"The reason, my dear Samuel, does not disquiet me," replied Kennedy; "the 'why' preoccupies me less than the fact. It is thus, and that's the great point after all."
"It is a good thing to be something of a philosopher, my dear Dick—that can do no harm at any rate."
"Let us philosophize; I wish to do so very much. We have plenty of time—we are scarcely moving."
"The wind is afraid to blow; it is asleep."
"This cannot last," said Joe. "I fancy I see some streaks of cloud in the east."
"Joe is right," said the doctor.
"Good!" cried Kennedy. "I wonder whether we shall reach that cloud, with the beautiful rain and the strong wind it can give us."
"We shall soon see, Dick."
"This is Friday, sir; and I do not like Fridays."
"Well, I hope that even to-day you will lose your distrust for them."
"I hope so, sir. Ouf!" he cried, wiping his face. "Heat is an excellent thing, particularly in winter, but in summer it need not take such a mean advantage of us."
"Are you not afraid of the effects of the sun upon your balloon?" asked Kennedy of the doctor.
"No, the gutta-percha with which the silk is coated is able to endure a much higher temperature. I have sometimes submitted it inside to a heat of 158 degrees, and the 'envelope' does not appear to have suffered."
"A cloud, a real cloud!" cried Joe at this juncture, whose sharp eyes beat all glasses.
In fact, a thick and solid band was distinctly rising slowly above the horizon; it appeared large and bloated. It was a pile of small clouds which always kept their original shapes, from which the doctor concluded that no current of air existed in their masses.
This compact heap had appeared about eight o'clock in the morning; at eleven it had reached the sun, which disappeared entirely behind this thick curtain. At this very moment the lower end of the cloud rose above the horizon, which appeared clear and bright.
"It is only a single cloud, and we must not count upon it. Look, Dick, its form is exactly the same as it was this morning."
