The Lost City [11]
and with eyes giving pledges of love and undying confidence; then Professor Featherwit spoke again, in an entirely different vein.
"If nothing else, we have exploded one fallacy which has never met with contradiction, so far as my poor knowledge goes."
"And that is--what, uncle Phaeton?"
"Observe, my lads," with a wave of his hand towards those whirling walls, and then making a downward motion. "You see that we are floating in a partial vacuum, yet where there is air sufficient to preserve life under difficulties. And by looking downward--careful that you don't fall overboard through dizziness, though!"
"Looks as though we were floating just above a bed of ugly wind!" declared Waldo, after taking a look below.
"Precisely; the aerostat rests upon an air-cushion amply solid enough to sustain far more than our combined weight. But what is the generally accepted view, my dear boys?"
"You tell, for we don't know how," frankly acknowledged Waldo.
"Thanks. Yet you are now far wiser than all of the scientists who have written and published whole libraries concerning these storm formations, but whose fallacies we are now fully prepared to explode, once for all, through knowledge won by personal investigation--ahem!"
Strange though it may appear, the professor forgot the mutual danger by which they were surrounded, and trotted off on his hobby-horse in blissful pride, paying no attention to the hideous uproar going on, only raising his voice higher to make it heard by his youthful auditors.
"The common belief is that, while these tornadoes are hollow, even through the trunk or tongue down to its contact with the earth, that hollow is caused by a constant suction, through which a steady stream of debris is flowing, to be sown broadcast for miles around after emerging from the open top of the so-called balloon."
"But it isn't at all like that," eagerly cried Waldo, pointing to where the fragments were flowing upward through those walls themselves, yet far enough from that hollow interior to be but indistinctly seen save on rare occasions. "Look at 'em scoot, will ye? Oh, if we could only climb up like that!"
Professor Featherwit was keenly watching and closely studying that very phenomena through all, and now he gave a queer little chuckle, as he nodded his head with vigour, before dryly speaking.
"Well, it might be done; yes, it might be done, and that with no very serious difficulty, my lad."
"How? Why not try it on, then?"
"To meet with instant death outside?" sharply queried Bruno. "It would be suicidal to make the attempt, even if we could; which I doubt."
Waldo gave a sudden cry, pointing upward where, far above that destructive storm, could be seen a brace of buzzards floating on motionless wings, wholly undisturbed by the tumult below.
"If we were only like that!" the lad cried, longingly. "If a flying-machine could be built like those turkey-buzzards! I wish--well, I do suppose they're about the nastiest varmints ever hatched, but just now I'd be willing to swap, and wouldn't ask any boot, either!"
Apparently the professor paid no attention to this boyish plaint, for he was fumbling in the locker, then withdrew his hand and uncoiled an ordinary fish-line, with painted float attached.
Before either brother could ask a question, or even give a guess at his purpose, Professor Phaeton flung hook and cork into those circling currents, only to have the whole jerked violently out of his grip, the line flying upward, to vanish from the sight of all.
That jerk was powerful enough to cut through the skin of his hand, but the professor chuckled like one delighted, as he sucked away the few drops of blood before adding:
"I knew it! It CAN be done, and if the worst should come to pass, why should it not be done?"
Before an answer could be vouchsafed by either of the brothers, the pall swooped down upon them once more, and again the supply of natural air was shut off, while their vessel was rocked and swayed crazily, just as though the delayed end was at last upon
"If nothing else, we have exploded one fallacy which has never met with contradiction, so far as my poor knowledge goes."
"And that is--what, uncle Phaeton?"
"Observe, my lads," with a wave of his hand towards those whirling walls, and then making a downward motion. "You see that we are floating in a partial vacuum, yet where there is air sufficient to preserve life under difficulties. And by looking downward--careful that you don't fall overboard through dizziness, though!"
"Looks as though we were floating just above a bed of ugly wind!" declared Waldo, after taking a look below.
"Precisely; the aerostat rests upon an air-cushion amply solid enough to sustain far more than our combined weight. But what is the generally accepted view, my dear boys?"
"You tell, for we don't know how," frankly acknowledged Waldo.
"Thanks. Yet you are now far wiser than all of the scientists who have written and published whole libraries concerning these storm formations, but whose fallacies we are now fully prepared to explode, once for all, through knowledge won by personal investigation--ahem!"
Strange though it may appear, the professor forgot the mutual danger by which they were surrounded, and trotted off on his hobby-horse in blissful pride, paying no attention to the hideous uproar going on, only raising his voice higher to make it heard by his youthful auditors.
"The common belief is that, while these tornadoes are hollow, even through the trunk or tongue down to its contact with the earth, that hollow is caused by a constant suction, through which a steady stream of debris is flowing, to be sown broadcast for miles around after emerging from the open top of the so-called balloon."
"But it isn't at all like that," eagerly cried Waldo, pointing to where the fragments were flowing upward through those walls themselves, yet far enough from that hollow interior to be but indistinctly seen save on rare occasions. "Look at 'em scoot, will ye? Oh, if we could only climb up like that!"
Professor Featherwit was keenly watching and closely studying that very phenomena through all, and now he gave a queer little chuckle, as he nodded his head with vigour, before dryly speaking.
"Well, it might be done; yes, it might be done, and that with no very serious difficulty, my lad."
"How? Why not try it on, then?"
"To meet with instant death outside?" sharply queried Bruno. "It would be suicidal to make the attempt, even if we could; which I doubt."
Waldo gave a sudden cry, pointing upward where, far above that destructive storm, could be seen a brace of buzzards floating on motionless wings, wholly undisturbed by the tumult below.
"If we were only like that!" the lad cried, longingly. "If a flying-machine could be built like those turkey-buzzards! I wish--well, I do suppose they're about the nastiest varmints ever hatched, but just now I'd be willing to swap, and wouldn't ask any boot, either!"
Apparently the professor paid no attention to this boyish plaint, for he was fumbling in the locker, then withdrew his hand and uncoiled an ordinary fish-line, with painted float attached.
Before either brother could ask a question, or even give a guess at his purpose, Professor Phaeton flung hook and cork into those circling currents, only to have the whole jerked violently out of his grip, the line flying upward, to vanish from the sight of all.
That jerk was powerful enough to cut through the skin of his hand, but the professor chuckled like one delighted, as he sucked away the few drops of blood before adding:
"I knew it! It CAN be done, and if the worst should come to pass, why should it not be done?"
Before an answer could be vouchsafed by either of the brothers, the pall swooped down upon them once more, and again the supply of natural air was shut off, while their vessel was rocked and swayed crazily, just as though the delayed end was at last upon