erkman ordered again, but
not a young lady moved. The airship was too much of an attraction for
them.

Chapter 6

Getting Off The Roof

For a few minutes Mr. Sharp was so engrossed with looking underneath
the craft, to ascertain in what condition the various planes and braces
were, that he paid little attention to the old maid school principal,
after his first greeting. But Miss Perkman was not a person to be
ignored.

"I want pay for the damage to the tower of my school," she went on. "I
could also demand damages for trespassing on my roof, but I will
refrain in this case. Young ladies, will you go to your rooms?" she
demanded.

"Oh, please, let us stay," pleaded Mary Nestor, beside whom Tom now
stood. "Perhaps Professor Swift will lecture on clouds and air currents
and--and such things as that," the girl went on slyly, smiling at the
somewhat embarrassed lad.

"Ahem! If there is a professor present, perhaps it might be a good idea
to absorb some knowledge," admitted the old maid, and, unconsciously,
she smoothed her hair, and settled her gold spectacles straighter on
her nose. "Professor, I will delay collecting damages on behalf of the
Rocksmond Young Ladies Seminary, while you deliver a lecture on air
currents," she went on, addressing herself to Mr. Sharp.

"Oh, I'm not a professor," he said quickly. "I'm a professional
balloonist, parachute jumper. Give exhibitions at county fairs. Leap
for life, and all that sort of thing. I guess you mean my friend. He's
smart enough for a professor. Invented a lot of things. How much is the
damage?"

"No professor?" cried Miss Perkman indignantly. "Why I understood from
Miss Nestor that she called some one professor."

"I was referring to my friend, Mr. Swift," said Mary. "His father's a
professor, anyhow, isn't he, Tom? I mean Mr. Swift!"

"I believe he has a degree, but he never uses it," was the lad's answer.

"Ha! Then I have been deceived! There is no professor present!" and
the old maid drew herself up as though desirous of punishing some one.
"Young ladies, for the last time, I order you to your rooms," and, with
a dramatic gesture she pointed to the scuttle through which the
procession had come.

"Say something, Tom--I mean Mr. Swift," appealed Mary Nestor, in a
whisper, to our hero. "Can't you give some sort of a lecture? The girls
are just crazy to hear about the airship, and this ogress won't let us.
Say something!"

"I--I don't know what