And drifted—drifted—drifted—
Northward, into the ice.
Into the ice-bound, ice-bearing sea that is round the North Pole.
I know no more.
“Gone again, sir!” I said, for just as the doctor made a lurch at the Frenchman, he melted away like the others.
“I never knew anything so provoking,” cried the doctor. “But never mind, we must find another, and keep to my old plan—cut him out in a block, and take him home frozen, like a fly in amber. What a sensation!”
“What! being friz?” said Scudds.
“No, my man. What a sensation it will make at the Royal Society, when I uncover my specimen, pointing to it like a huge fly in amber. It will be the greatest evening ever known.”
He gave us no peace till we found another specimen, which we did, and cut out by rule, and at last had it lying there by the tent, as clear as glass, and the doctor was delighted.