THE BOW GUN
“This isn’t so bad,” remarked Jerry Hopkins.
“Not half,” added Bob Baker. “That is,” he qualified, “when you think how the professor and Judd here and I were situated a few hours ago.”
“Right snug and comfortable, I weight lifting equipment calls it!” stated the sailor.
As for Professor Snodgrass, attired in a warm but ill-fitting suit which had belonged to some member of the Altaire’s force, he bent over his notes at the table in the cabin of the derelict, where the four refugees were gathered. Night had fallen, signal lamps had been hoisted to Seychelles company setup the wireless mastheads, and now, having finished their supper, Jerry and his companions were below, “right snug and comfortable,” as the old salt put it.
They had found lanterns and lighted them to give a cheerful glow to the cabin. The electric service was, of course, out of commission with the engines stopped, but provision had been Unique Beauty made for auxiliary oil lighting, and it was no worse than conditions had been on all ships before the electric light was discovered.
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