“How is it, Dancer? Tell us the worst.”
“The best, you mean,” cried the joyous inventor. “By a stroke of miraculous fortune, that battleship only struck us a glancing blow, although if it had been a fraction of an inch nearer——”
His voice trailed off hesitatingly. He could not trust himself to speak. Men who have looked into their tombs and then beheld themselves snatched back to earth again, are not given to much speech.
The others came crowding into the steering chamber. Wonder was on every face and a sort of reverent look, too. Each felt that only divine Providence could have saved them in that fearful moment.
“The White Shark is not damaged at all?” demanded Mr. Chadwick incredulously.
“Not a bit. Hark at her engines. I expect our back is dented, but outside of that I anticipate finding no considerable damage.”
“Den we ain’t done drownded at de bottom ob de sea?”
The voice came in a plaintive wail from the door of the steering chamber. In it was framed the white-aproned form of Jupe. His face was gray and his eyes rolled like saucers.
“Not yet, Jupe,” laughed Mr. Chadwick happily, such was his relief over their salvation from a fearful death, “we’re still in the ring.”
“Das right, boss;” grinned Jupe, “and de dinner am still on de wing. I was jes’ goin’ ter call you alls when gollyumptions, dar come dat cantankerous smash!