“Yes, that’s all very pretty,” cried the doctor, who had listened attentively; “but in the name of Owen, Darwin, and Huxley; Hudson, Franklin, Bellot, and Scoresby, how did you—Confound it! was ever anything so provoking?”
“He ain’t left so much as a tooth behind,” said Binny Scudds, looking down at the ice.
“But he had not discovered the Pole, my man. Here, search round; we may find one who has been there; but I hope not. I believe, my lads, that there is no Pole. That hollow there leads right into the centre of the earth; or, through it, to the South Pole.”
“Easily prove that ere, sir,” said Binny Scudds.
“How, my man—how?” exclaimed the doctor, eagerly. “You unlettered men sometimes strike upon rich veins.”
“You go and stand by the mouth of the hole at the South Pole, while we roll a big piece of ice down here. You could see, then, if it comed through.”
“Yes, we might try that, certainly,” said the doctor, thoughtfully. “But then I ought to be at the South Pole, and I’m here, you see. We might roll that block down, though, and see the effect. Here, altogether, my lads—heave!”
We all went up to a block about seven foot square; but it was too big and heavy, and we could not make it budge an inch.
“Hold hard a minute,” I said, and I scraped a hole beneath it, and poured in a lot of powder.