“I suppose I lack your sublime philosophy which enables you to meet fate with supreme indifference,” sneered Bell.
“I’m not a kicker, anyway!” averred Von Bulow.
Frank meanwhile was busily trying to find some way out of the dilemma.
The young inventor studied plan after plan, but without hitting upon anything at all favorable.
At length he came in from the chemical room one day with a white face.
“Shure, what is it, sor?” asked Barney, with alarm.
“We have but a few more hours to live,” said Frank, with a ghastly smile.
The fearless Irishman scratched his head coolly and said:
“Faith, an’ I don’t think we’d betther tell the others.”
“Ah, but that would not be right.”