‘Allow me to see it,’ exclaimed little Mr. Saunders, and he worked his way, low down amongst us, to the captain. He weighed the stone, smelt it, carefully inspected it, then looked up to the captain with a grin that wrinkled his large, long, eager, wise old face from his brow to his chin. ‘A suspicion,’ he exclaimed, ‘that has been slowly growing in my mind is now confirmed. No mortal hand hove this missile, captain. It comes from the angels, sir.’
He paused.
‘Lawk-a-daisy, what is the man going to say next?’ cried out Mrs. Hudson hysterically.
‘Captain Keeling, ladies and gentlemen,’ continued little Saunders, nursing the stone as tenderly while he spoke as if it had been a new-born babe, ‘this has fallen from those infinite spangled heights up there. It is, in short, a meteorolite, and, so far as I can now judge, a very beautiful specimen of one.’
CHAPTER X
THE HUMOURS OF AN INDIAMAN
The mystery being at an end, most of the passengers, after a brief spell of loitering and talking, went below, little Saunders leading the way with the meteorolite, and the captain closing the procession, to finish the glass of grog; he had been disturbed at by finding the ship off her course. I was exchanging a few words with Mr. Cocker on this second queer incident of the day, when the fellow who was at the wheel exclaimed: ‘Beg pardon, sir;’ and I saw him shift very uneasily from one leg to the other with a drag of the length of his arm over his brow, as though he freely perspired.
‘What is it?’ inquired Mr. Cocker.
‘Am I expected to stand here alone, sir?’ asked the fellow.