“Then tell me this: where does all the moisture go to? What becomes of the surplus waters? For it is an acknowledged fact that, though rivers and brooks surely exist in the Olympics, not one of either flows away from this wide tract of country!”
The professor paused for a minute, to let his words take full effect, then even more positively proceeded:
“You may say, what I have had others offer by way of solution, that all is drained into a mighty inland sea or enormous lake. Granting so much, which I really believe to be the truth as far as it goes, why does that lake never overflow? Of all that surely must drain into its basin, be that enormously wide and deep as it may, how much could ordinary evaporation dispose of? Only an infinitesimal portion; scarcely worth mentioning in such connection. Then,—what becomes of the surplusage?”
Another pause, during which neither Gillespie ventured a solution; then the professor offered his own suggestion:
“It must flow off in some manner, and what other manner can that be than—through a subterranean connection with the Pacific Ocean?”
Bruno gave a short ejaculation at this, while Waldo broke forth in words, after his own particular fashion:
“Jules Verne redivivus! Why can't WE take a trip through the centre of the earth, or—or—any other little old thing like that?”
“With the tank of compressed air as a life-preserver?” laughed Bruno, in turn. “That might serve, but; unfortunately, we have only the one, and we are three in number, boy.”
“Only two, now; I'm squelched!” sighed the jester, faintly.
If the professor heard, he heeded not. Still staring with vacant gaze into the fire, his face bearing a rapt expression curious to see, he broke into almost unconscious speech: