Clutching tightly to the mattress, I assured them I wouldn't go near the window, or the door either, for that matter. Just the thought of that poor dog sailing up in the air made me sick in the pit of my stomach.
"How high will she go, Jim?" I asked.
"Gee, I don't know, Dad. But I think she'll just keep right on going, clear up out of the air." Jim had a hard time keeping a sob out of his voice too.
"What'll happen to her, son?"
"Well, you see, between the cold and the lack of oxygen, she'll just go to sleep.... I remember reading about fliers at high altitude."
"Thank Heaven," Mary breathed. And I added a silent "Amen."
About 3:30 Professor Jordan arrived and Jim brought him in and introduced us. The professor was probably 40, but looked hardly older than Jim, and was built along the same tall and gangly lines. A very business-like man though, thank heaven, and he got right to the point. After the first shock of seeing me on the ceiling, he turned to Jim, "Now, tell me. Exactly what happened, and what is this rig you have here?"
Jim told him the whole story of how Duchess and I got caught, then went into great detail about the plastic plate, the kinds of metal he had used, and the different settings on the transformer. He finished by telling how Duchess had sailed off into space.
At this, Professor Jordan looked more closely at the transformer hookup. "You say the settings are still the same?"