"We was bound ter git inter trouble, Buttsy an' me, w'en we agreed ter start on any sech foolish journey. And de consanguinuity ob dis 'casion assuages me ob de fac' dat we'se only got our come-upance fo' bein' so reckless. Now we is nebber gwine ter see de State o' Maine again, 'ceptin' it is froo de perfesser's telescope."
His complaint received little attention from Jack Darrow or Mark Sampson; they were too deeply interested in the explanation of the catastrophe that had overtaken them.
"How big a slice of Alaska do you suppose has been blown off the earth,
Professor?" asked Jack.
"It may be much more than a part of Alaska," replied Mr. Henderson. "Until we have a chance to explore the region more thoroughly I cannot even guess the answer to your question."
"And how can we explore it?" demanded Mark, quickly. "If there is no atmosphere on these mountain tops which we see—or, which we saw before we fell into this crevasse—we cannot get off this plane. We are imprisoned on the low ground. The lack of air will keep us from climbing the mountains."
"Or from flying over them if we can get the Snowbird into commission again," added Jack. "Every necessity brings its own invention," said the professor. "Let us not despair. We may yet find some means of traveling all about this floating island."
"And what will you do if you get to the edge—fall off?" exclaimed
Andy.
He likewise accepted the professor's words at their face value. He never thought of doubting either the aged scientist's honesty or his learning.
"If the attraction of this fragment holds good here, it will hold good all over its surface," proclaimed the professor. "We have no means yet of weighing this torn-away world we are on—this new planet. But it must be of considerable size. Otherwise it would not hang here in space as it does."
"And without movement?" cried Jack.