For Johnny, the next day was one of experiences both fantastic and thrilling. He had ridden in an airplane many times. But a parachute—that was something different. So, too, was a glider. But Johnny was not the one who rode in the glider.
They rose from the earth, those two good pals, Johnny and Curlie, just as the sun was putting the last golden touch to the fleecy clouds of morning.
“What could be grander!” Johnny thought to himself as they glided up—up—up until they were in the very midst of a glowing mist.
They emerged to go skimming away toward a larger, denser cloud that seemed a huge pillow suspended on high.
“If we hit it,” Johnny thought, “it seems that we must bury ourselves and be sent bounding back like a rubber ball.”
He was, of course, only using his imagination. He was not surprised in the least as they passed through it, to emerge once more into the glorious sunshine of a new day.
It was no time at all, however, before he found himself suspecting that he had fallen into a day dream from which he could not awaken.
They were some time reaching the next cloud. As they approached it he seemed to see a dark object moving along its edge. At first he thought this was a trick of the imagination. As they came nearer, he was sure that it was not.
“How odd!” he exclaimed. “Can’t be a bird. Too big. Can’t be an airplane. Doesn’t move fast enough. Even if its motor were stopped it would sink rapidly. But there it moves on like a bird, soaring, soaring always. And we must be all of five thousand feet up.” He fairly gasped with astonishment.
This was as nothing compared to what followed shortly.