“You’re on!” exclaimed Pant, gripping Johnny’s hand. “It will be a wonderful test for our motors.”
“And I don’t think our contortionist friend can follow us,” smiled Johnny.
Twenty hours later, after having covered fifteen hundred miles in steady flight, they realized that it was indeed to be a wonderful test for their motors, and to them as well; a test out of which they might never emerge.
They were sailing high over a boundless expanse of water, when Johnny suggested that they drop to the level of the sea and rest their motors for an hour as they drifted, sea-gull-like, on the surface of the gently heaving ocean.
“Perfectly calm down there,” he called through his speaking-tube.
“Guess so.” Pant, who was acting as pilot, set her nose downward and slowed his engine for volplaning.
As they neared the surface of the water, an exclamation of surprise escaped Pant’s lips.
“Why, she’s rolling in great billows. Not a breath of air, either!”
“It’s stifling,” grumbled Johnny.
Pant gave one look at the barometer. Instantly his face clouded.