journey, we had bored to a depth of eighty-four miles, at which
point the mercury registered 153 degrees F.

Perry was becoming more hopeful, although upon what meager food
he sustained his optimism I could not conjecture. From cursing he
had turned to singing--I felt that the strain had at last affected
his mind. For several hours we had not spoken except as he asked
me for the readings of the instruments from time to time, and
I announced them. My thoughts were filled with vain regrets. I
recalled numerous acts of my past life which I should have been
glad to have had a few more years to live down. There was the
affair in the Latin Commons at Andover when Calhoun and I had put
gunpowder in the stove--and nearly killed one of the masters. And
then--but what was the use, I was about to die and atone for all
these things and several more. Already the heat was sufficient
to give me a foretaste of the hereafter. A few more degrees and
I felt that I should lose consciousness.

"What are the readings now, David?" Perry's voice broke in upon my
somber reflections.

"Ninety miles and 153 degrees," I replied.

"Gad, but we've knocked that thirty-mile-crust theory into a cocked
hat!" he cried gleefully.

"Precious lot of good it will do us," I growled back.

"But my boy," he continued, "doesn't that temperature reading mean
anything to you? Why it hasn't gone up in six miles. Think of