“Yes, she capsized, but righted herself.”
“Hadn’t yer betther start thim propellers?” Barney asked.
“Ain’t they revolving?” queried the inventor, in surprise.
“Divil a bit.”
“Queer. I left the current on.”
“Ef de Jove was gwine ahead, honey,” said Pomp, “I reckon she wouldn’t fall dis way, would she?”
“No. Something must have happened to the machinery. I will examine it and find out.”
As the inventor spoke he set to work.
The Jove was descending in huge circles, and the two great propellers hung perfectly motionless.
Every few moments a violent gust of wind struck the machine, and spun it around like a top or dashed her ahead, up, down, or sidewise.