floating—a sign that we were now not far from the terrible region of the Antarctic.
As we were looking out to sea, we noticed our friends the porpoises jumping through the waves. The Doctor hailed them and they came inshore.
He asked them how far we were from the South Polar Continent.
About a hundred miles, they told him. And then they asked why he wanted to know.
"Because this floating island we are on," said he, "is drifting southward all the time in a current. It's an island that ordinarily belongs somewhere in the tropic zone—real sultry weather, sunstrokes and all that. If it doesn't stop going southward pretty soon everything on it is going to perish."
"Well," said the porpoises, "then the thing to do is to get it back into a warmer climate, isn't it?"
"Yes, but how?" said the Doctor. "We can't row it back."
"No," said they, "but whales could push it if you only got enough of them."
"What a splendid idea!—Whales, the very thing!" said the Doctor. "Do you think you could get me some?"
"Why, certainly," said the porpoises, "we passed one herd of them out there, sporting about among the icebergs. We'll ask them to come over. And if they aren't enough, we'll try and hunt up some more. Better have plenty."
