Wendel pulled his foretop, and replied:
“At your service, skipper. I didn’t think I’d ever ship for that latitude again, but I’m with ye.”
All shook hands.
The compact was made.
They were about to undertake what seemed a herculean task, namely, the paying of a visit to an unexplored and comparatively inaccessible part of the world. What chances there were against them could easily be enumerated.
There was the possibility of never emerging from the deadly ice-floes, where the temperature was so fearfully low as to mitigate against human life. Wild beasts and wilder inhabitants were only a few of the perils.
But Frank Reade, Jr., was not the one to take backward steps once he assumed an undertaking.
“Now,” he said, briskly, “let us get down to business. We must first consider the means of getting to the Antarctic with the Scorcher.”
“Very good,” said Randall. “Can you suggest a plan?”
Wendel here pulled his foretop and said, respectfully: