"It's awful to contemplate," said Meigs, casting a melancholy glance through the iron latticework at one of the windows.
The bags of loot were in that vicinity, at the moment, and his glance swerved reproachfully to me.
"We shall make a landing, I have no doubt," said the professor soothingly, "somehow and somewhere."
"By gad, sir," cried Popham, bringing his fist emphatically down on the table, "I don't like such a hit-and-miss way of doing things. Whenever I set out to accomplish anything, the goal is always clear in my mind; yet, here I am, through no desire of my own, afloat in the great void, without a single aim or a remote prospect. If we are going to land anywhere—and you remain firm in your decision not to take us back to our native planet—I demand that you make landfall on some orb that is worth while."
"Very good, Popham," approved Meigs. "Unless I am greatly mistaken, that was the very idea Markham had in mind when he began questioning the professor. Eh, Markham?"
"It was," replied Markham. "A full knowledge of where we are going is necessary to a thorough understanding of our—er—most remarkable situation. Now, there are worlds larger than the one we have recently left. Personally, I am predisposed in favor of a large planet—one on which there are traction interests, fuel supplies, and products of the soil similar to those we have been accustomed to."
Under the spell of Markham's words, Popham began to glow and expand. Meigs, all attention, pressed a little closer.
"The bigger the planet the bigger our field of operations!" cried Popham. "What's the matter with Jupiter?"
"Or Saturn?" echoed Meigs.
"Or Neptune?" put in Markham.