“What? How?—the harpoon? You must have been deceived. Where did you see it?”
“Where that lump of ice, right ahead of us, rises up. The harpoon was on top of it. I saw the shine of the gold—I’m sure of it! But it was only for a moment, for the thing disappeared, all of a sudden—faded away from my sight!”
“Impossible! Have your senses left you, Stump?”
“Not a bit of it, lad. I saw the harpoon as plainly as I see you!”
“Are you positive upon—”
“Ay, ay; ready to swear to it?” interrupted the other, resorting to his pigtail.
The harpooner darted to the projection of ice to which the shipkeeper had alluded, and eagerly scanned every nook and crevice around it, for the idea had occurred to him that the harpoon, owing to some imperceptible motion of the berg, might have been dislodged from its position.
But the golden bauble was not found.
“It’s parfectly wonderful!” cried Stump. “Here was the harpoon, right plump and plain, a minute ago, and now it’s gone. Well, well, them that says the days of miracles is past must be infarnal liars, and—”
He paused, suddenly, and, fairly trembling with excitement, touched the arm of his companion.