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creation. The interview would often terminate in a scene of considerable
animation.
On the 27th of June (old calendar) the professor burst like a cannonball into
the central hall, where they were all assembled, and without a word of
salutation or of preface, accosted the lieutenant in the way in which in
earlier days he had been accustomed to speak to an idle schoolboy, "Now,
lieutenant! no evasions!
no shufflings! Tell me, have you or have you not circumnavigated Gallia?"
The lieutenant drew himself up stiffly. "Evasions! shufflings! I am not
accustomed, sir" he began in a tone evidencing no little resentment; but
catching a hint from the count he subdued his voice, and simply said, "We
have."
"And may I ask," continued the professor, quite unaware of his previous
discourtesy, "whether, when you made your voyage, you took any account of
distances?"
"As approximately as I could," replied the lieutenant; "I did what I could by
log and compass. I was unable to take the altitude of sun or star."
"At what result did you arrive? What is the measurement of our equator?"
"I estimate the total circumference of the equator to be about 1,400 miles."
"Ah!" said the professor, more than half speaking to himself, "a circumference
of 1,400 miles would give a diameter of about 450 miles. That would be
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approximately about onesixteenth of the diameter of the earth."
Raising his voice, he continued, "Gentlemen, in order to complete my account
of my comet Gallia, I require to know its area, its mass, its volume, its
density, its specific gravity."
"Since we know the diameter," remarked the lieutenant, "there can be no
difficulty in finding its surface and its volume."
"And did I say there was any difficulty?" asked the professor, fiercely. "I
have been able to reckon that ever since I was born."
"Cockadoodledoo!" cried Ben Zoof, delighted at any opportunity of paying off
his old grudge.
Off on a Comet
CHAPTER IV. A REVISED CALENDAR
109
The professor looked at him, but did not vouchsafe a word. Addressing the
captain, he said, "Now, Servadac, take your paper and a pen, and find me the
surface of Gallia."
With more submission than when he was a schoolboy, the captain sat down and
endeavored to recall the proper formula.
"The surface of a sphere? Multiply circumference by diameter."
"Right!" cried Rosette; "but it ought to be done by this time."
"Circumference, 1,400; diameter, 450; area of surface, 630,000," read the
captain.
"True," replied Rosette, "630,000 square miles; just 292 times less than that
of the earth."
"Pretty little comet! nice little comet!" muttered Ben Zoof.
The astronomer bit his lip, snorted, and cast at him a withering look, but did
not take any further notice.
"Now, Captain Servadac," said the professor, "take your pen again, and find me
the volume of Gallia."
The captain hesitated.
"Quick, quick!" cried the professor, impatiently; "surely you have not
forgotten how to find the volume of a sphere!"
"A moment's breathing time, please."
"Breathing time, indeed! A mathematician should not want breathing time! Come,
multiply the surface by the third of the radius. Don't you recollect?"
Captain Servadac applied himself to his task while the bystanders waited, with
some difficulty suppressing their inclination to laugh. There was a short
silence, at the end of which Servadac announced that the volume of the comet
was 47,880,000 cubic miles.
"Just about 5,000 times less than the earth," observed the lieutenant.
"Nice little comet! pretty little comet!" said Ben Zoof.
The professor scowled at him, and was manifestly annoyed at having the
insignificant dimensions of his comet pointed out in so disparaging a manner.
Lieutenant Procope further remarked that from the earth he supposed it to be
about as conspicuous as a star of the seventh magnitude, and would require a
good telescope to see it.
"Ha, ha!" laughed the orderly, aloud; "charming little comet! so pretty; and
so modest!"
"You rascal!" roared the professor, and clenched his hand in passion, as if
about to strike him. Ben Zoof laughed the more, and was on the point of
repeating his satirical comments, when a stern order from the captain made him
hold his tongue. The truth was that the professor was just as sensitive about
his comet as the orderly was about Montmartre, and if the contention between
the two had been allowed to go on unchecked, it is impossible to say what
serious quarrel might not have arisen.
Off on a Comet
CHAPTER IV. A REVISED CALENDAR
110
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