trifle, the balloonist desiring to see what the motor could accomplish
under a heavy load.

A drop of several hundred feet was made about an hour later, and, as
this made it warmer, Mr. Damon, who was a great lover of fresh air,
decided to go out on the platform in front of the cabin. This
platform, and a similar one at the rear, was railed about, to prevent
accidents. A fine view could be had from them much better than through
the floor windows of the car.

"Be careful of the propeller," advised Tom, as his friend went
outside. "I don't believe you're tall enough to be hit by the blades,
but don't take any chances of standing on your tiptoes."

"Bless my pocket handkerchief, indeed I'll not," came the answer. "But
I think I shall wrap up my throat in the scarf I brought along. I am
subject to neuralgia, and the breeze may bring on an attack of it."

Wrapping along, woolen scarf about his neck, the eccentric man
ventured out on the open platform. About the middle of it, but
sufficiently high to be above a person's head, was the forward
propeller, whirring around at swift speed.

Tom, with his eye on the various gauges and the compass, was steering
the airship. He glanced at Mr. Damon, who appeared to be enjoying the
view from the platform. For an instant the eyes of the lad were taken
from the form of his friend. He looked back suddenly, however, his
attention attracted by a smothered cry. He was horrified by what he
saw.