“Only--don't ask me to tackle any of those big dictionary fellows such as you talked about this morning, uncle Phaeton, for I simply can't; they'd get away with my baggage while I was trying to spell their names and title--and all that!” Without any difficulty the aeromotor was sent out of and above the forest, heading towards the northwest; that is, direct for the heart of the Olympics, of whose marvels Professor Featherwit held such exalted hopes and expectations. Grim and forbidding those mountains looked as the air-ship sailed swiftly over them, opening up a wider view when the bare, rugged crest was once left fairly to the rear. Save for those bald crowns, all below appeared a solid carpet of tree-tops, now lower, there higher, yet ever the same: seemingly impenetrable to man, should such an effort be made. Once fairly within the charmed circle, leaving the rocky ridge behind, Professor Featherwit slackened speed, permitting the ship to drift onward at a moderate pace, one hand touching the steering-gear, while its fellow held a pair of field-glasses to his eager eyes. All at once he gave a half-stifled cry, partly rising in his excitement, then crying aloud in thrilling tones: “The sea,--an inland sea!” CHAPTER IX. GRAPPLING A QUEER FISH. At nearly the same moment both Bruno and Waldo caught a glimpse of water, shining clear and distinct amidst that sombre setting; but as yet a tree-crested elevation interfered with the prospect, and it was not until after the course of the air-ship had been materially changed, and some little time had elapsed, that aught definite could be determined as to the actual spread of that body of water. This proved to be considerable, although it needed but a single look into the professor's face to learn that his eager hopes and exalted anticipations fell far short of realisation. “Well, it's a sea all right,” generously declared Waldo, giving a vigorous sniff by way of strengthening his words. “I can smell the salt clear from this. A sea, even if it isn't quite so large as others,--what one might term a lower-case c!” If nothing else, that generous effort brought its reward in the dry little chuckle which escaped the professor's lips, and a kindly glow showed through his glasses as he turned towards Waldo with a nod of acknowledgment. “Barring the salty scent, my dear boy, which probably finds birth in your kindly imagination. So, on the whole, perhaps 'twould be just as well to term it a lake.” “One of no mean dimensions, at any rate, uncle Phaeton.” “True, Bruno,” with a nod of agreement, yet with forehead contracting into a network of troubled lines. “Naturally so, and yet--surely this must be merely a portion? Unless--yet I fail to see aught which might be interpreted as being--”