His mind was drawn from its revels by a groan from the stranger. He was awake and conscious. Propping himself half up on an elbow, he stared about him.
“Where am I?” He sank back, an expression of amazement and fear written on his face.
“Who are you?” asked Dave.
“I—why—I,” the man’s consciousness appeared to waver for a second. “Why, I’m Professor Todd from Tri-State University.”
“What were you doing with the Orientals?”
“Orientals?” The man looked puzzled. “Orientals? Oh, you mean the natives; the Chukches. Why, I was studying them. Getting their language, taking pictures, getting phonographic records, and—”
Suddenly the man’s face went white.
“Where—where are we?” he stammered through tight-set lips. The balloon, caught in a pocket of thin air, had caused the car to lurch.
“Taking a little trip,” said Dave reassuringly. “You’re all right. We’ll land after a bit.”
“Land? So we are on a ship? I’ve been sick? We’re going home. It is well. Life with the Chukches was rotten, positively rotten—positive—”