The apparent immobility of the Projectile allowed him to do this with great exactness.

Then laying aside the instrument, and wiping off the thick drops of sweat that bedewed his forehead, he began jotting down some figures on a piece of paper.

The Captain looked on with keen interest; he knew very well that Barbican was calculating their distance from the Earth by the apparent measure of the terrestrial diameter, and he eyed him anxiously.
Pretty soon his friends saw a color stealing into Barbican's pale face, and a triumphant light glittering in his eye.
"No, my brave boys!" he exclaimed at last throwing down his pencil, "we're not falling! Far from it, we are at present more than 150 thousand miles from the Earth!" "Hurrah!" } "Bravo!" } cried M'Nicholl and Ardan, in a breath.
"We have passed the point where we should have stopped if we had had no more initial velocity than the Cambridge men allowed us!" "Hurrah! hurrah!" "Bravo, Bravissimo!" "And we're still going up!" "Glory, glory, hallelujah!" sang M'Nicholl, in the highest excitement.
"_Vive ce cher Barbican!_" cried Ardan, bursting into French as usual whenever his feelings had the better of him.
"Of course we're marching on!" continued M'Nicholl, "and I know the reason why, too.

Those 400,000 pounds of gun-cotton gave us greater initial velocity than we had expected!" "You're right, Captain!" added Barbican; "besides, you must not forget that, by getting rid of the water, the Projectile was relieved of considerable weight!" "Correct again!" cried the Captain.

"I had not thought of that!" "Therefore, my brave boys," continued Barbican, with some excitement; "away with melancholy! We're all right!" "Yes; everything is lovely and the goose hangs high!" cried the Captain, who on grand occasions was not above a little slang.
"Talking of goose reminds me of breakfast," cried Ardan; "I assure you, my fright has not taken away my appetite!" "Yes," continued Barbican.