“We’re going to try,” was the answer.
But as Tom, during the night that followed—the last night of their flight—looked at the barometer, he shook his head a bit dubiously.
“I’m afraid we’re going to run into a storm when we hit the Middle West,” he said.
That is just what happened. Through the night the Air Monarch soared on, crossing the Rockies and heading for the East. When dawn broke the occupants of the craft found themselves navigating in the midst of a swirling storm of wind, rain, and, at times, beating hail.
“Some storm!” cried Ned, as the fierce wind careened the aircraft. “Will it hold us back, Tom?”
“It’s bound to, somewhat, but it isn’t as bad as the typhoon or the hurricane.”
There was an anxious look on the young inventor’s face, however, and Ned guessed that it was caused as much by the thought that Kilborn in the Red Arrow was ahead of him as it was by the storm. The Air Monarch might beat the storm, but could she beat the rival plane?
On and on raced Tom’s craft, until at last she was clear of the storm which had done its best, but in vain, to hold her back or cripple her.
“Pittsburgh!” shouted Ned, who was marking off the principal cities as they flew over them.
“Four hundred miles more to New York and victory!” echoed Tom.