“All ri--oh! Here! Wait!” cried Hawkins, grabbing my coat and pulling me back. “Sit down!” “What for?” “The--the--the wings!” stuttered the inventor. “The--the wind!” “Great Scott!” I shouted as a sudden breeze caught the wings and tilted the basket far to one side. “Let me out!” “No, no!” shrieked Hawkins wildly. “You'll break your neck, man! We're right on the edge of the roof now, and----” And we were over the edge! There was the street--miles below! Sickening dread choked me. I closed my eyes and gripped the basket as the accursed thing swayed from side to side and threatened every instant to precipitate us on the hard stones. But it grew steadier presently. I looked about. There was Hawkins hanging on for dear life, and white as death, but still serene. There, also, were numerous graveled roofs--some twenty feet below. We were going up! Also, I was startled to note that the high wind was driving us down-town at a rapid pace. “See here, Hawkins!” I said. “What does this mean?” “M-m-means that a big wind has caught us,” replied the inventor with a sickly smile. “And when do you suppose it's going to let go of us?” “Well--we--we may be able to catch one of those high roofs over there,” murmured Hawkins with assurance that did not reassure. “You--you know we can't go up very far, Griggs. This thing was not built for flying.” “For anything that wasn't made for the purpose, it's doing wonders,” I retorted. Then a sudden puff sent us up fully ten feet. “Heavens! There goes our chance at those roofs!” “Dear me! So it does!” muttered the inventor as we sailed gracefully over the chimney-tops. “How unfortunate!” “It'll be a lot more unfortunate when we pitch down into the street!” I snarled. “Now, Griggs,” said Hawkins argumentatively as we sped down-town on the steadily rising wind, “why do you always take this pessimistic view of things? Can't you see--is it beyond your little mental scope to realize that we have fairly fallen over a great discovery, something that men have been seeking for ages? Don't you comprehend, from the very fact of our being up here and still rising that these wings accidentally embody the vital principles of the dirigible----” “Oh, dry up!” I growled as we flitted swiftly past a church steeple. Hawkins regarded me sadly, and I sadly regarded the street below and tried to assimilate the fact that we were two hundred feet above the ground and rising at every puff of wind; that we were in a crazy clothes-basket, suspended from a crazier pair of wings, absolutely at the mercy of the breeze and likely at any moment to drop to eternal smash! I did realize, without any effort, that my lower limbs were developing excruciating shooting pains from the cramped position. The time passed very slowly. The houses below passed with astounding rapidity.