“Let her go,” said Tom in a tense voice.
Jack’s pulses throbbed, and his heart beat a bit quicker than was comfortable as he turned the valve that admitted gas to the bag above them.
With a swishing sound, not unlike escaping steam, the folds of the great gas container began to fill out. It gradually assumed shape, swelling till it reached what appeared to be vast proportions. When Jack shut off the gas the huge, cigar-shaped balloon above them looked like an immense dark cloud, superimposed over their heads.
The bag took just fifteen minutes to inflate. During this time not a word was spoken on board the Flying Road Racer. The tension was far too great for speech.
As Jack shut off the gas a tremor ran all through the novel craft. She tugged and swayed at the single rope, reeved through a ringbolt, that still bound her to the deck. The suspension wires thrummed musically under the pressure.
“Let go!” yelled Jack suddenly.
Tom, who had been holding the end of the rope, dropped it. Instantly the Flying Road Racer gave a bound upward.
“Bust my toplights!” bellowed Captain Andrews in excitement at the novel sensation.
Jupe’s lips might have been seen to move. He appeared to be praying. Ned Bangs’ hands were clenched tightly. He was very pale.
“Look out for the tree tops!” cried Tom suddenly.