“So do I,” said the doctor; “but I suspect that my explanation is not the same that any one else would offer.”
“Well, I will bet that I am right,” said the stock-broker, “and put up the money.”
“I am in this,” said the judge; “I have a clear idea about that stove and will back it.”
“Make it a jack-pot,” said the colonel; “I want to take a hand.”
The stock-broker drew a small yellow coin out of his pocket and dropped it on the table.
“He has the stove up there,” he said, “to get a better draught. In this rarefied mountain air there is only a small amount of oxygen to the cubic inch, and combustion is more difficult to secure than in the lower latitudes. I have heard that if you get high enough up, you can’t cook an egg—that is, I mean, water won’t boil—or something like that,” he continued, thrown into sudden confusion by the discovery that the professor’s eye was fixed upon him with a sarcastic gaze.
“Is that supposed to be science?” demanded the professor.
“Well,” said the stock-broker, doggedly, “never mind the reasons. Experience is probably good enough for Long Tom. He finds that he gets a better draught for his stove by having it up in mid-air, so he has it there.”
“The right explanation,” began the professor, “is the simplest. My idea is that——”
“Excuse me,” interrupted the stock-broker, tapping the table; “are you in this pot?”