Then the Man with the Growly Voice appeared in the door with a look of dismay on his face. “I was in such a hurry to get away,” he said, “that I forgot to bring a single thing to eat. Isn’t that just like an Arctic Explorer? You see we’re so anxious to explore we forget all about such things as food and clothes and fuel.”
“Maybe we could borrow some ice-cream from one of the little Eskimo children,” faltered Maida timidly and she became so intent on thinking about the breakfast she couldn’t have, that before she knew what she was doing she ran slap-bang into a comet. Of course the comet had no business there, and it was just as much surprised as Maida for it shouted and shouted, but before they could stop they were right in the midst of the tail. The Man with the Growly Voice sprang to the bow. “Splice the bowsprit,” he roared. “Shiver the mainsail”—“luff-luff.” “Please sir, I don’t know how to luff-luff,” quavered Maida. Alas, it was no use. The comet switched its tail; because it does tickle a comet when a flying ship gets tangled up in its tail—and one of the wings fell off the side of the ship. Then they began to go down, down, down.
The Birds Came to the Rescue
Did you ever fall out of bed in the night, when you were half asleep? Well it felt just like that, only a million times worse. Down, down, down. “Oh, haven’t you got a life-preserver or something,” sobbed Maida. But the Man with the Growly Voice didn’t answer, he only stood and said things like—well, like Uncle George says when he tries to drive a nail and hits his thumb. Which was very naughty of him. Then just when Maida had given up in despair and was so frightened her heart had stopped beating—just when she was saying “Now—for an awful bump,” a wonderful thing happened. Two of the very birds she had been teasing flew up, one seized the Man with the Growly Voice by the collar and the other seized Maida, then they flew gently with them down to the ground—and there wasn’t any bump at all. Then they all sat and looked at each other.
Chapter V
“Do you know,” said Maida, “I believe the birds are laughing at us?”
Well, it really looked as though they were. Both of them sat staring first at Maida, then at the Explorer; now and then flapping their wings and making a sort of noise like—just like—did you ever slip on the ice and sit down hard when you weren’t expecting to do anything of the sort, and then did you hear someone across the street or in the next house giggle about it? Well, perhaps Maida only imagined it, but that is exactly the kind of noise those two birds were making. After a while they rose in the air, slowly flapping their big wings—flew about the wreck of the airship a few times, just to show how much better real wings are than made wings, then they disappeared in the distance. Maida was getting cold.