But in the midst of his jubilation came another thought,—a reflection that sent the hot blood curdling like ice water through Tom’s veins. Suppose the boy were suddenly to regain consciousness and, not realizing where he was, attempt to raise himself? In such a case he must inevitably be dashed to death through space.
Still further reflection, after the first gush of his joy at finding his comrade alive had subsided, convinced Tom that to get him on board from his perilous position would be no mean undertaking in itself. Ned lay some eight feet out from the end of the “running-bridge.” His inert form was balanced across the swaying, vibrating framework. Would that framework—it looked as slender as a spider’s web—bear the weight of the two boys?
Tom thought it would. He knew the care with which every section of the Electric Monarch had been constructed. Every rivet and bolt in her had been tested and retested to three times the strain that would be placed upon it.
“I’ll risk it,” decided Tom. “Here, Heiny, hold my coat.”
He stripped off his khaki Norfolk swiftly and handed it to the German who, too stupefied by the sight of Ned’s perilous position to say anything, stood gaping, open-mouthed, powerless to speak or move. He took Tom’s coat mechanically. Then speech came to him.
“Vot you do, hein?”
“Can’t you see I’m going out there to get Ned on board again?”
“Himmel! You preak your neg.”
“I don’t think so.”