Meigs shivered. Gilhooly's maunderings struck sharply at his desire to coddle himself with a myth.
"It's awful to have Gilhooly like that," spoke up Augustus Popham. "If he had not been thrown out of balance, his wide knowledge of matters relating to transportation might have proved of inestimable service to us now."
Professor Quinn laughed. It was an eerie laugh, and it shook me to hear it.
"Oh, you!" cried Markham reproachfully, whirling on Quinn. "After causing this disaster and overthrowing as brilliant a mind as there ever was in Wall Street, you have the heart to indulge in levity. Look here: how far are we from the earth at the present moment?"
"That is a difficult matter to estimate, even approximately," answered Quinn calmly. "Ordinarily, gravity exerts a force that can be measured definitely on the earth's surface. A body falling freely from rest acquires a velocity which is equal to the product of thirty-two and one-fifth feet and the number of seconds during which the motion has lasted. What is the time now?"
Three gentlemen reached for their watches, failed to find them, and turned hard looks on me. I appreciated their dilemma and drew from my vest an open-face timepiece that was personal property and honestly come by.
"It is twelve-fifteen," said I.
Quinn took a pencil and notebook from his pocket and did some figuring.
"We might be a little more than two miles from our native planet," said he, "but——"
"Only two miles!" cried the three exiles in chorus.