“What?”
“The way to do it.”
“The way to do what?”
“To counteract the effect of the shock at the
departure of the projectile.”
“Really?” said Michel, looking at the
captain out of the corner of his eye.
“Yes, water! simply water, which will act as
a spring. Ah, Maston!” cried Barbicane,
“you too!”
“Himself,” answered Michel Ardan; “and
allow me to introduce at the same time the worthy
Captain Nicholl.”
“Nicholl!” cried Barbicane, up in a moment.
“Excuse me, captain,” said he; “I
had forgotten. I am ready.”
Michel Ardan interfered before the two enemies had
time to recriminate.
“Faith,” said he, “it is fortunate
that brave fellows like you did not meet sooner.
We should now have to mourn for one or other of you;
but, thanks to God, who has prevented it, there is
nothing more to fear. When one forgets his hatred
to plunge into mechanical problems and the other to
play tricks on spiders, their hatred cannot be dangerous
to anybody.”
And Michel Ardan related the captain’s story
to the president.
“I ask you now,” said he as he concluded,
“if two good beings like you were made to break
each other’s heads with gunshots?”
There was in this rather ridiculous situation something
so unexpected, that Barbicane and Nicholl did not
know how to look at one another. Michel Ardan
felt this, and resolved to try for a reconciliation.
“My brave friends,” said he, smiling in
his most fascinating manner, “it has all been
a mistake between you, nothing more. Well, to
prove that all is ended between you, and as you are
men who risk your lives, frankly accept the proposition
that I am going to make to you.”
“Speak,” said Nicholl.
“Friend Barbicane believes that his projectile
will go straight to the moon.”
“Yes, certainly,” replied the president.
“And friend Nicholl is persuaded that it will
fall back on the earth.”
“I am certain of it,” cried the captain.
“Good,” resumed Michel Ardan. “I
do not pretend to make you agree; all I say to you
is, ‘Come with me, and see if we shall stop on
the road.’”
“What?” said J.T. Maston, stupefied.
The two rivals at this sudden proposition had raised
their eyes and looked at each other attentively.
Barbicane waited for Captain Nicholl’s answer;
Nicholl awaited the president’s reply.
“Well,” said Michel in his most engaging
tone, “as there is now no shock to fear——”
“Accepted!” cried Barbicane.
But although this word was uttered very quickly, Nicholl
had finished it at the same time.
“Hurrah! bravo!” cried Michel Ardan, holding
out his hands to the two adversaries. “And
now that the affair is arranged, my friends, allow
me to treat you French fashion. Allons dejeuner.”
