"Why," he answered. "Don't you see, if they were really lights, we could see them?"
"Well, I should think I ought to know that," I replied. "You seem to forget that the Second Mate slung me off the look-out for daring to do that very thing."
"I don't mean that," he said. "Don't you see that if we could see them at all, it showed that the atmosphere-thing wasn't round us then?"
"Not necessarily," I answered. "It may have been nothing more than a rift in it; though, of course, I may be all wrong. But, anyway, the fact that the lights disappeared almost as soon as they were seen, shows that it was very much round the ship."
That made him feel a bit the way I did, and when next he spoke, his tone had lost its hopefulness.
"Then you think it'll be no use telling the Second Mate and the Skipper anything?" he asked.
"I don't know," I replied. "I've been thinking about it, and it can't do any harm. I've a very good mind to."
"I should," he said. "You needn't be afraid of anybody laughing at you, now. It might do some good. You've seen more than anyone else."
He stopped in his walk, and looked round.
"Wait a minute," he said, and ran aft a few steps. I saw him look up at the break of the poop; then he came back.