“Moonshine!” he said. “Your imagination is getting the best of you, Mr. Wade.”
The scientist shook his head.
“It may be all nonsense,” he said, “but we shall see.”
The sea was yet a trifle rough. The hurricane had swept away beyond the horizon and was quite out of sight.
The Sea Diver once more stood away on her course. In a little while matters had assumed the usual routine.
Barney was at work slushing the deck to get rid of the accumulation gained by the boat’s submersion. There were heaps of seaweed, great masses of jellyfish and other forms of marine life.
Pomp was in the galley preparing a smoking repast. He had opened a window to admit air, and Barney chanced to pass near it.
It was an ill moment for the Celt.
Pomp had mixed some dough for bread a short while before, and now had discovered that the yeast was unfit for use, and the bread as a result, was spoiled. This put the darky out of temper.
“I don’ see wha’ was de mattah wif dat ar yeast,” he grumbled. “Kain’t seem to do nuffin’ wif it. Dere am all dat dough sp’iled. It meks me berry mad. Well, dere’s one fing it can make food fo’, an’ dat am de fishes. So here goes!”