She looked about her for something to prod him with. There was an arm-chair on casters beside her door. She drew this to her and pushed it with all her might toward the unconscious man.
The chair struck violently against Droop's seat, and even caused his body to sway slightly, but he still slept and gave no sign.
"That settles it!" she exclaimed, with mingled disgust and alarm in her face.
"It's me," said Rebecca. "Can I come in?"
Rebecca walked into Phoebe's room, which she found darkened like her own. Her sister was in bed.
"What ever happened to you?" Phoebe asked. "Sounded as though ye'd fallen down or somethin'."
Rebecca stood stiffly with her back to the closed door, her hands folded before her.
"Copernicus Droop is tight! Dead drunk!" she exclaimed, with a shaking voice.
"Drunk!" cried Phoebe. "Lands sakes!--an'--" She looked about her with alarm. "Then what's happened to the machine?" she asked.
"Whirlin', whirlin', same as ever! Cuttin' meridians or sausage meat fer all I care. I jest wish to goodness an' all creation I'd never ben sech a plumb born nateral fool as to--oh, wouldn't I like to jest _shake_ that man!" she broke out, letting her anger gain the upper hand.
Then Phoebe recalled their situation and their expectations of the night before.
"Why, then I ought to be gettin' little pretty fast," she said, feeling her arms. "I don't see's I've shrunk a mite, hev I?"
"No more'n I hev!" Rebecca exclaimed, hotly. "Nor you won't, nuther. Ye might jest's well make up yer mind to it thet the whole business is foolish folderols. We're a nice couple o' geese, we are, to come out here to play 'Here we go round the mulberry bush' with the North Pole--an' all along of a shif'less, notorious slave o' rum!"
She plumped herself into a chair and glared at the darkened window as though fascinated by those ever-returning flashes of sunlight.
She was much disappointed, and yet somehow she could not avoid a certain pleasure in the thought that at least there was no fear of a return to childhood.
"But what're we goin' to do?" she asked at length. "If Mr. Droop's so tight he can't manage the machine, what'll we do. Here we are tied up to the North Pole----"
"Oh, drat the old Panchronicon!" cried Rebecca.