“What a singular work of Nature!” remarked Dromas.
“Why not say—a wonderful work of God?” replied the prince.
“Come now, my friend, let us not begin again our old discussions. What was suitable for the groves of Hellas is not appropriate to the swamps of Albion!”
“I agree not with that, Dromas.”
“You were ever ready to disagree, Bladud.”
“Nay, not exactly to disagree, but to argue. However, I will fall in with your humour just now, and wait for what you may deem a more fitting time. But what, think you, can be the cause of this extraordinary hot spring?”
“Fire!” returned the Greek promptly.
“Truly that must be so,” returned the prince, with a laugh. “You are unusually sharp this morning, my friend. But what originates the fire, and where is it, and why does it not set the whole world on fire, seeing that it must needs be under the earth?”
“It would be better to put such questions to the wise men of Egypt, next time you have the chance, than to me,” returned Dromas, “for I am not deep enough in philosophy to answer you. Nevertheless, it does not seem presumptuous to make a guess. That there is abundance of fire beneath the ground on which we tread is clear from the burning mountains which you and I have seen on our way from Hellas. Probably there are many such mountains elsewhere, for if the fire did not find an escape in many places, it would assuredly burst our world asunder. What set the inside of the world on fire at the beginning is, of course, a puzzle; and why everything does not catch fire and blaze up is another puzzle—for it is plain that if you were to set fire to the inside of your booth, the outside would be shrivelled up immediately. Then,” continued Dromas, knitting his brows and warming with his subject, “there must be a big lake under the earth somewhere, and quite close to the fire, which sets it a-boiling and makes it boil over—thus.”
He pointed to the fountain as he spoke.