Chapter XV

CHAPTER XV.THE PROFESSOR PERPLEXED.
Another month passed away, and it was now September,
but it was still impossible to leave the warmth of the
subterranean retreat for the more airy and commodious
quarters of the Hive, where “the bees” would certainly
have been frozen to death in their cells. It was altogether
quite as much a matter of congratulation as of regret that
the volcano showed no symptoms of resuming its activity;
for although a return of the eruption might have rendered
their former resort again habitable, any sudden outbreak
would have been disastrous to them where they were, the
crater being the sole outlet by which the burning lava
could escape.
“A wretched time we have had for the last seven
months,” said the orderly one day to his master; “but
what a comfort little Nina has been to us all!”
“Yes, indeed,” replied Servadac; “she is a charming
little creature. I hardly know how we should have got on
without her.”
“What is to become of her when we arrive back at the
earth?”
“Not much fear, Ben Zoof, but that she will be well
taken care of. Perhaps you and I had better adopt her.”
“Ay, yes,” assented the orderly. “You can be her
father, and I can be her mother.”
Servadac laughed.
“Then you and I shall be man and wife.”
“We have been as good as that for a long time”
observed Ben Zoof, gravely.
By the beginning of October, the temperature had so
far moderated that it could scarcely be said to be intolerable.
The comet's distance was scarcely three times as
great from the sun as the earth from the sun, so that the
thermometer rarely sunk beyond 35° below zero. The
whole party began to make almost daily visits to the Hive,
and frequently proceeded to the shore, where they resumed
their skating exercise, rejoicing in their recovered freedom
like prisoners liberated from a dungeon. Whilst the rest
were enjoying their recreation, Servadac and the count
would hold long conversations with Lieutenant Procope
about their present position and future prospects, discussing
all manner of speculations as to the results of the
anticipated collision with the earth, and wondering whether
any measures could be devised for mitigating the violence
of a shock which might be terrible in its consequences,
even if it did not entail a total annihilation of themselves.
There was no visitor to the Hive more regular than
Rosette. He had already directed his telescope to be
moved back to his former observatory, where, as much as
the cold would permit him, he persisted in making his all-absorbing
studies of the heavens.
The result of these studies no one ventured to inquire;
but it became generally noticed that something was very
seriously disturbing the professor's equanimity. Not only
would he be seen toiling more frequently up the arduous
way that lay between his nook below and his telescope
above, but he would be heard muttering in an angry tone
that indicated considerable agitation.
One day, as he was hurrying down to his study, he met
Ben Zoof, who, secretly entertaining a feeling of delight at
the professor's manifest discomfiture, made some casual
remark about things not being very straight. The way in
which his advance was received the good orderly never
divulged, but henceforward he maintained the firm conviction
that there was something very much amiss up in
the sky.
To Servadac and his friends this continual disquietude
and ill-humour on the part of the professor occasioned no
little anxiety. From what, they asked, could his dissatisfaction
arise? They could only conjecture that he had
discovered some flaw in his reckonings; and if this were
so, might there not be reason to apprehend that their
anticipations of coming into contact with the earth, at the
settled time, might all be falsified?
Day followed day, and still there was no cessation of
the professor's discomposure. He was the most miserable
of mortals. If really his calculations and his observations
were at variance, this, in a man of his irritable temperament,
would account for his perpetual perturbation. But
he entered into no explanation; he only climbed up to his
telescope, looking haggard and distressed, and when compelled
by the frost to retire, he would make his way back
to his study more furious than ever.
At times he was heard giving vent to his vexation:
“Confound it! what does it mean? what is she doing?
All behind! Is Newton a fool? The laws of gravity
seem topsy-turvy! Observations! Calculations! Not
agree? Plague! Confound it! Curses!”
And the little man would seize his head in both his
hands, and tear away at the scanty locks which he could
ill afford to lose.
Enough was overheard to confirm the suspicion that
there was some irreconcilable discrepancy between the
results of his computation and what he had actually observed;
and yet, if he had been called upon to say, he
would have sooner insisted that there was derangement in
the laws of celestial mechanism, than have owned there was
the least probability of error in any of his own calculations
Assuredly, if the poor professor had had any flesh to
lose he would have withered away to a shadow.
But this state of things was before long to come to an
end.
On the 12th, Ben Zoof, who was hanging about outside
the great hall of the cavern, heard the professor inside
utter a loud cry. Hurrying in to ascertain the cause, he
found Rosette in a state of perfect frenzy, in which ecstacy
and rage seemed to be struggling for the predominance.
“Eureka! Eureka!” yelled the excited astronomer.
“What, in the name of peace, do you mean?” bawled
Ben Zoof, in open-mouthed amazement.
“Eureka!” again shrieked the little man.
“How? What? Where?” roared the bewildered
orderly.
“Eureka! I say,” repeated Rosette; “and if you don't
understand me, you may go to the devil!”
Without availing himself of this polite invitation, Ben
Zoof betook himself to his master.
“Something has happened to the professor,” he said;
“he is rushing about like a madman, screeching and
yelling, `Eureka!' ”
“Eureka?” exclaimed Servadac. “That means he has
made a discovery;” and, full of anxiety, he hurried off to
meet the professor.
But, however great was his desire to ascertain what this
discovery implied, his curiosity was not yet destined to be
gratified. The professor kept muttering in incoherent
phrases: “Rascal! he shall pay for it yet. I will be even
with him! Cheat! Thrown me out!” But he did not
vouchsafe any reply to Servadac's inquiries, and withdrew
to his study.
But from that day forward Rosette, for some reason at
present incomprehensible, quite altered his behaviour to
Isaac Hakkabut, a man for whom he had always hitherto
evinced the greatest repugnance and contempt. All at
once he began to show a remarkable interest in the Jew
and his affairs, paying several visits to the dark little
storehouse, making inquiries as to the state of business
and expressing some solicitude about the state of the
exchequer.
The wily Jew was taken somewhat by surprise, but
came to an immediate conclusion that the professor was
contemplating borrowing some money; he was consequently
very cautious in all his replies.
It was not Hakkabut's habit ever to advance a loan
except at an extravagant rate of interest, or without demanding
far more than an adequate security. Count
Timascheff, a Russian nobleman, was evidently rich; to
him, perhaps, for a proper consideration, a loan might be
made: Captain Servadac was a Gascon, and Gascons are
proverbially poor; it would never do to lend any money
to him: but here was a professor, a mere man of science,
with circumscribed means; did he expect to borrow?
Certainly Isaac would as soon think of flying, as of lending
money to him.
Such were the thoughts that made him receive all
Rosette's approaches with a careful reservation.
It was not long, however, before Hakkabut was to be
called upon to apply his money to a purpose for which he
had not reckoned.
In his eagerness to effect sales, he had parted with all
the alimentary articles in his cargo without having the
precautionary prudence to reserve enough for his own consumption.
Amongst other things that failed him was his
stock of coffee, and as coffee was a beverage without
which he deemed it impossible to exist, he found himself
in considerable perplexity.
He pondered the matter over for a long time, and
ultimately persuaded himself that, after all, the stores were
the common property of all, and that he had as much right
to a share as any one else. Accordingly, he made his way
to Ben Zoof, and, in the most amiable tone he could
assume, begged as a favour that he would let him have
a pound of coffee.
The orderly shook his head dubiously.
“A pound of coffee, old Nathan? I can't say.”
“Why not?  You have some?” said Isaac.
“Oh yes! plenty—a hundred kilogrammes.”
“Then let me have one pound. I shall be grateful.”
“Hang your gratitude!”
“Only one pound! You would not refuse anybody
else.”
“That's just the very point, old Samuel; if you were
anybody else, I should know very well what to do. I must
refer the matter to his Excellency.”
“Oh, his Excellency will do me justice.”
“Perhaps you will find his justice rather too much for
you.”
And with this consoling remark, the orderly went to
seek his master.
Rosette meanwhile had been listening to the conversation,
and was secretly rejoicing that an opportunity for
which he had been watching had now arrived.
“What's the matter. Master Isaac? Have you parted
with all your coffee?” he asked, in a sympathizing voice,
when Ben Zoof was gone.
“Ah! yes, indeed,” groaned Hakkabut; “and now I
require some for my own use. In my little black hole
I cannot live without my coffee.”
“Of course you cannot,” agreed the professor.
“And don't you think the governour ought to let me
have it?”
“No doubt.”
“Oh, I must have coffee,” said the Jew again.
“Certainly, certainly,” the professor assented. “Coffee
is nutritious; it warms the blood. How much do you
want?”
“A pound. A pound will last me a long time.”
“And who will weigh it for you?” asked Rosette,
scarcely able to conceal the eagerness that prompted the
question.
“Why, they will weigh it with my steelyard, of course.
There is no other balance here.”
And as the Jew spoke, the professor fancied he could
detect the faintest of sighs.
“Good, Master Isaac; all the better for you! You
will get your seven pounds instead of one!”
“Yes; well, seven, or thereabouts—thereabouts,”
stammered the Jew with considerable hesitation.
Rosette scanned his countenance narrowly, and was
about to probe him with further questions, when Ben Zoof
returned.
“And what does his Excellency say?” inquired Hakkabut.
“Why, Nehemiah, he says he shan't give you any.”
“Merciful heavens!” began the Jew.
“He says he doesn't mind selling you a little.”
“But, by the holy city, why does he make me pay for
what anybody else could have for nothing?”
“As I told you before, you are not anybody else; so,
come along. You can afford to buy what you want. We
should like to see the colour of your money.”
“Merciful heavens!” the old man whined once more.
“Now, none of that! Yes or no? If you are going to
buy, say so at once; if not, I shall shut up shop.”
Hakkabut knew well enough that the orderly was not
a man to be trifled with, and said, in a tremulous voice:
“Yes, I will buy.”
The professor, who had been looking on with much
interest, betrayed manifest symptoms of satisfaction,
“How much do you want? What will you charge
for it?” asked Isaac, mournfully, putting his hand into his
pocket and chinking his money.
“Oh, we will deal gently with you. We will not make
any profit. You shall have it for the same price that we
paid for it. Ten francs a pound, you know.”
The Jew hesitated.
“Come now, what is the use of your hesitating? Your
gold will have no value when you go back to the world.”
“What do you mean?” asked Hakkabut, startled.
“You will find out some day,” answered Ben Zoof,
significantly.
Hakkabut drew out a small piece of gold from his
pocket, took it close under the lamp, rolled it over in
his hand, and pressed it to his lips.
“Shall you weigh me the coffee with my steelyard?”
he asked, in a quavering voice that confirmed the professor's
suspicions.
“There is nothing else to weigh it with; you know
that well enough, old Shechem,” said Ben Zoof.
The steelyard was then produced; a tray was suspended
to the hook, and upon this coffee was thrown until
the needle registered the weight of one pound. Of course,
it took seven pounds of coffee to do this.
“There you are! There's your coffee, man!” Ben
Zoof said.
“Are you sure?” inquired Hakkabut, peering down
close to the dial. “Are you quite sure that the needle
touches the point?”
“Yes; look and see.”
“Give it a little push, please.”
“Why?”
“Because—because—”
“Well, because of what?” cried the orderly, impatiently.
“Because I think, perhaps—I am not quite sure—perhaps
the steelyard is not quite correct.”
The words were not uttered before the professor, fierce
as a tiger, had rushed at the Jew, had seized him by the
throat, and was shaking him till he was black in the face.
“Help! help!” screamed Hakkabut. “I shall be
strangled.”
“Rascal! consummate rascal! thief! villain!” the professor
reiterated, and continued to shake the Jew furiously.
Ben Zoof looked on and laughed, making no attempt
to interfere; he had no sympathy with either of the two.
The sound of the scuffling, however, drew the attention
of Servadac, who, followed by his companions, hastened to
the scene. The combatants were soon parted.
“What is the meaning of all this?” demanded the
captain.
As soon as the professor had recovered his breath,
exhausted by his exertions, he said:
“The reprobate, the rascal has cheated us! His steelyard
is wrong! He is a thief!”
Captain Servadac looked sternly at Hakkabut.
“How is this, Hakkabut? Is this a fact?”
“No, no—yes—no, your Excellency, only—”
“He is a cheat, a thief!” roared the excited astronomer.
“His weights deceive!”
“Stop, stop!” interposed Servadac; “let us hear. Tell
me, Hakkabut—”
“The steelyard lies! It cheats! it lies!” roared the
irrepressible Rosette.
“Tell me, Hakkabut, I say,” repeated Servadac.
The Jew only kept on stammering, “Yes—no—I don't
know.”
But heedless of any interruption, the professor continued:
“False weights! That confounded steelyard! It gave
a false result! The mass was wrong! The observations
contradicted the calculations; they were wrong!
She was out of place! Yes, out of place entirely.”
“What!” cried Servadac and Procope in a breath, “out
of place?”
“Yes, completely,” said the professor.
“Gallia out of place?” repeated Servadac, agitated
with alarm,
“I did not say Gallia,” replied Rosette, stamping his
foot impetuously; “I said Nerina.”
“Oh, Nerina,” answered Servadac. “But what of
Gallia?” he inquired, still nervously.
“Gallia, of course, is on her way to the earth. I told
you so. But that Jew is a rascal!”