"What's the latitude?" asked Joby. He felt that he ought to say something to his brother, after being parted all these years.
"Decimal nothing to speak of," answered Sam.
"Then we ought to be nearing the Line," said Joby. He hadn't noticed the change, but now he saw that the boat they sat in was floating on the sea, and that Sam had stuck his walking-stick out over the stern and was steering.
"What's the longitude?" asked Joby.
"That doesn't concern us."
"'Tis west o' Grinnidge, I suppose?" Joby knew very little about navigation, and wanted to make the most of it.
"West o' Penryn," said Sam, very sharp and short. "'Twasn' Grinnidge Fair we started from."
But presently he sings out "Here we are!" and Joby saw a white line, like a popping-crease, painted across the blue sea ahead of them. First he thought 'twas paint, and then he thought 'twas catgut, for when the keel of their boat scraped over it, it sang like a bird.
"That was the Equator," said Sam. "Now let's see if your eyes be any better."
But when Joby tried them, what was his disappointment to find the cast as bad as ever?—only now they were slewing right the other way, towards the South Pole.