A rosy tint in the east apprised Tom and his friends that the sun was rising and that morning was at hand. It was the second day of the great race, and a hasty calculation, while Brinkley was preparing breakfast, told Tom that they were approaching the coast of Spain.
A few hours later Ned, taking an observation, exclaimed:
“There’s some sort of a big harbor down there. Might be a good place to land, Tom, since you say we’ve about crossed the Atlantic. What place do you think that is?”
“Lisbon, Portugal!” exclaimed Peltok. “I know it. I have been there many times. It is a good place to land!”
“Then we’ll go down!” decided Tom. “We’ll get oil and gas. We’ve done pretty well to cross the Atlantic in about twenty-four hours. But that doesn’t mean we can always make as good time as that.”
Amid screams from the whistles of steamers in the Lisbon harbor, the big craft slowly settled down, Tom, who was steering, picking out a clear space in which to anchor.
Like a great bird, the Air Monarch dropped into the peaceful waters and slowly came to a stop. At once there were signs of activity on all the vessels within sight while the wharves alongshore became black with a mass of humanity drawn by the news of the arrival of the strange craft.
“Seems as if they were expecting us,” observed Ned.
“Shouldn’t wonder,” agreed Tom. “This world race has attracted a lot of attention.”
“Do you think any of the other contestants are here, or have been here and gone?” went on Ned.