“We’re falling!” suddenly screamed out Abner Jennings. “Bound for Davy Jones’ locker, sure as fate!” bawled one of the sailors. “Get out the life jackets!” yelled Tom at the top of his voice. “They are in that locker on the right-hand side of the tonneau.” All this time the Flying Road Racer was slowly descending. The broken propeller blade had ripped a big hole in the side of the gas bag, through which the vapor was rushing forth. “Isn’t it possible to repair it?” cried Mr. Jesson. Jack shook his head. “Impossible,” he said. “We had better all get on life jackets as quickly as possible. It’s lucky I had them put in that locker; but something I read about an airship being blown out to sea some months ago made me think of it.” As quickly as possible all of them invested themselves in the cork-lined jackets, which were covered with stout canvas. “Look! look!” cried Jack suddenly, “isn’t that an island ahead of us!” Captain Andrews pierced the gloom with his keen eyes. “It is! It’s an island, sure enough!” he cried joyfully. “If we can make it we are saved.” But the Flying Road Racer settled lower even as he spoke. The angry sea beneath looked savage and cruel as it leaped upward toward them, as if impatient for the end to come swiftly. Ahead lay the island; a large one, with a sandy beach extending in their direction. Could they reach it before the air craft sank into the waves? CHAPTER XXIII—THE BOY INVENTORS SOLVE A PROBLEM The engine had been shut off, and amidst a dead silence, so far as any talk was concerned, the Flying Road Racer drifted down toward the island. But the gas had escaped so rapidly and the weight in the car was so great, that the island was still a few hundred feet off when they first felt the wind-driven spray dashing against their faces. “Can we make it?” asked Mr. Jesson in a low, tense voice. “I think so,” replied Jack; “at any rate, if we can’t, we have the cork jackets on and must swim for it.” As he spoke, though, the disabled flying craft settled suddenly downward. Above her the collapsed gas envelope was wrinkled and flabby, and barely kept her up. All at once the crest of a huge wave dashed against the bottom of the aluminum tank. The Flying Road Racer careened so far over that for a moment it looked as if her end had come. But at the same moment the wind blew stronger and caught the half-empty gas bag. This raised the crippled craft a few feet and drove her forward. The impetus thus given was sufficient to save the adventurers from a dangerous swim. With a crash that might have been audible at some distance had there been any one to hear it the Flying Road Racer landed in the sand of the island beach at precisely one-thirty on that day of stirring events in the young inventors lives. Thanks to the shock absorbers, the auto part was not harmed seriously. Five minutes after they had landed the adventurers stood in a group surveying the stranded craft.