It is needless to say that in the few brief seconds required for these things to happen I did not continue the conversation with my fiancÉe. The reader will understand that I was busy—too busy even to listen to the advice that was coming through the telephone. At least I suppose it was advice—Miss Gale would naturally give advice on an occasion like that, and besides there was nothing else that she could have given, anyway. But as the instrument was at that moment swinging over the side of the car, and would have been lost to us utterly, had not Ferratoni, with great foresight, nailed it securely at the other end, and as we were engaged in holding on to a half-overturned air-boat with everything made by nature for that purpose, the connection was poor, and the advice, or sympathy, or whatever it was, wasted on the snow-clad fields.

For that is what lay below us as far as we could see. The snow, the endless snow, and still the snow. From our far, cold height it seemed a level floor, though we know by what we found later that it must have been heaved and drifted.

We were very high. The dropping away of the greater part of our anchor rope had sent us up like a rocket. We were a bit confused, at first, but presently we faced each other, and the situation. We were bound southward—that much was certain—and at a rapid rate of speed. Gale was first to express himself.

“I’ve boarded a train going twenty-five mile an hour,” he panted, “but I never had to hold on with my teeth before. I haven’t had so much fun since I had the measles.”

“It was rather interesting for a second or two,” I assented.

Mr. Sturritt was examining the compartments where his tablets were stored.

“I feared we might have spilled—that is—been unfortunate with our supplies,” he explained. “They are all right, I see.”

“Oh, they’re all right, Bill. The tablets we have always with us. But how about the sandwiches? You didn’t put any in for this trip, of course!”

Mr. Sturritt looked mildly injured.

“Why, yes, I obeyed—that is—I followed instructions, and prepared for the trial ascension precisely as if we were to make the intended voyage. In order that the weight might—er——”

“Do you mean,” interrupted Gale, “that there are sandwiches in there?” tapping on the compartment reserved for that purpose.

“Yes, sir—or were, when we started.”

“Bill,” declared Gale, fervently, “if we ever get out of this snap, I’ll set you up in a business big enough to supply tablets to the whole civilized world and part of Long Island.”

“I should be quite satisfied to stay—that is, to remain—that is, if we ever get back to it, on the Billowcrest,” said Mr. Sturritt simply.

Gale turned to me.

“How long will it take to get to that warm country of yours, Nick?”

“If we keep on as we’re going, we ought to be in a much warmer climate by night,” I said, “and night won’t come so quickly, either, going in this direction. The continuous day is just beginning at the Pole, you know.”

Gale leaned back.

“All right,” he said, “I’d rather go to the end of the line than to try to get back over that ice-wall. Give us a through ticket and throw her wide open.”

Ferratoni meantime was fishing up the telephone, and after a brief examination passed it with gentle courtesy over to me.

“I do not need it, you know,” he said.

I took it eagerly, though I did not quite gather his meaning. The little bell was already ringing violently. I called hastily into the transmitter:

“Hello! hello! down there! All well up here. All safe and bound for the South Pole.”

Edith Gale’s voice came back joyously.

“Oh, Nicholas! Oh, I was so frightened!”

“Don’t worry a bit. We’re a little ahead of schedule time, but we’re off all right, and have got a clear track.”

There was a brief pause, during which I imagined Miss Gale might be collecting herself after her excitement, and perhaps communicating the news to the others. Then her voice came again, somewhat more calmly.

“Oh, are you sure you’re all right, and how’s Daddy?”

“Supplied with sandwiches, and at peace with all mankind.”

My tone reassured her.

“What can you see up there?” she asked eagerly.

“Nothing, so far, but snow, but there seem to be light fleecy clouds to the south, or maybe they’re snow hills. If clouds, it would mean a warmer country, I think.”

“How high up are you?”

“Well, perhaps a mile or so.”

“Very cold up there?”

“It’s getting cold. We were pretty warm at first, from exercise.”

“Oh, weren’t you frightened?”

“N—no, I don’t think we had time.”

She then asked me about Mr. Sturritt and Ferratoni, but before I could answer Ferratoni said:

“You may tell her that I gain happiness with every mile that passes.”

“Could you hear her question?” I asked, surprised.

“Mentally, yes,” he answered. “Even at this distance there is a perfect chording of the thought, as well as the electrical vibration.”

I knew then what he had meant by not needing the telephone.

“Look here, we’re going down,” declared Gale, suddenly.

I peered over the side of the boat. Certainly the swift-flying waste below seemed to be coming nearer. We were no longer miles above the drifts. I doubted if we were even one mile, and they seemed to be rapidly coming nearer. I looked at Gale. What could it mean?

“I’ll tell you,” he said, “just what’s the matter. We got a puncture when we struck the edge of that ice-wall. We’re leaking gas, and we’re going to be dumped out, pretty soon, right here in the middle of nowhere.”

There seemed no argument against this conclusion. I did not attempt any. The thing to do was to act.

“We’ll have to throw out some of our ballast, quick,” I said, “before we get down where our drag-rope can touch. That would pull on us still more. We must keep going as long as we can, unless you want to try to get back to the ship.”

“And fall off that two thousand foot wall—not much!” said Gale. “We’re going on.”

Our bags of zinc filings were stored in a compartment at the bottom of the boat, under our furs and sleeping arrangements. I lifted the latter quickly and drew out some of the ballast. I passed the bags to Gale, who threw them over, one at a time. There was a slight upward pull as each went over, but still the white surface below remained distressingly near. The five hundred feet that still remained of our anchor rope seemed to cover more than half the distance, though this was, of course, deceptive. We continued to throw out our bags of filings until all were gone, and followed them with our supply of acid, which, without the zinc, would be of no value. Minus the means of making gas, our chances of return were, of course, much lessened, but the needs of the moment seemed all important and imperative. As we drew near the flying surface our speed appeared to increase, though in reality it probably slackened.

Our descent now became less rapid. Perhaps because the pressure of the gas was not so great, and also because the lower air was more buoyant. Still, it was not to be denied that we were drawing slowly, surely, nearer to the white plain below. We had not mentioned our predicament to those on the ship, and we said no word now of the impending disaster. We simply huddled down into our fur wrappings and waited, often looking over the side to note our progress, both southward and downward.

Finally, just after noon, it became evident that our anchor-rope would soon touch, and this would presently drag us down.

“How much does that rope weigh?” Gale asked, looking at me.

“About two hundred pounds, perhaps.”

We remained looking at each other, and though not skilled like Ferratoni in such matters, I could read the thought in his mind. The rope, as I have said, was attached to the iron ring below. I would as soon have jumped over at once, as to have attempted to climb over and cut it. As for Gale, he was much too heavy, and not constructed for such work. But we knew we must get rid of that rope.

“Perhaps I can shoot it off,” suggested Gale.

He drew a revolver from one of the compartments, and leaning over, fired repeatedly at the slender mark. But the end below was touching now, and this made it unsteady. He gave up at last, his hands numb with cold.

“Either I am a poor shot, or the bullets won’t cut it,” he said.

“There is no help for it,” I thought. “I must make the attempt and die.”

“No,” said Ferratoni, “I will go over. You can put a rope around me.”

But at this point Mr. Sturritt ventured to interfere.

“As a boy,” he said, “I was something of a circus—that is—I was somewhat given to gymnastics, and I think I might properly undertake this matter.”

“Bill,” said Gale, fervently, “you’re laying up treasures.”

He was the lightest of the party. We put a small rope securely about him, and made loops to hold to from above. The elderly man laid off his outer furs, and in the icy air stepped nimbly to the edge. Then, knife in hand, he cautiously descended. He first tried holding to the side of the boat with one hand and reaching for the rope with the other. But this would not work, so, at his bidding, we lowered him a few feet further. He gave himself a push outward as he descended. As he swung back under the boat he seized the rope below, and with a few deft cuts, severed it.

There was a sudden upward flight that prevented our hauling in immediately. Then we pulled straight up, and Mr. Sturritt’s hands, and presently his head, appeared over the side. He tumbled in among us and we covered him with furs. We offered him brandy, for he was stiff and blue.

“N—no,” he shivered, “in c—compartment four you will find a brown lozenge especially adapted to such occas—that is—to emergencies of this sort.”

I hastily procured the tablets, and he swallowed two of them.

“Take a little whisky to wash ’em down, Bill.”

But Mr. Sturritt shook his head, and presently seemed to grow quite warm among the furs. Then, closing his eyes, he slept. Gale regarded him fondly.

“Bully old Bill!” he said. “I never knew him to be afraid in my life, or to fail when it came to the pinch!”