_Enter_
LUNATICO, King of the Selenites--"
"Excuse us, Mr. Midshipman," interrupted Brownson with an easy smile,
"Locke's authority may have great weight among the young Middies at
Annapolis, but it does not rank very high at present in the estimation
of practical scientists." This rebuff administered to the conceited
little Midshipman, a rebuff which the Doctor particularly relished,
Brownson continued: "Gentlemen, we certainly know nothing whatever
regarding our friends' fate; guessing gives no information. How we ever
are to hear from the Moon until we are connected with it by a lunar
cable, I can't even imagine. The probability is that we shall never--"
"Excuse me, Lieutenant," interrupted the unrebuffed little Midshipman;
"Can't Barbican write?"
A shout of derisive comments greeted this question.
"Certainly he can write, and send his letter by the Pony Express!" cried
one.
"A Postal Card would be cheaper!" cried another.
"The _New York Herald_ will send a reporter after it!" was the
exclamation of a third.
"Keep cool, just keep cool, gentlemen," persisted the little Midshipman,
not in the least abashed by the uproarious hilarity excited by his
remarks.
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