nk had long ago boiled
away, and I had lighted the gas to heat water for the doctor's coffee. I
had taken the cup up to him and remained chatting with him, when
presently I smelled something burning from the compartment below. I
descended quickly, and saw that my light bedclothes, which now weighed
less than a feather, and often floated from their place, had been drawn
into the flame by the draft of the burning gas. They were floating about
the compartment now, all aflame and threatening to set fire to
everything. We had not a drop of water to spare; but for once I thought
of the right thing to do without hesitation. I pushed out the
ventilating cylinder, hurried back to the doctor's compartment and
thrust in the bulkhead. Within two minutes all the air had escaped from
my room, and the fire had died for lack of oxygen. I waited a few
minutes longer for the smoke to escape, and then we admitted condensed
air, but only to the remarkably low pressure of eighteen. Within five
minutes the compartment was ready again, and there was not a trace of
smoke or smell of fire to be perceived.

"I congratulate you on your quick perception and prompt action," said
the doctor when it was over.

"Quick rubbish!" I exclaimed. "I have been a dundering fool for four
weeks by the Moon! I might just as well have been smoking ever since I
contrived this self-ventilating arrangement. The compartment becomes a
perfectly clean vacuum at each operation, yet I had to wait for this bed
clothing to catch fire before I could think of so simple a thing!"

It was at the meal time just preceding the next changing of air that I
opened the last tin of canned peas, as a sort of treat for the doctor to
offset my expected revel in fragrant tobacco. I prepared half the
quantity for him, but left my portion in the tin until I should be
hungrier. With the prospects of a good smoke before me, I had no
appetite for food. I put in the bulkhead to prevent the smoke from
entering his compartment and lighted my Havana. Then I took Two-spot on
my lap and stretched myself for a reverie. On Earth, smoking time had
been my period for reflection. And far back on that distant planet, what
were they doing now? In that one busy corner that had known me, they had
probably wondered at my disappearance for a day or two; but after the
month that had passed I was certainly forgotten. There were few back
there whom I cared for, and not many had much reason to remember me. My
i