n could steer as well as Tom or Ned, he shared in the night
watch. But Mr. Petrofsky was not expert enough to accept this
responsibility.

It was when Mr. Damon finished his watch at midnight, and called Tom,
that he remarked.

"Bless my umbrella, Tom. But I don't like the looks of the weather."

"Why, what's it doing?"

"It isn't doing anything, but it's clouding up and the barometer is
going down."

"I was afraid we were in for it," answered the young inventor. "Well,
we'll have to take what comes."

The airship plunged on her way, while her young pilot looked at the
various gages, noting that to hold her way against the wind that had
risen he would have to increase the speed of the motor.

"I don't like it," murmured Tom, "I don't like it," and he shook his
head dubiously.

With a suddenness that was almost terrifying, the storm broke over the
ocean about three o'clock that morning. There was a terrific clap of
thunder, a flash of lighting, and a deluge of rain that fairly made the
staunch Falcon stagger, high in the air as she was.

"Come on, Ned!" cried Tom, as he pressed the electric alarm bell
connected with his chum's berth. "I need you, and Mr. Damon, too."

"What's the matter?" cried Ned, awakened suddenly from a sound sleep.

"We're in a bad storm," answered Tom, "and I'll have to have help. We
need more gas, to try and rise above it."

"Bless my hanging lamp!" cried Mr. Damon, "I hope nothing happens!"

And he jumped from his berth as the Falcon plunged and staggered
through the storm that was lashing the ocean below her into white
billow of foam.

CHAPTER XII

AN ACCIDENT

For a few moments it seemed as if the Falcon would surely turn turtle
and plunge into the seething ocean. The storm had burst with such
suddenness that Tom, who was piloting his air craft, was taken
unawares. He had not been using much power or the airship would have
been better able to weather the blast that burst with such fury over
her. But as it was, merely drifting along, she was almost like a great
sheet of paper. Down she was forced, until the high-flying spray from
the waves actually wet the lower part of the car, and Ned, looking
through one of the glass windows, saw, in the darkness, the
phosphorescent gleam of the water so near to them.

"Tom!" he cried in alarm. "We're sinking!"

"Bless my bath sponge! Don't say that!" gasped Mr. Damon.

"That's why I called you," yelled the young inventor. "