“Great heavens child, let go!” Miss Sallie called out in tones of intense alarm. “You will be rising up in the air in another moment!”
“Oh, no!” laughed Bab out of breath. “There’s no danger now. Don’t you smell something horrible?”
The delicious air of the woods was being permeated with a detestable odor. The great balloon above their heads was shrinking. It was growing smaller and smaller. The gas was being allowed slowly to escape from it.
“Why, it looks like an enormous slug,” cried Mollie, “now that we can see the thing closely.”
By this time the balloon had neared the ground. Two men sprang over the sides of the basket, both alighting on their feet. Half a moment later the older of the two was bowing politely to Miss Sallie and wiping his glasses. Landing from a balloon on top of a mountain was apparently an ordinary occurrence with him. His companion was busy with the airship, which now lay on one side on the ground. It was shuddering and exhaling deep breaths.
“Madam,” said the aeronaut addressing Miss Sallie, but looking at Barbara, who stood by her side. “More than I can express I thank you for your assistance. We were, I think, in rather a dangerous position and we might very easily have been killed. At best, in trying to alight without help, I should have torn my balloon in the branches of the trees. Perhaps you ladies would like to examine the balloon more thoroughly. This is my nephew, Reginald Latham.”
A young man arose from the ground. He wore a close fitting tan costume, a cap with a visor and short trousers.
He brought his heels together with a click, and bowed low to Miss Sallie. Then he extended his hand to Mollie and Barbara. “It was immensely clever of you,” he spoke, with a slightly foreign accent, “to have helped us out of our difficulty. Tying us to the tree, while we were obliged to wait, really saved the situation. I do not think the balloon is injured at all, except for the broken rudder.”
The young man spoke of his balloon as tenderly as though it were a cherished friend. He looked about twenty-three or four years old. He was thin and dark, with clever eyes; but an expression of restlessness and discontent spoiled an otherwise interesting face.
“I am Winthrop Latham,” his uncle continued. “I have a summer place down here, but my nephew and I spend most of our time, both summer and winter in Lenox. We have a house in my grounds where we are both working on models for airships.”