At sight of these, the Major’s attention once more turned to the task he had left.  With backs turned, not twenty yards apart, the two great rivals began taking observations.  Carefully they spread lines of mercury for an artificial horizon, and painstakingly adjusting their instruments, began to take readings.  Then, turning to their nautical almanacs, they figured.  For some time an awed silence fell on the little group.  Presently the two men rose, facing one another.  Smiles played about their lips.  For a second they stood thus, then starting toward each other, they extended hands for a clasp—­the grip of a mutual admiration.

“Gentlemen,” said the Major, the huskiness in his voice betraying his emotion, “we are now within five miles of the Pole, and that is as close an observation as any man can hope to make.”

“Might as well call it the Pole,” smiled the Doctor.  “I make it three miles.”

For a time silence again reigned, then it was Dave who spoke.

“So this is the Pole!” he exclaimed.  “Well, then, it’s time for a bit of jazz.  Bring on your instruments of torture.”

Jazz always was imperfect music, and here, with untutored musicians and rude instruments, it was imperfection itself; but it is doubtful if any music ever soothed unstrung nerves as did this bit of jazz that rent the midnight silence at the top of the world.

The applause which followed awakened echoes among the ice-piles, and sent a lone doveky away into the shadows.

“Well,” said the Doctor, as the echoes of the last burst of jazz died away, “Major, I suppose we are to have the pleasure of your company on our return journey.  Am I right?”

“I am afraid so,” the Major smiled a bit wanly.  “Guess our plane is at last beyond repair.”

“But I say,” ejaculated Barney, “you can stow the remains of our plane somewhere below, can’t you?”

“Why—­er—­yes,” smiled the Doctor.  “We’ve considerable space now, since using the fuel and food.  But why freight the junk?  What’s the grand idea?”

“I think we can get a bunch of sled-timber and canvas from the whalers at Point Barrow and rig her up again.”

“Why?  You’ll be welcome to come with us all the way.”

“Bruce here, and I,” began Barney, and Bruce grinned at the mention of his name, “have a very special mission that takes us cross-country rather than by water.  Much as we should like to accept your kind invitation, our mission makes the other route imperative, if it is at all possible to take it.”

He told them the story of La Vaune, of Timmie and the ancient pay-roll.

“That being the case,” agreed the Doctor, “I shall be glad to assist you by freighting your plane to Point Barrow, and I now release my entire crew to help you in demounting it and bringing it to the submarine.”

As the gobs joined the two young aviators in a wild race across the ice-floes, with Jarvis straining after them, the Major turned a smiling face toward the Doctor, as he remarked: