both above and below that particular strata is stronger, and we will be safer up above. Our only chance is to scud before it, until it has blown itself out. And I hope it will be soon."
"Why?" asked Mr. Damon, in a low voice.
"Because we may be blown so far that we can not get back while our power holds out, and then" Tom did not finish, but Mr. Damon knew what he meant—death in the tossing ocean, far from land, when the Whizzer, unable to float in the air any longer, should drop into the storm-enraged Atlantic.
They were again on a level, where the gale blew less furiously than either above or below, but this was not much relief. It seemed as if the airship would go to pieces, so much was it swayed and tossed about. But Mr. Fenwick, if he had done nothing else, had made a staunch craft, which stood the travelers in good stead.
All the rest of that day they swept on, at about the same speed. There was nothing for them to do, save watch the machinery, occasionally replenishing the oil tanks, or making minor adjustments.
"Well," finally remarked Mr. Damon, when the afternoon was waning away, "if there's nothing else to do, suppose we eat. Bless my appetite,
