Their faces, however, were grave almost to sadness, and neither said a word for at least a minute.
Then Curtis turned to Ingomar, and hand met hand once more in loving clasp.
“Brother,” he said simply, “we have made our record, we must now go ‘home.’”
“We have made our record,” replied Ingomar; “we are standing further south, and nearer to yonder Pole, than man ever stood before, and I think our record proves, or seems to me to prove, that this is the end of the ‘Antarctic continent,’ that a sea of ice alone sweeps round the Pole, for not in the furthest distance can we see a single mountain-peak.
“Brother Curtis,” he added, “how do you feel about it?”
Curtis smiled.
“To tell you the truth, my friend, I feel no positive inclination to toss my cap in the air. Do you?”
“No, I feel no over-brimming of enthusiasm in my heart or eyes.”
“Well, Ingomar, though you and I are both but young, with the world still before us——”
“Stay!” cried Ingomar, laughing a little now. “You say the world is still before us. Don’t you think that the world is really all behind us—that we are now at the other end of it?”