The bed of the ocean was shown quite plainly through the bull’s-eye windows.
Roger Harmon was dazed.
He kept rubbing his eyes.
“I am certainly dreaming!” he cried. “We are not under the Arctic?”
“Yes, we are,” said Frank.
“But we will soon stifle here without air!”
Frank laughed.
“Didn’t I explain to you how the air is manufactured?” he cried. “There are chemicals enough aboard to keep us in pure oxygen for a year.”
“Wonderful!” exclaimed Harmon, which was the most he could say.
Frank went to the search-light and sent its rays through the water.