its burning vanished. For an instant it seemed to be extinguished. And

then I saw a little blue tongue upon the edge of it that trembled, and

crept, and spread!

Quietly the whole sheet, save where it lay in immediate contact with the

snow, charred and shrivelled and sent up a quivering thread of smoke.

There was no doubt left to me; the atmosphere of the moon was either pure

oxygen or air, and capable therefore--unless its tenuity was excessive--of

supporting our alien life. We might emerge--and live!

I sat down with my legs on either side of the manhole and prepared to

unscrew it, but Cavor stopped me. "There is first a little precaution,"

he said. He pointed out that although it was certainly an oxygenated

atmosphere outside, it might still be so rarefied as to cause us grave

injury. He reminded me of mountain sickness, and of the bleeding that

often afflicts aeronauts who have ascended too swiftly, and he spent some

time in the preparation of a sickly-tasting drink which he insisted on my

sharing. It made me feel a little numb, but otherwise had no effect on me.

Then he permitted me to begin unscrewing.

Presently the glass stopper of the manhole was so far undone that the

denser air within our sphere began to escape along the thread of the

screw, singing as a kettle sings before it boils. Thereupon he made me

desist. It speedily became evident that the pressure outside was very much

less than it was within. How much less it was we had no means of telling.

The First Men In The Moon