One still incredulous man ventured to ask:
“Will not the sunken isthmus be like all the rest of the bed of the sea? How will you prove it was ever above the surface?”
“If an isthmus did exist in that locality,” said Wade, logically, “there must have been habitations upon it. Probably I shall find ruins of a village, town or city, or remains of forests or craters, or river beds. There will be plenty of evidence if there ever was an isthmus.”
Wade went to New York from Washington on the night train. As he was whirled away upon the fast express he felt that he had really gained a great victory.
“I silenced that old hard-skull, Brown,” he muttered, with keen satisfaction. “And he deserved it.”
I know the reader will agree with Wade in this. That night he consumed in getting back to his Manhattan home.
The next day he packed his effects and started for Readestown.
Deep down in the heart of lovely hills upon a river navigable to the sea was the beautiful little city of Readestown.
A number of generations of Reades had lived there, and all had been inventors. But Frank Reade, Jr., the handsome young scion of the race, had proved the most famous of all.
The fact was, everything he took hold of succeeded.