“Yes,” assented Tom. “Somebody’s got to run the ship.”
They went out to the little dining apartment, and appetizing odors greeted the noses of Tom and Ned. They sniffed hungrily and soon were doing full justice to the meal.
“You’re elected, Brinkley!” cried Tom when half way through the menu.
“Second the motion!” echoed Ned, who was also doing his full share with knife and fork.
Cooking aboard the Air Monarch was done on a gasoline stove. Since no hydrogen gas was carried, as is the case in most dirigibles and balloons that cannot get helium, there was no danger of any explosion from an open flame.
There was plenty of food on board, and Tom planned to buy more whenever a landing was made. He knew he would have to land several times along the world-circling route to enable gasoline, oil and other supplies to be taken aboard.
The meal was nearly over and Tom was calculating how far they had come and what speed they had made so far, while Ned was debating with himself whether he could eat another slice of boiled ham, when there came a series of loud noises from the motor compartment back of the dining salon.
“What’s that?” cried Tom starting up.
“One of the main bearings has burned out!” exclaimed Hartman. “Oil feed failed. The bearing’s red-hot!”
At the same moment the craft began to lose speed. Ned felt her being forced down, for when it does not move fast enough to overcome the pull of gravity, an aeroplane must fall. Slower and slower moved the Air Monarch, and lower and lower she sank toward the heaving surface of the Atlantic.