aloud, although there was nobody to listen to him.

"My God!" he said. "That's it! That Lick photograph of the Lord Rosse
Nebula is its very image, except that there's no electric fire in it.
The same great whirl of outer spirals, and then comes the awful central
mass--and we're going to plunge straight into it. Then quintillions of
tons of water will condense on the earth and cover it like a universal
cloudburst. And then good-by to the human race--unless--unless--I, Cosmo
Versal, inspired by science, can save a remnant to repeople the planet
after the catastrophe."

Again, for a moment, he closed his eyes, and puckered his hemispherical
brow, while, with drawn-up knees, he seemed perilously balanced on the
high stool. Several times he slowly shook his head, like a dreaming owl,
and when his eyes reopened their fire was gone, and a reflective film
covered them. He began to speak, more deliberately than before, and in a
musing tone:

"What can I do? I don't believe there is a mountain on the face of the
globe lofty enough to lift its head above that flood. Hum, hum! It's no
use thinking about mountains! The flood will be six miles deep--six
miles from the present sea-level; my last calculation proves it beyond
all question. And that's only a minimum--it may be miles deeper, for no
mortal man can tell exactly what'll happen when the earth plunges into a
nebula.

"We'll have to float; that's the thing. I'll have to build an ark. I'll
be a second Noah. But I'll advise the whole world to build arks.

"Millions might save themselves that way, for the flood is not going to