"Whew! That was a narrow squeak!" cried Ned, as he got out. "How'd you do it, Tom?"
"I hardly know myself. But it's evident that we're on the right spot now."
"But the wind has stopped blowing," said Mr. Damon. "It was only a gust."
"It was the worst kind of a gust I ever want to see," declared the young inventor. "My air glider ought to work to perfection in that. If you think the wind has died out, Mr. Damon, just walk in that direction," and Tom pointed off to the left.
"Bless my umbrella, I will," was the reply and the odd man started off. He had not gone far, before he was seen to put his hand to his cap. Still he kept on.
"He's getting into the blow-zone," said Tom in a low voice.
The next moment Mr. Damon was seen to stagger and fall, while his cap was whisked from his head, and sent high into the air, almost instantly disappearing from sight.
"Some wind that," murmured Ned, in rather awe-struck tones.
"That's so," agreed his chum. "But we'd better help Mr. Damon," for that gentleman was slowly crawling back, not caring to trust himself on his feet, for the wind had actually carried him down by its force.
"Bless my anemometer!" he gasped, when Tom and Ned had given him a hand up. "What happened?"