“You may be right--I may be right, who knows?” he muttered. “I shall miss this wonderful life, of course, and it will be difficult to settle down and have to look up again rather than down on a world of pigmies. Had I to do it over again I should go into aviation. Those fellows are free as the birds of the air, while I am anchored to a tree or truck. I prefer to be free, to soar the heavens without having a string attached--What!” The major sprang up, scattering the remainder of their tiffin on the floor of the basket. The basket had given a terrific lurch and, glancing up with a frightened expression on her face, Grace saw the huge bag heaving, swelling and plunging, the basket twisting, lurching and jolting under her. The girl staggered to her feet and grasped the side of the basket. Her head was spinning and her diaphragm seemed to be seeking to emulate the erratic movements of the ship. “Wind-storm!” shouted Major Colt. “Going to have some real sport.” Grace did not know what his idea of sport was, but she was quite positive that if this were sport she was not a sportsman. “Haul in, you idiots!” bellowed the officer through the telephone. “Can’t you see we’re trying to stand on our heads?” “Waiting for orders, sir,” came back the answer. “Hauling down now till ordered to stop.” “You’d better,” growled the major. “Hang on so you don’t get thrown out!” he called to Grace. The Overton girl needed no advice in that direction. She was clinging to the basket’s edge with all her might. The balloon adopted new tactics. The instant the winch down there began to wind in, the balloon, as if resentful of this interference with its “sport,” began to buck and dive. At one time the wicker basket was actually lying on its side, and as Grace lay on her stomach against it she found herself gazing straight down three-and-a-half thousand feet. “Captain” Grace closed her eyes to shut out the sight. It was just a little more than she could stand. A few seconds later she was on her feet again, for the balloon had righted. Now the bag began to whip the air. “Let go!” she heard the balloonist call through the telephone. “Trying to crack the whip with us? Not ready to bump our heads on the ground just yet. Up five hundred more. Maybe we’ll find a better streak there. Anyway we’ll ride it out, wind or no wind.” The balloon eased a little, and while it still bucked there was less kick, so to speak, in its movements. The respite, however, was a brief one, and again those fearsome tactics were resumed. Major Colt glanced at Grace during a brief lull. She nodded and forced a smile to her face. “Are we in great danger?” she shouted. “It might be worse,” was the comforting response. “We are good so long as the bag holds, but the wind is growing stronger and no telling what may turn up. Keep cool. I’ll get you out of it, wind or no wind.”