“But look, Sparky!” she exclaimed. “Look at the radio antennae. They’re like neon tubes! They, they’re burning up! Sparky! What’s going to happen? Is the ship on fire?”
“Not so you can notice it.”
“But, Sparky! Look! There’s a ball of fire on the ship’s nose—big as a Fourth of July balloon.
“No—no! Now it’s gone! But, look! There’s a flash right across the propeller blades!
“Say! We can begin to see things!” she was fairly beside herself. “I just saw a house and a clump of trees.”
“The clouds are lifting,” said Sparky. “There may be a chance—”
“Yes—there’s a road. It’s broad and white, must be cement.” Mary grabbed Sparky’s arm. “Sparky! we’re going to be safe. We’ve been saved by some kind of miracle!”
“Miracle, my eye!” Sparky grumbled, as he set his ship for a try at landing on that road. “If I don’t hit it right on the beam,” he said grimly, “we’ll crash and that means like as not that this whole trip has been made for nothing.”
“No, not for nothing. Don’t forget, there’s the quinine!”
With balls of fire rolling all over the plane and with their landing lights on for a space of seconds, they hit that hard road, bounced, hit again and again, then began to glide. Just before the ship came to a stop, the right wheel left the road to bury itself in soft mud.