12,000 yards per second, by the time we quitted the atmosphere it must
have been reduced to 8,000 yards per second. At that rate, we must have
gone by this time--"

"Then, Mac, my boy, you've lost your two bets!" interrupted Ardan. "The
Columbiad has not burst, four thousand dollars; the Projectile has risen
at least six miles, five thousand dollars; come, Captain, bleed!"

"Let me first be sure we're right," said the Captain, quietly. "I don't
deny, you see, that friend Barbican's arguments are quite right, and,
therefore, that I have lost my nine thousand dollars. But there is
another view of the case possible, which might annul the bet."

"What other view?" asked Barbican, quickly.

"Suppose," said the Captain, very drily, "that the powder had not
caught, and that we were still lying quietly at the bottom of the
Columbiad!"

"By Jove!" laughed Ardan, "there's an idea truly worthy of my own
nondescript brain! We must surely have changed heads during that
concussion! No matter, there is some sense left in us yet. Come now,
Captain, consider a little, if you can. Weren't we both half-killed by
the shock? Didn't I rescue you from certain death with these two hands?
Don't you see Barbican's shoulder still bleeding by the violence of the
shock?"

"Correct, friend Michael, correct in every particular," replied the
Captain, "But one little question."