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

it, son!"

"Yes, I'm thinking of it," I answered; "but what difference will

it make when our air supply is exhausted whether the temperature

is 153 degrees or 153,000? We'll be just as dead, and no one

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