"There's something up there, Tom," called his father, as he
splashed on through the rain.
"That's right," added his son. "And somebody, too, to judge by
the fuss they're making."
"Maybe the house has been struck by lightning!" suggested the
aged inventor.
"No, the storm isn't severe enough for that; and, besides, if
the house had been struck you'd hear Mrs. Baggert yelling, Dad.
She--"
At that moment a woman's voice cried out:
"Mr. Swift! Tom! Where are you? Something dreadful has
happened!"
"There she goes!" remarked Mr. Swift, as he splashed into a mud
puddle.
"Bless my deflection rudder!" suddenly cried a voice from the
flat roof of the Swift house. "Hello! I say, is anyone down
there?"
"Yes, we are," answered Tom. "Is that you, Mr. Damon?"
"Bless my collar button! It certainly is."
"Where's Mr. Sharp? I don't hear him."
"Oh, I'm here all right," answered the balloonist. "I'm trying
to get the airship clear of the chimney. Mr. Damon--"
"Yes, I steered wrong!" interrupted the odd man. "Bless my
liver pin, but it was so dark I couldn't see, and when that clap
of thunder came I shifted the deflection rudder instead of the
lateral one, and tried to knock over your chimney.
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