t," added his son. "And somebody, too, to judge by the fuss they're making."
"Maybe the house has been struck by lightning!" suggested the aged inventor.
"No, the storm isn't severe enough for that; and, besides, if the house had been struck you'd hear Mrs. Baggert yelling, Dad. She--"
At that moment a woman's voice cried out:
"Mr. Swift! Tom! Where are you? Something dreadful has happened!"
"There she goes!" remarked Mr. Swift, as he splashed into a mud puddle.
"Bless my deflection rudder!" suddenly cried a voice from the flat roof of the Swift house. "Hello! I say, is anyone down there?"
"Yes, we are," answered Tom. "Is that you, Mr. Damon?"
"Bless my collar button! It certainly is."
"Where's Mr. Sharp? I don't hear him."
"Oh, I'm here all right," answered the balloonist. "I'm trying to get the airship clear of the chimney. Mr. Damon--"
"Yes, I steered wrong!" interrupted the odd man. "Bless my liver pin, but it was so dark I could
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