“What if there is no exit?” the engineer asked anxiously.
“In that case I guess we’ll have to make ourselves at home down here,” the Yankee replied, “though I allow the prospect ain’t over cheerful. However, I calculate your humble has kept his end up in tighter situations than the present—darned tighter situations, sonny. Say, I hope our new pard won’t expect us to dress for dinner. I guess my portmanteau ain’t come along yet.”
“Oh, he’ll excuse your not turning up in evening dress,” Seymour replied laughing. “But seriously, Silas, what chance do you think we have of getting back to the upper world?”
“Wal, I guess that’s a question as ain’t to be answered all of a sudden,” the Yankee returned; “it kinder needs figurin’ out some. Hullo! here comes our pard with a hull heap of grub. I calculate we’ll postpone this yer confab till we’ve refreshed the inner man.”
As he spoke the king re-entered the temple, bearing on a metal tray some strips of dried venison. These, together with a number of small edible fungi, he placed before his guests, bidding them eat.
Strange though the food was to their taste, it was none the less welcome, and they felt greatly refreshed at the conclusion of the meal.
Hereafter for some hours they slept, Chenobi keeping guard the while upon the terrace.
When next they looked upon the Ayuti he wore a metal band about his forehead, and in the centre glowed a great stone, similar in form—as Mervyn took pains to inform them—to that which Nordhu, the priest, wore, but much larger. It was the symbol of Chenobi’s kingly rank.
“Would ye look upon the city?” he asked as they rose yawning. Mervyn answered at once in the affirmative.
“How about Wilson?” Seymour questioned.