“Why—why, Fitz, what are you doing down there?” Bob asked foolishly. “Oh, just enjoying myself; surely you can see that,” the goblin sneered wrathfully. “But I’ve had enough; I’m no pig. Pull me up.” “I don’t know whether I can or not,” Bob answered. “But reach me up your hand; I’ll try.” After a deal of struggling and kicking and grunting on the part of both, Fitz was safely aboard. “I thought I was a goner when I fell over,” he panted; “I just happened to catch the rope.” Then, with unusual feeling: “And you saved us both, Bob, by thinking to let out the air. I couldn’t have hung on, in that storm, a minute longer; and, then the balloon was fast going to wreck. It was my foolhardiness that caused all the trouble, and your thoughtfulness that got us out of it. I’ll never go back on you, Bob, old boy, never! But now the storm’s past, we must get under way again.” “Will the selector work?” the boy asked in some anxiety. “It’ll be all right, now,” the goblin assured him. “See? Off we go again. And I’ll give her an extra turn for good speed; I’m keen to get along toward home. It must be the middle of the forenoon.” For an hour or two they sailed along steadily, covering mile after mile of aërial space with the swiftness of an arrow. At last, however, Bob remarked: “Fitz, it appears to me we’re closer to the ocean than we were a while back; we must be descending. I wonder if the rain wet the feathers in the bag.” “No,” the goblin replied positively. “They can’t get wet. They, and the bag, too, for that matter, have been treated with goose oil; and they won’t wet.” “Won’t wet?” “No. You know a goose’s feathers never get wet, no matter how much it goes in the water. We raise thousands of geese in Goblinland just for the feathers and the oil to treat them and our balloon bags with. We can’t be descending, Bob.” But he stepped to the side of the car and cast his eyes upward. Then suddenly he started and collapsed upon the seat, white and trembling. “What is it, what’s the matter, Fitz?” the lad questioned falteringly, fearing what the answer would be. “Bob,” his companion muttered hoarsely, “we are descending! We’re lost—we’ll be drowned in the ocean! There’s a rip in the bag and the feathers are escaping one by one!” CHAPTER IV IN DANGER OF THE SEA Bob drew a deep breath and dropped down beside his companion. For several minutes they sat silent, each staring stonily into the other’s white face. At last the boy murmured huskily: “Fitz, are the feathers es—escaping very fast? Can’t we do something to stop the leak?” The goblin shook his head. “Not very fast,” he said slowly, moistening his dry lips by rubbing them together, “just one at a time.” “Is the rip in the bag a very big one?” “No.” Bob brightened. “Couldn’t we climb up some way and fix it?” he inquired. The goblin gave a negative shake of the head. “No,” he replied, “it’s ’way up near the top of the bag.” “Well, what’re we going to do, Fitz?”