For an instant Nat felt nettled. He colored up and faced round on the scientist. But Professor Grigg’s bland look disarmed him.
“Is that so, professor?” he asked. “How is that?”
“Let me test your instruments,” was the reply. “It is impossible to tell without that.”
Nat handed the various instruments over to his learned companion. The professor scrutinized them narrowly.
“I think,” he said finally, “that the magnetic influences of yesterday’s storm have deflected all of them.”
“Of course,” agreed Nat. “How stupid of me not to have thought of that! Is it possible to adjust them?”
“I will try to do so,” said Professor Grigg, and, placing a sextant to his eye, he began twisting and adjusting a small set screw.
Several times he lowered the instrument, and, taking out a fountain pen and a loose-leaf notebook, wrote down his readings. Nat watched him with some fascination. There is always a pleasure to a clever lad in watching a man doing something which he is perfectly competent to do. The professor, the instant he laid his hands on the instruments, impressed Nat as possessing the latter quality to a degree.
“Just as I thought,” said the professor finally, “your instruments have been deflected. But we will set them right at noon. A few simple adjustments, that is all. But I find that you have kept them in wonderful shape, considering your rough and trying experiences.”
“We have always tried to,” said Nat. “We knew how much depended on them.”