"You won't ever stretch them again, you may be sure of that," said a
hollow voice, none other than that of Anthony Stubbs, American war
correspondent, who now aroused himself enough to predict dire results.

"What?" said Colonel Anderson. "And why won't I ever stretch my
legs again?"

"The undertaker'll do it for you," groaned Stubbs. "This contraption is
bound to come down pretty quick and when it does it'll be all off."

"Can't see why that should worry you any," remarked the colonel
cheerfully. "It won't be your funeral."

"No, but I'll have one at about the same time," Stubbs moaned. "I go down
when you do."

He raised his voice a trifle. "Let's go down, Hal," he continued. "I'm
awfully sick."

"Go down nothing," ejaculated Chester. "Think we want to give the
Austrians another chance at us, huh?"

"Better be shot by an Austrian than to die in this infernal machine,"
declared Stubbs in a feeble voice.

"This," said Chester calmly, "is an airship and not an infernal machine."

"Well, it's my idea of an infernal machine, all the same," Stubbs
groaned. "We'll all come down in pieces, as sure as you're a foot high."