The next day, owing to the wind, they made but scant progress. It was cloudy, yet just around noon the sun peeped from behind the clouds, and Professor Jeffer hurried to take an observation. Barwell Dawson gave him the correct time, and the old scientist quickly succeeded in making his computations.
“Well, how do we stand?” asked Mr. Dawson, when Professor Jeffer had finished.
“We are within twenty-two miles of the Pole,” was the answer that thrilled the hearts of all.
[CHAPTER XXVIII—THE TOP OF THE WORLD AT LAST]
“We’ll get there tomorrow!”
“If the weather permits, Andy.”
“Oh, we must get there, Chet! Just think of it—only twenty-two miles more! Why, it’s nothing alongside of what we have already traveled.”
“Well, food is running very low.”
“Oh, I know that. Didn’t I take an extra hole in my belt last night after supper? I feel as flat as a board.”
A day had been spent in camp, with the wind blowing furiously, and a fine, salt-like snow falling. They had tried to go on, but had covered less than half a mile when Barwell Dawson had called a halt.