"Fifty thousand feet! Every cubic foot of water weighs sixty-five pounds. Fifty thousand times sixty-five, divided over one hundred and forty-four square inches. That is—about twenty-two thousand pounds to the square inch! Eleven tons!"
"Somewhat more, I fancy, say 23,800 pounds," Sam observed calmly.
"What's the difference? Nothing could live or move under such a weight!"
"The thing we have come to investigate lives there, if it is a living thing at all."
I said nothing more. Somehow, I did not feel inclined to conversation. I could think only of the terrific weight of water so near, pressing so mercilessly upon the thin plates, think only of how cruelly it would crush and tear us when it found its way in! I gazed at the little needle with a sort of fascination. It crept slowly around the dial, counting up the pounds of the irresistible pressure that surrounded us.
The minutes dragged by. The little needle showed a depth of fifteen thousand feet, almost three miles. The height of a good mountain, and still it crept up! And yet we were not a third of the way! Suddenly I heard a splintering crackle that grated roughly on my strained nerves. I looked down. The unconscious grip of my hand had splintered the top panel of the back of a chair by my side!
Sam was looking at me, grinning. "I'm glad you didn't have your hand on me, Mel."
I glanced back at the needle, and shouted in surprised relief.
"It has stopped!"
Truly, the pointer stood still! As we watched it, it hung still a moment under my riveted gaze, and then crept back!