"See!" he exclaimed to his companions, pointing to the window. "Morning is coming."
"Morning!" gasped Mr. Damon. "Is the night over? Now, perhaps we shall get rid of the storm."
"I'm afraid not," answered Tom, as he noted the anemometer and felt the shudderings of the Whizzer as she careened on through the gale. "It hasn't blown out yet!"
The pale light increased. The electrics seemed to dim and fade. Tom looked to the engines. Some of the apparatus was in need of oil, and he supplied it. When he came back to the main cabin, where stood Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick, it was much lighter outside.
"Less than a day since we left Philadelphia," murmured the owner of the Whizzer, as he glanced at a distance indicator, "yet we have come nearly sixteen hundred miles. We certainly did travel top speed. I wonder where we are?"
"Still over the ocean," replied Mr. Damon, as he looked down at the heaving billows rolling amid crests of foam far below them. "Though what part of it would be hard to say. We'll have to reckon out our position when it gets calmer."
Tom came from the engine room. His face wore a troubled look, and he said, addressing the older inventor:
"Mr. Fenwick, I wish you'd come and look at the gas generating apparatus. It doesn't seem to be working properly."
"Anything wrong?" asked Mr. Damon, suspiciously.
"I hope not," replied Tom, with all the confidence he could muster. "It may need adjusting. I am not so familiar with it as I am with the one on the Red Cloud. The gas seems to be escaping from the bag, and we may have to descend, for some distance."