As Mr. Damon 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.
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