“And,” went on Ruhet, ignoring the interruption, “the ball that broke my leg might have bounced against it and returned to this ship.”
“Undoubtedly, sire,” said the odious Wahr, with a triumphant leer at Weiss Nicht, “your great and original mind has reached the correct solution of our trouble, while we of lesser understanding foundered in seas of doubt and—”
“Impossible,” cried Weiss Nicht, impudent to the last. “I can prove that the trajectory—”
“What?” cried the commander of the Tonans. “This is no time for big words—or—or narrow jealousies. My leg is broke.”
VII
POOH!
“I think your majesty has exactly defined the cause of your injuries,” said the caustic Weiss Nicht, now in the style of Wahr.
“That much is settled then,” said the admiral, “since you both agree. If it was only mended—”
Something tore through the ship. “A hole and nothing else!” sighed Hier Ruhet.
“Sire, I think we had better go,” said Wahr; “we can do no further good here. And besides, you may be unfortunate with the other leg—and your majesty’s hunger is not being satisfied. I believe the soup-spring lies S.S.W., Nicht.”
“Very well, since you are so hungry,” acquiesced the admiral, with immense testiness, “get what is left of the Tonans under way, and, for heaven’s sake, don’t get skeered! Be calm!”