'_Catfishia
Venusensis_, presented by Jack Ashton, Esq.'--how'd that look on a label,
hey?"
And Jack hugged himself with delight over his conceit.
In a short time the accuracy of Edmund's conjecture became apparent. Our
pursuers, one by one, dropped off. Their own strategy, to which Jack had
called attention, was simply a playing into our hands. They had really
thought to catch us in the center of a contracting circle, when, to their
amazement, we rose straight up into air so rare that they could not live
in it. Edmund roared with laughter when he saw the assured success of his
maneuver.
But there was one thing which even he had overlooked, and it struck to
our hearts when we became aware of it. Poor, faithful Juba, who had so
recently proved his devotion to us, could endure this rare air no better
than our pursuers. Already, unnoticed in the excitement, he had fallen
upon the deck, where he lay gasping.
"Good God, he's dying!" exclaimed Jack.
"He shall not die!" responded Edmund, setting his lips, and turning to
his machinery.
"But, you're not going back down there!"
"I'll run beyond the edge of the circle, and drop down far enough to
revive him.
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