“God of Israel!” whined Hakkabut.
“Out with it, I say!” cried Servadac.
“What, all my money, which I have saved so long, and toiled for so hard?”
“It can’t be helped,” said the captain, unmoved.
“Oh, your Excellency!” cried the Jew.
“Now, old Nicodemus, listen to me,” interposed Ben Zoof; “you just get rid of that pouch of yours, or we will get rid of you. Take your choice. Quick, or out you go!”
The avaricious old man was found to value his life above his money; he made a lamentable outcry about it, but he unfastened his girdle at last, and put it out of the car.
Very different was the case with Palmyrin Rosette. He avowed over and over again his intention of never quitting the nucleus of his comet. Why should he trust himself to a balloon, that would blaze up like a piece of paper? Why should he leave the comet? Why should he not go once again upon its surface into the far-off realms of space?
His volubility was brought to a sudden check by Servadac’s bidding two of the sailors, without more ado, to take him in their arms and put him quietly down at the bottom of the car.
To the great regret of their owners, the two horses and Nina’s pet goat were obliged to be left behind. The only creature for which there was found a place was the carrier-pigeon that had brought the professor’s message to the Hive. Servadac thought it might probably be of service in carrying some communication to the earth.