“On fields where paratroops are trained we have towers to jump from, but they cost a pile of money. A balloon works just as well,” a friendly lieutenant explained.
“Sure, even better,” wisecracked the boy from Kentucky. “Then if you don’t feel like dropping off, you can just cut the rope and go for a balloon ride.”
“I’m in favor of a balloon ride right now,” said his pal.
A latticework of ropes formed a wall about the platform. Over this they climbed. Then, slowly, majestically the balloon rose skyward.
Once more—“‘Sailing, sailing,’” rang out on the air.
“Old Kentucky Home” was a little too much this time. It expired in the middle of the second verse.
“Pack Up Your Troubles” went very well and the “Man on the Flying Trapeze” was as popular as ever.
One big fellow they called Samson sat hunched up in a corner, not singing and saying nothing.
“What’s the matter? Scared?” Sally asked.
“Thunder, no!” he exploded. “Sleepy, that’s all. What’s a little parachute jump? If you’d grown up on a cattle ranch with the big bulls chasin’ you and the lonesome coyotes callin’, you wouldn’t mind. I fell off a mountain once and no parachute stopped me, just a pine tree.”