“As approximately as I could,” replied the lieutenant; “I did what I could by log and compass. I was unable to take the altitude of sun or star.”
“At what result did you arrive? What is the measurement of our equator?”
“I estimate the total circumference of the equator to be about 1,400 miles.”
“Ah!” said the professor, more than half speaking to himself, “a circumference of 1,400 miles would give a diameter of about 450 miles. That would be approximately about one-sixteenth of the diameter of the earth.”
Raising his voice, he continued, “Gentlemen, in order to complete my account of my comet Gallia, I require to know its area, its mass, its volume, its density, its specific gravity.”
“Since we know the diameter,” remarked the lieutenant, “there can be no difficulty in finding its surface and its volume.”
“And did I say there was any difficulty?” asked the professor, fiercely. “I have been able to reckon that ever since I was born.”
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” cried Ben Zoof, delighted at any opportunity of paying off his old grudge.
The professor looked at him, but did not vouchsafe a word. Addressing the captain, he said, “Now, Servadac, take your paper and a pen, and find me the surface of Gallia.”
With more submission than when he was a school-boy, the captain sat down and endeavored to recall the proper formula.