“She didn’t make it,” cried Stacy.
“Make what?” demanded Tom.
“The sky.”
“Fiddlesticks,” grumbled Tom Gray in disgust.
“Even at that she came nearer to doing so than you ever will,” retorted Emma.
At last the column sank back into the basin, where, after being violently agitated for fully ten minutes, the waters settled down to their accustomed quiet. The spectacle had surpassed anything that the Overlanders had ever seen.
Twilight was over the valley as they returned to camp, awed beyond the powers of words to express.
“Has an estimate ever been made as to the quantity of water thrown out in a single eruption, Jim?” questioned Miss Briggs.
“I’ve heard it said by scientific fellers that a million and a half to two million gallons of water is squirted into the air at a time, but I never figgered it out for myself,” said Badger, grinning. “I reckon one guess is as good as another.”
“That’s enough to do the family washing for all Chillicothe for a whole year,” announced Stacy.