This was not the first occasion on which, at the end of their stormy
discussions, the members of the Weldon Institute had filled Walnut
Street and its neighborhood with their tumult. Several times had the
inhabitants complained of the noisy way in which the proceedings
ended, and more than once had the policemen had to interfere to clear
the thoroughfare for the passersby, who for the most part were
supremely indifferent on the question of aerial navigation. But never
before had the tumult attained such proportions, never had the
complaints been better founded, never had the intervention of the
police been more necessary.

But there was some excuse for the members of the Weldon Institute.
They had been attacked in their own house. To these enthusiasts for
"lighter than air" a no less enthusiast for "heavier than air" had
said things absolutely abhorrent. And at the moment they were about
to treat him as he deserved, he had disappeared.

So they cried aloud for vengeance. To leave such insults unpunished
was impossible to all with American blood in their veins. Had not the
sons of Amerigo been called the sons of Cabot? Was not that an insult
as unpardonable as it happened to be just--historically?

The members of the club in several groups rushed down Walnut Street,
then into the adjoining streets, and then all over the neighborhood.
They woke up the householders; they compelled them to search their
houses, prepared to indemnify them later on for the outrage on their
privacy. Vain were all their trouble and searching. Robur was nowhere
to be found; there was no trace of him. He might have gone off in the
"Go-Ahead," the balloon of the Institute, for all they could tell.
After an hour's hunt the members had to give in and separate, not