How
about it, Tom?"
"It's all leaked out, or else it wasn't filled," was the
despairing answer. "All the air we have is what's in the
ship, and we can't make more."
The treasure-seekers looked at each other. It was an awful
situation.
"Then the only thing to do is to fix the machinery and
rise to the surface," said Mr. Sharp simply. "We can have
all the air we want, then."
"Yes, but the machinery doesn't seem possible of being
fixed," spoke Tom in a low voice.
"We must do it!" cried his father.
They set to work again with fierce energy, laboring for
their very lives. They all knew that they could not long
remain in the ship without oxygen. Nor could they desert it
to go to the surface, for the moment they left the
protection of the thick steel sides the terrible pressure of
the water would kill them. Nor were the diving suits
available. They must stay in the craft and die a miserable
death-unless the machinery could be repaired and the Advance
sent to the surface. The emergency expanding lifting tank
was not yet in working order.
More frantically they toiled, trying every device that was
suggested to the mechanical minds of Tom, his father, Mr.
Sharp or Mr. Jackson, to make the pumps work. But something
was wrong. More and more foul grew the air.
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