“Oh!” she breathed. “Oh!”
Then, having thought of the Chinaman, she seized a trap door, slammed it shut, and sat down upon it.
“He might be able to lift me!”
Her keen eyes sought and found a bolt that could be drawn. It would fasten down the trap door. She shot the bolt into place.
Then, experiencing an overwhelming sense of relief, she sprang to her feet and, whirling into an intoxicating rhythm, went dancing across that vast dome.
For the moment she was safe, she was free. Petite Jeanne did not bother too much about the future.
Dancing away to the very crest of the dome, which was not a dome as we think of it, but a vast inverted saucer two hundred feet in diameter, she spread her arms wide and stood there poised like some white bird ready for flight.
The scene that lay spread out far beneath her was entrancing. To her right, by the lagoon’s bank, blazed the camp fire of the African village. Farther away were the tepees of the red men. Close at hand all manner of lights were blinking, racing, plunging, dancing. These were the wild thrill-producing features of the Midway. Here a vast building lifted a blue tower to the sky. Far away the rocket cars of the Sky Ride shot through space.
For a time Jeanne thought only of that which lay beneath her eye. At last her gaze wandered to the cool of Lake Michigan’s vast waters by night.
And then her thoughts returned to that great circle of steel upon which she stood.