Their sleeplessness was beginning to tell on them and their nerves were
still obsessed by the unnaturalness of their experience. It was a long
time before they quieted down, but the night passed without
interruption. So did the next day. Another day went by and another, and
during this time they did little but sit about and talk.

"See here, boys," Ralph Addington said one morning. "I say we get
together and build some cabins. There's no calculating how long this
grand weather'll keep up. The first thing we know we'll be up against a
rainy season. Isn't that right, Professor?"

On most practical matters Ralph treated Frank Merrill's opinion with a
contempt that was offensively obvious to the others. In questions of
theory or of abstruse information, he was foolishly deferential. At
those times, he always gave Frank his title of Professor.

"I hardly think so," Frank Merrill answered. "I think we'll have an
equable, semi-tropical climate all the year round - about like
Honolulu."

"Well, anyway," Ralph Addington went on, "it's barbarous living like
this. And we want to be prepared for anything." His gaze left Frank
Merrill's face and traveled with a growing significance to each of the
other three. "Anything," he repeated with emphasis. "We've got enough
truck here to make a young Buckingham Palace. And we'll go mad sitting
round waiting for those air-queens to pay us a visit. How about it?"

"It's an excellent idea," Frank Merrill said heartily. "I have been on
the point of proposing it many times myself."