“Well, just as you say, though I wanted my friend to know I could build a successful airship.”

“Oh, we can get around that.  I’ll take her down as low as is safe, and fly over his house, if you’ll point it out, and you can drop him a message in one of the pasteboard tubes we carry for that purpose.”

“That’s a good idea,” assented Mr. Fenwick.  “I’ll do it.”

Tom sent the whizzer down until the hotels and cottages could be made out quite plainly.  After looking with a pair of opera glasses, Mr. Fenwick picked out the residence of his friend, and Tom prepared to circle about the roof.

By this time the presence of the airship had become known to hundreds, and crowds were eagerly watching it.

“There he is!  There’s my friend who didn’t believe I would ever succeed!” exclaimed Mr. Fenwick, pointing to a man who stood in the street in front of a large, white house.  “I’ll drop him a message!”

One was in readiness in a weighted pasteboard cylinder, and soon it was falling downward.  The airship was moving slowly, as it was beating against the wind.

Leaning out of the cabin window, Mr. Fenwick shouted to his friend: 

“Hey, Will!  I thought you said my airship would never go!  I’ll come and give you a ride, some day!”

Whether the gentleman understood what Mr. Fenwick shouted at him is doubtful, but he saw the inventor waving his hand, and he saw the falling cylinder, and a look of astonishment spread over his face, as he ran to pick up the message.

“We’re going up now, and will try to head for home,” said Tom, a moment later, as he shifted the rudder.

“Bless my storage battery!” cried Mr. Damon.  “But we have had a fine trip.”

“A much better one than we’ll have going back,” observed Tom, in a low voice.

“Why; what’s the matter?” asked the eccentric man.

“The wind has increased to a gale, and will be dead against us,” answered Tom.

Mr. Fenwick was busy writing another message to drop, and he paid little attention to the young inventor.  Tom sent the craft well up into the air, and then tried to turn it about, and head back for Philadelphia.  No sooner had he done so than the airship was met by the full force of the wind, which was now almost a hurricane.  It had steadily increased, but, as long as they were moving with it, they did not notice it so much.  Once they attempted to stem its fury they found themselves almost helpless.

Tom quickly realized this, and, giving up his intention of beating up against the wind, he turned the craft around, and let it fly before the gale, the propellers aiding to get up a speed of seventy miles an hour.

Mr. Fenwick, who had dropped the last of his messages, came from his small private cabin, to where Mr. Damon and Tom were in a low-voiced conversation near the engines.  The owner of the whizzer, happened to look down through a plate-glass window in the floor of car.  What he saw caused him to give a gasp of astonishment.