"Have you a boat to get ashore?" asked Tom, wondering when the resources of this wonderful craft would be exhausted.
"I have one. A water-tight craft bolted to the deck. She is reached by a trap in the ceiling of this cabin. But unless you insist upon going ashore I'll show you that feature of the Huron some other time. But to my mind, the order of the day—or, rather, night—is bed."
"Beds?" inquired Tom, looking about him as if he rather expected to see some spring from the floor of this wonderful craft.
The professor merely tried to look unamazed, as became his dignity, while Jeff and Rosewater were both frankly overcome and speechless by the wonders they had beheld.
"I haven't advanced quite as far as that yet," laughed Obadiah, noting Tom's glance at the floor, and reading it aright; "but those divans can be converted into very comfortable Pullman couches, and opposite the galley, which you recollect is between the engine room and this apartment, is a bathroom and shower, and all the fittings just as you would find it in a hotel."
"Say, is there anything left out on this wonderful craft?" gasped Tom in amazement.
"Yes, one thing," laughed Obadiah, "a contract with Uncle Sam!"
Levers and springs controlled the couches, which were reversible. On the underside, as they turned over, were discovered comfortable mattresses, snowy sheets and neat counterpanes. They lost no time in turning in, Tom having an indistinct recollection of hearing Rosewater murmur, as he sank off to sleep:
"Ef dis yar tea kittle sinks in de night ah don' cahr. Ah'se gwine ter sleep till dat Gabriel blows his horn."
It was broad daylight when Tom awoke. This fact was evidenced by the sunlight streaming cheerily through the open hatchway leading to the deck. An appetizing aroma of frizzling ham and eggs, and the added savor of hot coffee, filled the air. It proceeded from the galley where Obadiah had already set Rosewater to work.