It's heavier than the air we've
breathed, and we can exist on it for a little longer. Poor
Sharp was so used to breathing the rarified air of high
altitudes that he can't stand this heavy atmosphere."
Mr. Damon was gasping worse than ever, and so was Mr.
Swift. The balloonist lay an inert heap on the floor, with
Captain Weston trying to force a few drops of stimulant down
his throat.
With a fierce determination in his heart, but with fingers
that almost refused to do his bidding, Tom once more sought
to open the big valve. He felt sure the trouble was located
there, as they had tried to locate it in every other place
without avail.
"I'll help," said Mr. Jackson in a whisper. He, too, was
hardly able to move.
More and more devoid of oxygen grew the air. It gave Tom a
sense as if his head was filled, and ready to burst with
every breath he drew. Still he struggled to loosen the nuts.
There were but four more now, and he took off three while
Mr. Jackson removed one. The young inventor lifted off the
valve cover, though it felt like a ton weight to him. He
gave a glance inside.
"Here's the trouble!" he murmured. "The valve's clogged.
No wonder it wouldn't work. The pumps couldn't force the
water out."
It was the work of only a minute to adjust the valve.
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