We entered the right-hand section of the twin cabin, which proved to be the kitchen side. There was not much furniture—a table of hewn logs, a chair of bent saplings, and a rough bench.
However, we did not notice such furniture as there was, for each member of the party, as he stepped over the high threshold, had his attention instantly attracted by the stove, and a brief roundelay of ejaculations went along the group.
“Well, that staggers me,” said the stock-broker.
“H’m,” said the professor, in a mysterious tone, and rubbed his chin.
The stove was a plain, small cooking-range, rather old and rusty. The strange thing about it was its position. Its abbreviated legs stood upon large cedar posts, which were planted in the floor and were over four feet in height. This brought the stove away up in mid-air, so that the top was about on a level with the face of the colonel, and he was a six-footer.
We formed in a circle about the stove and stared at it as solemnly as a group of priests around a sacrificial tripod. We felt of the posts—they were firm and solid, showing that the mysterious arrangement was a permanent, not a temporary, one. Then we all bent our necks and opened our mouths to look up at the hole in the roof, through which the stove-pipe vanished.
Suddenly the stock-broker burst out into a laugh.
“Oh, I understand it now,” said he.
“Understand what?” asked the colonel, sharply.
“Why Long Tom has his stove hoisted up so high from the floor.”