“Ferratoni,” I said, “you deserve a crown!” But he did not answer. Drowsiness once more came down like a soft curtain. Then the sleepy voice of Gale: “Bill!” “Yes, sir.” “How did it happen, when you cut the rope to-day and the balloon shot up, that your weight didn’t jerk us all out? I didn’t feel any jerk.” “No, sir—I—I—had grabbed—that is—seized hold quite firmly of the bit of rope above, sir.” There was another silence, and then I half-heard, mingled with a dream that was just beginning, the far-off sleepy voice of Gale, whispering, “Bully old Bill!” XXIV. THE GREAT WHITE WAY. Sept. 21. All day we have been pushing our boat-sleigh, and to-night we are between fifteen and twenty miles farther south than last. We made fairly good progress in spite of the drifts, because of the general down-slope, which in some places was such that we got into our boat and the wind carried us along. Gale and Ferratoni are fixing up a sail to use to-morrow. It will be rigged between two of the uprights, forward. The wings of our propeller were smashed in the fall. We are all very tired to-night, and very hungry, for our light ration of sandwiches does not go far, and the food lozenges become unpleasant when eaten in any quantity. Mr. Sturritt explains that we do not quite follow instructions, but I noticed this evening a very sad look on his face, so perhaps he is experiencing some difficulty with them himself, as a steady diet, for he still persistently declines the sandwiches. I hope we shall reach somewhere or something to-morrow. Otherwise we shall be in very bad straits in the matter of food. Fortunately we have plenty of tea and coffee. The air has grown warmer, and a soft snow is falling. It is what we would call good winter weather in northern Nebraska. Sept. 22. Another day of pushing and sailing our boat-sledge. The sail is a success, and a great help. We have made good time, but there is no sign of dry land yet, and our last sandwiches are gone. To-morrow it will be tablets or nothing. We have not confessed it to each other, but I think it will be _nothing_. Even Mr. Sturritt looks wretched when it comes mealtime. He steadily refuses the sandwiches, however.