And so it was arranged. But Captain Andrews still kept casting anxious glances back toward the coast line.
“What’s the trouble. Captain?” asked Jack presently, noting a trace of uneasiness on the old sailor’s countenance.
“Why, lad, I don’t much like the look of the weather yonder. See that gray haze that’s spreading over the sky so quick? That means wind, and maybe worse, or my name ain’t Sam Andrews.”
“Good gracious!” exclaimed Jack, “we’re in no fix to battle with a storm.”
As he spoke a sharp puff of wind shook the Flying Road Racer.
“Could we land if anything very bad comes on?” asked Captain Andrews, with a yet stronger tincture of anxiety in his tones.
Jack peered over the edge of the car.
“Nothing but dense forests are below us,” he said; “it would be courting death to try to land among them.”
CHAPTER XXI—ALOFT IN THE STORM
In an almost unbelievably short time the wind had increased to a gale. It shrieked and moaned among the wire supports of the car, and the great bag that held it in mid-air swayed and tore furiously at its fastenings.