"
"How do you like that theory, Barbican," asked the Captain.
"It's not a particle better than Herschel's," was the reply; "no
volcanic action could project rocks to a distance of six or seven
hundred miles, not to talk of laying them down so regularly that we
can't detect a break in them."
"Happy thought!" cried Ardan suddenly; "it seems to me that I can tell
the cause of these radiating streaks!"
"Let us hear it," said Barbican.
"Certainly," was Ardan's reply; "these streaks are all only the parts of
what we call a 'star,' as made by a stone striking ice; or by a ball, a
pane of glass."
"Not bad," smiled Barbican approvingly; "only where is the hand that
flung the stone or threw the ball?"
"The hand is hardly necessary," replied Ardan, by no means disconcerted;
"but as for the ball, what do you say to a comet?"
Here M'Nicholl laughed so loud that Ardan was seriously irritated.
However, before he could say anything cutting enough to make the Captain
mind his manners, Barbican had quickly resumed:
"Dear friend, let the comets alone, I beg of you; the old astronomers
fled to them on all occasions and made them explain every difficulty--"
--"The comets were all used up long ago--" interrupted M'Nicholl.
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