At this rate of going it was not long before they rolled through the little cross-roads settlement of Smith’s Corners, beyond which was the bridge, of which they had informed the two automobilists the previous evening. Jack was sending the auto ahead at a good rate down the hill that led to the bridge, when all at once he noticed a sign nailed to a tree at one side of the road:
“DANGER, BRIDGE IS DOWN!”
Jack jammed on the brakes, bringing the heavy car to a stop.
“What are you going to do now?” asked Mr. Jesson, who, as well as Tom, had noticed the sign.
“Why, it strikes me that this is a mighty good time to test out that new gas bag,” announced Jack, with a quizzical look on his face.
“By ginger! You’re right,” agreed Tom; “let’s get busy at once.”
“I hope it works as well as the old one did down in Yucatan,” said Mr. Jesson.
“I hope so,” rejoined Jack.
He bent over the valve which admitted gas to the folded envelope, and Tom, at the same time, adjusted the generator so that the radolite crystals would begin to make the volatile vapor on which they depended to rise from the earth. A hissing sound presently ensued, and the indicator on the gauge showed that all was ready to fill the gas bag.
As the gas rushed into its container, the folds started to round out, and in fifteen minutes the bag began to assume its cylindrical shape. Before the machine became too buoyant, however, Jack and Tom secured it to the ground by the anchors, the “trip-lines” of which were led on board. Then the work of filling went on, and soon the Flying Road Racer—a “Road Racer” no longer—was tugging at her bonds.