But it was too late. Straight at the tower rushed the Red Cloud, and,
a moment later had hit it a glancing blow, smashing the forward
propeller, and breaking off both blades. The nose of the aluminum gas
container knocked off a few bricks from the tower, and then, the ship
losing way, slowly settled to the flat roof of the building.

"We're smashed!" cried Tom, with something like despair in his voice.

"That's nothing! Don't worry! It might be worse! Not the first time
I've had an accident. It's only one propeller, and I can easily make
another," said Mr. Sharp, in his quick, jerky sentences. He had
allowed some of the gas to escape from the container, making the ship
less buoyant, so that it remained on the roof.

The aeronaut and Tom looked from the windows of the car, to note if
any further damage had been done. They were just congratulating
themselves that the rudder marked the extent, when, from a scuttle in
the roof there came a procession of young ladies, led by an elderly
matron, wearing spectacles and having a very determined, bristling
air.

"Well, I must say, this is a very unceremonious proceeding!" exclaimed
the spectacled woman. "Pray, gentlemen, to what are we indebted for
this honor?"

"It was an accident, ma'am," replied Mr. Sharp, removing his hat, and
bowing. A mere accident!"

"Humph! I suppose it was an accident that the tower of this building