Joan immediately tumbled over, laughing somewhat fearfully.
“This will not do,” she exclaimed anxiously, as she fell the second time. “I can’t run. Let us walk.”
Epworth, the second step he took, discovered the situation, and was moving in accordance with what he thought a moon action should be. It was not perfect but it kept him from falling and was a rapid mode of advance. He now stopped and gave them instructions in the way he thought they should move. While he was doing this Toplinsky came around the side of the Aerolite and discovered them. At the time they were probably about twelve hundred feet distant.
“Ah, ha, they run,” he shrilled in that sharp voice they had learned to dread. “Our guests are wearying of their entertainment. They would leave us without bidding us farewell. Atta, boys, up and after them!”
He started on a big run for the Americans. Epworth expected to see him fly up and turn over but the giant was too scientific-wise. He came on with a hop-skip-and-jump that seemed to make him fairly skim over the ground.
“A regular flying squirrel,” Billy grunted, “and dangerous as a snake.”
Toplinsky landed in front of Epworth with a broad grin.
“Ah, ha, ho, ho, my bantam American pugilist, we meet again, and on different footing. This time we shall fight in the same way, but with different results. Then I shall be freed of my promise.”
He stared savagely for several seconds into the American’s face, and then leaning forward, with his little eyes twinkling, he aimed an ugly blow at Epworth’s head. The American attempted to dodge it but the difference in the gravity pull made him clumsy and he half-floated to one side, the blow striking him on the chest, spinning him around and rolling him forty feet.
“Run, Joan,” he shouted. “Make for the mountains. I can’t fight here. Billy will take care of you while I hold this great brute.”