“You may tell her that I gain happiness with every mile that passes.”
“Could you hear her question?” I asked, surprised.
“Mentally, yes,” he answered. “Even at this distance there is a perfect chording of the thought, as well as the electrical vibration.”
I knew then what he had meant by not needing the telephone.
“Look here, we’re going down,” declared Gale, suddenly.
I peered over the side of the boat. Certainly the swift-flying waste below seemed to be coming nearer. We were no longer miles above the drifts. I doubted if we were even one mile, and they seemed to be rapidly coming nearer. I looked at Gale. What could it mean?
“I’ll tell you,” he said, “just what’s the matter. We got a puncture when we struck the edge of that ice-wall. We’re leaking gas, and we’re going to be dumped out, pretty soon, right here in the middle of nowhere.”
There seemed no argument against this conclusion. I did not attempt any. The thing to do was to act.
“We’ll have to throw out some of our ballast, quick,” I said, “before we get down where our drag-rope can touch. That would pull on us still more. We must keep going as long as we can, unless you want to try to get back to the ship.”
“And fall off that two thousand foot wall—not much!” said Gale. “We’re going on.”