausted itself they had been brought within a few rods of the shore; as the car came to rest Jack stepped out midleg deep in the water, took Jim on his shoulder, and waded to dry land. The tornado had vanished overhead.
“Coney Island can’t beat it!” Jim observed as Jack set him down.
“It won’t bear talking of,” said Jack gravely. He had passed through emotions during the last few minutes, the effect of which he would never lose.
They looked about them. The crystal butte was close at hand, and almost in its shadow stood a small cottage with white walls and wide-spreading eaves. A vine bearing heavy clusters of yellow flowers climbed over its porch; the door stood invitingly open; the casements were spread wide; and on the clear air was spread a fragrance which caused Jim to assume the attitude of a hound scenting quarry. His face was lifted, his nostrils sniffed eagerly, and his little black eyes, half closed, gave to his countenance an expression of dreamy voluptuousness.
Jack, whose olfactories had been slower to awake than his companion’s, looked at the urchin in astonishment. “What ails you, boy?” he demanded.
“Oh, gee, lead me to it!” breathed Jim in an unctuous murmur. “Delmonnikers never smelt like dat! Eats, boss, eats! Gimme two dozen hot dogs an’ ten plunks wort’ o’ ham-and, an’ keep de change! Lead me to it!”
By this time Jack had caught the odor, and he emitted a long-drawn “Ah-h-h!”
The perfume, rich and delicate, swam on the air and seduced the senses. With it came the realization that not since leaving New York—it might be days or years ago—had food passed his lips. No wonder if his heart had sunk under the blows of fate! Not Hercules his labors, Archimedes his inventions, or Terence Mayne his New Madison Square Building, could have been accomplished on an empty stomach. His appetite, as the odor continued to insinuate itself, dilated to heroic proportions. A kingdom for an ox roasted whole!