"What is it?" he exclaimed, rolling out on the floor. "Who hit me?
Indians?"
"Not yet," laughed Ned, shaking his "pal" into wakefulness.
"Listen!"
He struck a match, lit a candle and sat down on the edge of the
berth.
"You're a bum calculator," he began, eyeing Alan.
"I didn't calculate where that berth was," answered Alan ruefully,
rubbing a lump on the top of his head.
"And you didn't calculate where we are now," somewhat excitedly
added Ned. "And I didn't think of it until just now."
"Go on," interrupted the still sleepy Alan. "If it's a riddle I
give it up."
"I suppose you know what the air pressure is to a square inch,"
answered Ned, like a school teacher rebuking a slow scholar.
"Why, 14.7 pounds, of course."
"Where?" exclaimed Ned again, sharply.
"Where?" echoed Alan.
"Why, at the sea level-that's where. Not out here. Do you know how
high we are above sea level right here?"
Alan began to see the point and a smile came over his face. He had
no chance to answer:
"We're a little short of seven thousand feet up in the air right
here in Clarkeville," continued Ned in about the same tone of
exultation he might have used had he found a gold mine.
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