“Oh, shut up!” Bob cried angrily. “This is no time to be laughing.” “Laughing will do just as much good as crying, Bob,” Fitz made answer, but instantly sobering. “I believe we’ll come out all right. There _are_ geese in Portugal; and I think we’ll be able to make the coast of that country. We’re making good time; and we’ve not had to exhaust the air-tank yet. We’ll drive ahead and hope for the best.” One hour, two hours, three hours passed. The balloon descended so low that the car threatened to dip into the waves. The goblin released the remaining air in the tank, and again they soared aloft, but only a few hundred feet. Another hour and again they were dangerously near to the water. Bob cried: “Why Fitz, the sun’s ’most down! This has been an awful short afternoon.” [Illustration] “Yes,” the goblin nodded, “and the forenoon was short, too. You must remember we’re moving east very rapidly—running away from the sun, running to meet the night. It’ll be dark soon. I wish we’d sight the coast; it seems to me it’s about time we were doing so.” “What’s that wavy blue line ahead of us?” Bob inquired. “I don’t see anything,” Fitz answered. “I do,” the boy insisted positively. “Give me the glass.” “It must be land, then,” the goblin suggested. “It _is_ land!” Bob cried joyfully. “We’re going to be all right, Fitz.” “I—I hope so,” Fitz made answer; “I hope we’ll make it.” Warned by his companion’s tone and manner that danger was imminent, the lad jerked the binocular from his eyes and dropped his gaze to the ocean. One glance was sufficient; the car was threatening to dip into the water at any moment. “Oh, Fitz!” the boy wailed. “What are we to do?” “I don’t know!” Fitz whimpered, wringing his hands and wriggling about upon the locker. “We can’t do anything—oh, we can’t do anything! We’re lost—lost!” “Look here, Fitz Mee, you old Convulsions!” Bob cried angrily. “You got me into this thing; now you’ve got to help get me out. Wake up! You’re playing the baby. And you called me a coward! You’re the coward! Wake up!” roughly shaking him, “We’ve got to throw something overboard; and I’ll throw _you_, in about a minute.” Just then the car hit the water a glancing spat that threw a blinding cloud of brine over the two aëronauts. The balloon rebounded from the impact and continued its mad speed. “Whee!” screamed Fitz Mee. “You’re right, Bob. We must lighten the balloon some way; one more lick like that will tear the car loose from the bag. Raise the lids of the locker, and throw out a lot of the old stuff we won’t need.” Frantically they began to lighten ship, flinging into the sea odds and ends of various kinds—the accumulation of many voyages. It availed them little, however; the balloon ascended but a few feet, and skimmed dangerously near to the water, into which it threatened to take a final plunge at any moment.