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THE MIDS OF PRDISE THE MIDTRMS

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IN SEARCH OF THE

UNKNOWN

BY

ROBERT W. CHAMBERS

AUTHOR OF "THE MAIDS OF PARADISE" "THE MAID-AT-ARMS"

"CARDIGAN" "THE CONSPIRATORS" ETC.

NEW YORK AND LONDON

HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS

1904

Copyright, 1904, by ROBERT W. CHAMBERS.

_All rights reserved._

Published June, 1904.

          TO

       MY FRIEND

   E. LE GRAND BEERS

   MY DEAR LE GRAND,--You and I were early drawn together by a

   common love of nature. Your researches into the natural

   history of the tree-toad, your observations upon the

   mud-turtles of Providence Township, your experiments with the

   fresh-water lobster, all stimulated my enthusiasm in a

   scientific direction, which has crystallized in this helpful

   little book, dedicated to you.

   Pray accept it as an insignificant payment on account for all

   I owe to you.

             THE AUTHOR.

PREFACE

It appears to the writer that there is urgent need of more "nature

books"--books that are scraped clear of fiction and which display only

the carefully articulated skeleton of fact. Hence this little volume,

presented with some hesitation and more modesty. Various chapters

have, at intervals, appeared in the pages of various publications. The

continued narrative is now published for the first time; and the

writer trusts that it may inspire enthusiasm for natural and

scientific research, and inculcate a passion for accurate observation

among the young.

 THE AUTHOR.

 _April 1, 1904._

   Where the slanting forest eaves,

   Shingled tight with greenest leaves,

   Sweep the scented meadow-sedge,

   Let us snoop along the edge;

   Let us pry in hidden nooks,

   Laden with our nature books,

   Scaring birds with happy cries,

   Chloroforming butterflies,

   Rooting up each woodland plant,

   Pinning beetle, fly, and ant,

   So we may identify

   What we've ruined, by-and-by.

IN SEARCH OF THE UNKNOWN

I

Because it all seems so improbable--so horribly impossible to me now,

sitting here safe and sane in my own library--I hesitate to record an

episode which already appears to me less horrible than grotesque. Yet,

unless this story is written now, I know I shall never have the

courage to tell the truth about the matter--not from fear of ridicule,

but because I myself shall soon cease to credit what I now know to be

true. Yet scarcely a month has elapsed since I heard the stealthy

purring of what I believed to be the shoaling undertow--scarcely a

month ago, with my own eyes, I saw that which, even now, I am

beginning to believe never existed. As for the harbor-master--and the

blow I am now striking at the old order of things--But of that I shall

not speak now, or later; I shall try to tell the story simply and

truthfully, and let my friends testify as to my probity and the

publishers of this book corroborate them.

On the 29th of February I resigned my position under the government

and left Washington to accept an offer from Professor Farrago--whose

name he kindly permits me to use--and on the first day of April I

entered upon my new and congenial duties as general superintendent of

the water-fowl department connected with the Zoological Gardens then

in course of erection at Bronx Park, New York.

For a week I followed the routine, examining the new foundations,

studying the architect's plans, following the surveyors through the

Bronx thickets, suggesting arrangements for water-courses and pools

destined to be included in the enclosures for swans, geese, pelicans,

herons, and such of the waders and swimmers as we might expect to

acclimate in Bronx Park.

It was at that time the policy of the trustees and officers of the

Zoological Gardens neither to employ collectors nor to send out

expeditions in search of specimens. The society decided to depend upon

voluntary contributions, and I was always busy, part of the day, in

dictating answers to correspondents who wrote offering their services

as hunters of big game, collectors of all sorts of fauna, trappers,

snarers, and also to those who offered specimens for sale, usually at

exorbitant rates.

To the proprietors of five-legged kittens, mangy lynxes, moth-eaten

coyotes, and dancing bears I returned courteous but uncompromising

refusals--of course, first submitting all such letters, together with

my replies, to Professor Farrago.

One day towards the end of May, however, just as I was leaving Bronx

Park to return to town, Professor Lesard, of the reptilian department,

called out to me that Professor Farrago wanted to see me a moment; so

I put my pipe into my pocket again and retraced my steps to the

temporary, wooden building occupied by Professor Farrago, general

superintendent of the Zoological Gardens. The professor, who was

sitting at his desk before a pile of letters and replies submitted for

approval by me, pushed his glasses down and looked over them at me

with a whimsical smile that suggested amusement, impatience,

annoyance, and perhaps a faint trace of apology.

"Now, here's a letter," he said, with a deliberate gesture towards a

sheet of paper impaled on a file--"a letter that I suppose you

remember." He disengaged the sheet of paper and handed it to me.

"Oh yes," I replied, with a shrug; "of course the man is

mistaken--or--"

"Or what?" demanded Professor Farrago, tranquilly, wiping his glasses.

"--Or a liar," I replied.

After a silence he leaned back in his chair and bade me read the

letter to him again, and I did so with a contemptuous tolerance for

the writer, who must have been either a very innocent victim or a very

stupid swindler. I said as much to Professor Farrago, but, to my

surprise, he appeared to waver.

"I suppose," he said, with his near-sighted, embarrassed smile, "that

nine hundred and ninety-nine men in a thousand would throw that letter

aside and condemn the writer as a liar or a fool?"

"In my opinion," said I, "he's one or the other."

"He isn't--in mine," said the professor, placidly.

"What!" I exclaimed. "Here is a man living all alone on a strip of

rock and sand between the wilderness and the sea, who wants you to

send somebody to take charge of a bird that doesn't exist!"

"How do you know," asked Professor Farrago, "that the bird in question

does not exist?"

"It is generally accepted," I replied, sarcastically, "that the great

auk has been extinct for years. Therefore I may be pardoned for

doubting that our correspondent possesses a pair of them alive."

"Oh, you young fellows," said the professor, smiling wearily, "you

embark on a theory for destinations that don't exist."

He leaned back in his chair, his amused eyes searching space for the

imagery that made him smile.

"Like swimming squirrels, you navigate with the help of Heaven and a

stiff breeze, but you never land where you hope to--do you?"

Rather red in the face, I said: "Don't you believe the great auk to be

extinct?"

"Audubon saw the great auk."

"Who has seen a single specimen since?"

"Nobody--except our correspondent here," he replied, laughing.

I laughed, too, considering the interview at an end, but the professor

went on, coolly:

"Whatever it is that our correspondent has--and I am daring to believe

that it _is_ the great auk itself--I want you to secure it for the

society."

When my astonishment subsided my first conscious sentiment was one of

pity. Clearly, Professor Farrago was on the verge of dotage--ah, what

a loss to the world!

I believe now that Professor Farrago perfectly interpreted my

thoughts, but he betrayed neither resentment nor impatience. I drew a

chair up beside his desk--there was nothing to do but to obey, and

this fool's errand was none of my conceiving.

Together we made out a list of articles necessary for me and itemized

the expenses I might incur, and I set a date for my return, allowing

no margin for a successful termination to the expedition.

"Never mind that," said the professor. "What I want you to do is to

get those birds here safely. Now, how many men will you take?"

"None," I replied, bluntly; "it's a useless expense, unless there is

something to bring back. If there is I'll wire you, you may be sure."

"Very well," said Professor Farrago, good-humoredly, "you shall have

all the assistance you may require. Can you leave to-night?"

The old gentleman was certainly prompt. I nodded, half-sulkily, aware

of his amusement.

"So," I said, picking up my hat, "I am to start north to find a place

called Black Harbor, where there is a man named Halyard who possesses,

among other household utensils, two extinct great auks--"

We were both laughing by this time. I asked him why on earth he

credited the assertion of a man he had never before heard of.

"I suppose," he replied, with the same half-apologetic, half-humorous

smile, "it is instinct. I feel, somehow, that this man Halyard _has_

got an auk--perhaps two. I can't get away from the idea that we are on

the eve of acquiring the rarest of living creatures. It's odd for a

scientist to talk as I do; doubtless you're shocked--admit it, now!"

But I was not shocked; on the contrary, I was conscious that the same

strange hope that Professor Farrago cherished was beginning, in spite

of me, to stir my pulses, too.

"If he has--" I began, then stopped.

The professor and I looked hard at each other in silence.

"Go on," he said, encouragingly.

But I had nothing more to say, for the prospect of beholding with my

own eyes a living specimen of the great auk produced a series of

conflicting emotions within me which rendered speech profanely

superfluous.

As I took my leave Professor Farrago came to the door of the

temporary, wooden office and handed me the letter written by the man

Halyard. I folded it and put it into my pocket, as Halyard might

require it for my own identification.

"How much does he want for the pair?" I asked.

"Ten thousand dollars. Don't demur--if the birds are really--"

"I know," I said, hastily, not daring to hope too much.

"One thing more," said Professor Farrago, gravely; "you know, in that

last paragraph of his letter, Halyard speaks of something else in the

way of specimens--an undiscovered species of amphibious biped--just

read that paragraph again, will you?"

I drew the letter from my pocket and read as he directed:

   "When you have seen the two living specimens of the great auk,

   and have satisfied yourself that I tell the truth, you may be

   wise enough to listen without prejudice to a statement I shall

   make concerning the existence of the strangest creature ever

   fashioned. I will merely say, at this time, that the creature

   referred to is an amphibious biped and inhabits the ocean near

   this coast. More I cannot say, for I personally have not seen

   the animal, but I have a witness who has, and there are many

   who affirm that they have seen the creature. You will

   naturally say that my statement amounts to nothing; but when

   your representative arrives, if he be free from prejudice, I

   expect his reports to you concerning this sea-biped will

   confirm the solemn statements of a witness I _know_ to be

   unimpeachable.

 "Yours truly,      BURTON HALYARD.

 "BLACK HARBOR."

"Well," I said, after a moment's thought, "here goes for the

wild-goose chase."

"Wild auk, you mean," said Professor Farrago, shaking hands with me.

"You will start to-night, won't you?"

"Yes, but Heaven knows how I'm ever going to land in this man

Halyard's door-yard. Good-bye!"

"About that sea-biped--" began Professor Farrago, shyly.

"Oh, don't!" I said; "I can swallow the auks, feathers and claws, but

if this fellow Halyard is hinting he's seen an amphibious creature

resembling a man--"

"--Or a woman," said the professor, cautiously.

I retired, disgusted, my faith shaken in the mental vigor of Professor

Farrago.

II

The three days' voyage by boat and rail was irksome. I bought my kit

at Sainte Croix, on the Central Pacific Railroad, and on June 1st I

began the last stage of my journey _via_ the Sainte Isole broad-gauge,

arriving in the wilderness by daylight. A tedious forced march by

blazed trail, freshly spotted on the wrong side, of course, brought me

to the northern terminus of the rusty, narrow-gauge lumber railway

which runs from the heart of the hushed pine wilderness to the sea.

Already a long train of battered flat-cars, piled with sluice-props

and roughly hewn sleepers, was moving slowly off into the brooding

forest gloom, when I came in sight of the track; but I developed a

gratifying and unexpected burst of speed, shouting all the while. The

train stopped; I swung myself aboard the last car, where a pleasant

young fellow was sitting on the rear brake, chewing spruce and reading

a letter.

"Come aboard, sir," he said, looking up with a smile; "I guess you're

the man in a hurry."

"I'm looking for a man named Halyard," I said, dropping rifle and

knapsack on the fresh-cut, fragrant pile of pine. "Are you Halyard?"

"No, I'm Francis Lee, bossing the mica pit at Port-of-Waves," he

replied, "but this letter is from Halyard, asking me to look out for a

man in a hurry from Bronx Park, New York."

"I'm that man," said I, filling my pipe and offering him a share of

the weed of peace, and we sat side by side smoking very amiably, until

a signal from the locomotive sent him forward and I was left alone,

lounging at ease, head pillowed on both arms, watching the blue sky

flying through the branches overhead.

Long before we came in sight of the ocean I smelled it; the fresh,

salt aroma stole into my senses, drowsy with the heated odor of pine

and hemlock, and I sat up, peering ahead into the dusky sea of pines.

Fresher and fresher came the wind from the sea, in puffs, in mild,

sweet breezes, in steady, freshening currents, blowing the feathery

crowns of the pines, setting the balsam's blue tufts rocking.

Lee wandered back over the long line of flats, balancing himself

nonchalantly as the cars swung around a sharp curve, where water

dripped from a newly propped sluice that suddenly emerged from the

depths of the forest to run parallel to the railroad track.

"Built it this spring," he said, surveying his handiwork, which seemed

to undulate as the cars swept past. "It runs to the cove--or ought

to--" He stopped abruptly with a thoughtful glance at me.

"So you're going over to Halyard's?" he continued, as though answering

a question asked by himself.

I nodded.

"You've never been there--of course?"

"No," I said, "and I'm not likely to go again."

I would have told him why I was going if I had not already begun to

feel ashamed of my idiotic errand.

"I guess you're going to look at those birds of his," continued Lee,

placidly.

"I guess I am," I said, sulkily, glancing askance to see whether he

was smiling.

But he only asked me, quite seriously, whether a great auk was really

a very rare bird; and I told him that the last one ever seen had been

found dead off Labrador in January, 1870. Then I asked him whether

these birds of Halyard's were really great auks, and he replied,

somewhat indifferently, that he supposed they were--at least, nobody

had ever before seen such birds near Port-of-Waves.

"There's something else," he said, running, a pine-sliver through his

pipe-stem--"something that interests us all here more than auks, big

or little. I suppose I might as well speak of it, as you are bound to

hear about it sooner or later."

He hesitated, and I could see that he was embarrassed, searching for

the exact words to convey his meaning.

"If," said I, "you have anything in this region more important to

science than the great auk, I should be very glad to know about it."

Perhaps there was the faintest tinge of sarcasm in my voice, for he

shot a sharp glance at me and then turned slightly. After a moment,

however, he put his pipe into his pocket, laid hold of the brake with

both hands, vaulted to his perch aloft, and glanced down at me.

"Did you ever hear of the harbor-master?" he asked, maliciously.

"Which harbor-master?" I inquired.

"You'll know before long," he observed, with a satisfied glance into

perspective.

This rather extraordinary observation puzzled me. I waited for him to

resume, and, as he did not, I asked him what he meant.

"If I knew," he said, "I'd tell you. But, come to think of it, I'd be

a fool to go into details with a scientific man. You'll hear about the

harbor-master--perhaps you will see the harbor-master. In that event I

should be glad to converse with you on the subject."

I could not help laughing at his prim and precise manner, and, after a

moment, he also laughed, saying:

"It hurts a man's vanity to know he knows a thing that somebody else

knows he doesn't know. I'm damned if I say another word about the

harbor-master until you've been to Halyard's!"

"A harbor-master," I persisted, "is an official who superintends the

mooring of ships--isn't he?"

But he refused to be tempted into conversation, and we lounged

silently on the lumber until a long, thin whistle from the locomotive

and a rush of stinging salt-wind brought us to our feet. Through the

trees I could see the bluish-black ocean, stretching out beyond black

headlands to meet the clouds; a great wind was roaring among the trees

as the train slowly came to a stand-still on the edge of the primeval

forest.

Lee jumped to the ground and aided me with my rifle and pack, and then

the train began to back away along a curved side-track which, Lee

said, led to the mica-pit and company stores.

"Now what will you do?" he asked, pleasantly. "I can give you a good

dinner and a decent bed to-night if you like--and I'm sure Mrs. Lee

would be very glad to have you stop with us as long as you choose."

I thanked him, but said that I was anxious to reach Halyard's before

dark, and he very kindly led me along the cliffs and pointed out the

path.

"This man Halyard," he said, "is an invalid. He lives at a cove called

Black Harbor, and all his truck goes through to him over the company's

road. We receive it here, and send a pack-mule through once a month.

I've met him; he's a bad-tempered hypochondriac, a cynic at heart, and

a man whose word is never doubted. If he says he has a great auk, you

may be satisfied he has."

My heart was beating with excitement at the prospect; I looked out

across the wooded headlands and tangled stretches of dune and hollow,

trying to realize what it might mean to me, to Professor Farrago, to

the world, if I should lead back to New York a live auk.

"He's a crank," said Lee; "frankly, I don't like him. If you find it

unpleasant there, come back to us."

"Does Halyard live alone?" I asked.

"Yes--except for a professional trained nurse--poor thing!"

"A man?"

"No," said Lee, disgustedly.

Presently he gave me a peculiar glance; hesitated, and finally said:

"Ask Halyard to tell you about his nurse and--the harbor-master.

Good-bye--I'm due at the quarry. Come and stay with us whenever you

care to; you will find a welcome at Port-of-Waves."

We shook hands and parted on the cliff, he turning back into the

forest along the railway, I starting northward, pack slung, rifle over

my shoulder. Once I met a group of quarrymen, faces burned brick-red,

scarred hands swinging as they walked. And, as I passed them with a

nod, turning, I saw that they also had turned to look after me, and I

caught a word or two of their conversation, whirled back to me on the

sea-wind.

They were speaking of the harbor-master.

III

Towards sunset I came out on a sheer granite cliff where the sea-birds

were whirling and clamoring, and the great breakers dashed, rolling in

double-thundered reverberations on the sun-dyed, crimson sands below

the rock.

Across the half-moon of beach towered another cliff, and, behind this,

I saw a column of smoke rising in the still air. It certainly came

from Halyard's chimney, although the opposite cliff prevented me from

seeing the house itself.

I rested a moment to refill my pipe, then resumed rifle and pack, and

cautiously started to skirt the cliffs. I had descended half-way

towards the beech, and was examining the cliff opposite, when

something on the very top of the rock arrested my attention--a man

darkly outlined against the sky. The next moment, however, I knew it

could not be a man, for the object suddenly glided over the face of

the cliff and slid down the sheer, smooth lace like a lizard. Before I

could get a square look at it, the thing crawled into the surf--or, at

least, it seemed to--but the whole episode occurred so suddenly, so

unexpectedly, that I was not sure I had seen anything at all.

However, I was curious enough to climb the cliff on the land side and

make my way towards the spot where I imagined I saw the man. Of

course, there was nothing there--not a trace of a human being, I mean.

Something _had_ been there--a sea-otter, possibly--for the remains of

a freshly killed fish lay on the rock, eaten to the back-bone and

tail.

The next moment, below me, I saw the house, a freshly painted, trim,

flimsy structure, modern, and very much out of harmony with the

splendid savagery surrounding it. It struck a nasty, cheap note in the

noble, gray monotony of headland and sea.

The descent was easy enough. I crossed the crescent beach, hard as

pink marble, and found a little trodden path among the rocks, that led

to the front porch of the house.

There were two people on the porch--I heard their voices before I saw

them--and when I set my foot upon the wooden steps, I saw one of them,

a woman, rise from her chair and step hastily towards me.

"Come back!" cried the other, a man with a smooth-shaven, deeply lined

face, and a pair of angry, blue eyes; and the woman stepped back

quietly, acknowledging my lifted hat with a silent inclination.

The man, who was reclining in an invalid's rolling-chair, clapped both

large, pale hands to the wheels and pushed himself out along the

porch. He had shawls pinned about him, an untidy, drab-colored hat on

his head, and, when he looked down at me, he scowled.

"I know who you are," he said, in his acid voice; "you're one of the

Zoological men from Bronx Park. You look like it, anyway."

"It is easy to recognize you from your reputation," I replied,

irritated at his discourtesy.

"Really," he replied, with something between a sneer and a laugh, "I'm

obliged for your frankness. You're after my great auks, are you not?"

"Nothing else would have tempted me into this place," I replied,

sincerely.

"Thank Heaven for that," he said. "Sit down a moment; you've

interrupted us." Then, turning to the young woman, who wore the neat

gown and tiny cap of a professional nurse, he bade her resume what she

had been saying. She did so, with deprecating glance at me, which made

the old man sneer again.

"It happened so suddenly," she said, in her low voice, "that I had no

chance to get back. The boat was drifting in the cove; I sat in the

stern, reading, both oars shipped, and the tiller swinging. Then I

heard a scratching under the boat, but thought it might be

sea-weed--and, next moment, came those soft thumpings, like the sound

of a big fish rubbing its nose against a float."

Halyard clutched the wheels of his chair and stared at the girl in

grim displeasure.

"Didn't you know enough to be frightened?" he demanded.

"No--not then," she said, coloring faintly; "but when, after a few

moments, I looked up and saw the harbor-master running up and down the

beach, I was horribly frightened."

"Really?" said Halyard, sarcastically; "it was about time." Then,

turning to me, he rasped out: "And that young lady was obliged to row

all the way to Port-of-Waves and call to Lee's quarrymen to take her

boat in."

Completely mystified, I looked from Halyard to the girl, not in the

least comprehending what all this meant.

"That will do," said Halyard, ungraciously, which curt phrase was

apparently the usual dismissal for the nurse.

She rose, and I rose, and she passed me with an inclination, stepping

noiselessly into the house.

"I want beef-tea!" bawled Halyard after her; then he gave me an

unamiable glance.

"I was a well-bred man," he sneered; "I'm a Harvard graduate, too, but

I live as I like, and I do what I like, and I say what I like."

"You certainly are not reticent," I said, disgusted.

"Why should I be?" he rasped; "I pay that young woman for my

irritability; it's a bargain between us."

"In your domestic affairs," I said, "there is nothing that interests

me. I came to see those auks."

"You probably believe them to be razor-billed auks," he said,

contemptuously. "But they're not; they're great auks."

I suggested that he permit me to examine them, and he replied,

indifferently, that they were in a pen in his backyard, and that I was

free to step around the house when I cared to.

I laid my rifle and pack on the veranda, and hastened off with mixed

emotions, among which hope no longer predominated. No man in his

senses would keep two such precious prizes in a pen in his backyard, I

argued, and I was perfectly prepared to find anything from a puffin to

a penguin in that pen.

I shall never forget, as long as I live, my stupor of amazement when I

came to the wire-covered enclosure. Not only were there two great

auks in the pen, alive, breathing, squatting in bulky majesty on their

sea-weed bed, but one of them was gravely contemplating two newly

hatched chicks, all bill and feet, which nestled sedately at the edge

of a puddle of salt-water, where some small fish were swimming.

For a while excitement blinded, nay, deafened me. I tried to realize

that I was gazing upon the last individuals of an all but extinct

race--the sole survivors of the gigantic auk, which, for thirty years,

has been accounted an extinct creature.

I believe that I did not move muscle nor limb until the sun had gone

down and the crowding darkness blurred my straining eyes and blotted

the great, silent, bright-eyed birds from sight.

Even then I could not tear myself away from the enclosure; I listened

to the strange, drowsy note of the male bird, the fainter responses of

the female, the thin plaints of the chicks, huddling under her breast;

I heard their flipper-like, embryotic wings beating sleepily as the

birds stretched and yawned their beaks and clacked them, preparing for

slumber.

"If you please," came a soft voice from the door, "Mr. Halyard awaits

your company to dinner."

IV

I dined well--or, rather, I might have enjoyed my dinner if Mr.

Halyard had been eliminated; and the feast consisted exclusively of a

joint of beef, the pretty nurse, and myself. She was exceedingly

attractive--with a disturbing fashion of lowering her head and raising

her dark eyes when spoken to.

As for Halyard, he was unspeakable, bundled up in his snuffy shawls,

and making uncouth noises over his gruel. But it is only just to say

that his table was worth sitting down to and his wine was sound as a

bell.

"Yah!" he snapped, "I'm sick of this cursed soup--and I'll trouble you

to fill my glass--"

"It is dangerous for you to touch claret," said the pretty nurse.

"I might as well die at dinner as anywhere," he observed.

"Certainly," said I, cheerfully passing the decanter, but he did not

appear overpleased with the attention.

"I can't smoke, either," he snarled, hitching the shawls around until

he looked like Richard the Third.

However, he was good enough to shove a box of cigars at me, and I took

one and stood up, as the pretty nurse slipped past and vanished into

the little parlor beyond.

We sat there for a while without speaking. He picked irritably at the

bread-crumbs on the cloth, never glancing in my direction; and I,

tired from my long foot-tour, lay back in my chair, silently

appreciating one of the best cigars I ever smoked.

"Well," he rasped out at length, "what do you think of my auks--and my

veracity?"

I told him that both were unimpeachable.

"Didn't they call me a swindler down there at your museum?" he

demanded.

I admitted that I had heard the term applied. Then I made a clean

breast of the matter, telling him that it was I who had doubted; that

my chief, Professor Farrago, had sent me against my will, and that I

was ready and glad to admit that he, Mr. Halyard, was a benefactor of

the human race.

"Bosh!" he said. "What good does a confounded wobbly, bandy-toed bird

do to the human race?"

But he was pleased, nevertheless; and presently he asked me, not

unamiably, to punish his claret again.

"I'm done for," he said; "good things to eat and drink are no good to

me. Some day I'll get mad enough to have a fit, and then--"

He paused to yawn.

"Then," he continued, "that little nurse of mine will drink up my

claret and go back to civilization, where people are polite."

Somehow or other, in spite of the fact that Halyard was an old pig,

what he said touched me. There was certainly not much left in life for

him--as he regarded life.

"I'm going to leave her this house," he said, arranging his shawls.

"She doesn't know it. I'm going to leave her my money, too. She

doesn't know that. Good Lord! What kind of a woman can she be to stand

my bad temper for a few dollars a month!"

"I think," said I, "that it's partly because she's poor, partly

because she's sorry for you."

He looked up with a ghastly smile.

"You think she really is sorry?"

Before I could answer he went on: "I'm no mawkish sentimentalist, and

I won't allow anybody to be sorry for me--do you hear?"

"Oh, I'm not sorry for you!" I said, hastily, and, for the first time

since I had seen him, he laughed heartily, without a sneer.

We both seemed to feel better after that; I drank his wine and smoked

his cigars, and he appeared to take a certain grim pleasure in

watching me.

"There's no fool like a young fool," he observed, presently.

As I had no doubt he referred to me, I paid him no attention.

After fidgeting with his shawls, he gave me an oblique scowl and asked

me my age.

"Twenty-four," I replied.

"Sort of a tadpole, aren't you?" he said.

As I took no offence, he repeated the remark.

"Oh, come," said I, "there's no use in trying to irritate me. I see

through you; a row acts like a cocktail on you--but you'll have to

stick to gruel in my company."

"I call that impudence!" he rasped out, wrathfully.

"I don't care what you call it," I replied, undisturbed, "I am not

going to be worried by you. Anyway," I ended, "it is my opinion that

you could be very good company if you chose."

The proposition appeared to take his breath away--at least, he said

nothing more; and I finished my cigar in peace and tossed the stump

into a saucer.

"Now," said I, "what price do you set upon your birds, Mr. Halyard?"

"Ten thousand dollars," he snapped, with an evil smile.

"You will receive a certified check when the birds are delivered," I

said, quietly.

"You don't mean to say you agree to that outrageous bargain--and I

won't take a cent less, either--Good Lord!--haven't you any spirit

left?" he cried, half rising from his pile of shawls.

His piteous eagerness for a dispute sent me into laughter impossible

to control, and he eyed me, mouth open, animosity rising visibly.

Then he seized the wheels of his invalid chair and trundled away, too

mad to speak; and I strolled out into the parlor, still laughing.

The pretty nurse was there, sewing under a hanging lamp.

"If I am not indiscreet--" I began.

"Indiscretion is the better part of valor," said she, dropping her

head but raising her eyes.

So I sat down with a frivolous smile peculiar to the appreciated.

"Doubtless," said I, "you are hemming a 'kerchief."

"Doubtless I am not," she said; "this is a night-cap for Mr.

Halyard."

A mental vision of Halyard in a night-cap, very mad, nearly set me

laughing again.

"Like the King of Yvetot, he wears his crown in bed," I said,

flippantly.

"The King of Yvetot might have made that remark," she observed,

re-threading her needle.

It is unpleasant to be reproved. How large and red and hot a man's

ears feel.

To cool them, I strolled out to the porch; and, after a while, the

pretty nurse came out, too, and sat down in a chair not far away. She

probably regretted her lost opportunity to be flirted with.

"I have so little company--it is a great relief to see somebody from

the world," she said. "If you can be agreeable, I wish you would."

The idea that she had come out to see me was so agreeable that I

remained speechless until she said: "Do tell me what people are doing

in New York."

So I seated myself on the steps and talked about the portion of the

world inhabited by me, while she sat sewing in the dull light that

straggled out from the parlor windows.

She had a certain coquetry of her own, using the usual methods with an

individuality that was certainly fetching. For instance, when she lost

her needle--and, another time, when we both, on hands and knees,

hunted for her thimble.

However, directions for these pastimes may be found in contemporary

classics.

I was as entertaining as I could be--perhaps not quite as entertaining

as a young man usually thinks he is. However, we got on very well

together until I asked her tenderly who the harbor-master might be,

whom they all discussed so mysteriously.

"I do not care to speak about it," she said, with a primness of which

I had not suspected her capable.

Of course I could scarcely pursue the subject after that--and, indeed,

I did not intend to--so I began to tell her how I fancied I had seen a

man on the cliff that afternoon, and how the creature slid over the

sheer rock like a snake.

To my amazement, she asked me to kindly discontinue the account of my

adventures, in an icy tone, which left no room for protest.

"It was only a sea-otter," I tried to explain, thinking perhaps she

did not care for snake stories.

But the explanation did not appear to interest her, and I was

mortified to observe that my impression upon her was anything but

pleasant.

"She doesn't seem to like me and my stories," thought I, "but she is

too young, perhaps, to appreciate them."

So I forgave her--for she was even prettier than I had thought her at

first--and I took my leave, saying that Mr. Halyard would doubtless

direct me to my room.

Halyard was in his library, cleaning a revolver, when I entered.

"Your room is next to mine," he said; "pleasant dreams, and kindly

refrain from snoring."

"May I venture an absurd hope that you will do the same!" I replied,

politely.

That maddened him, so I hastily withdrew.

I had been asleep for at least two hours when a movement by my bedside

and a light in my eyes awakened me. I sat bolt upright in bed,

blinking at Halyard, who, clad in a dressing-gown and wearing a

night-cap, had wheeled himself into my room with one hand, while with

the other he solemnly waved a candle over my head.

"I'm so cursed lonely," he said--"come, there's a good fellow--talk to

me in your own original, impudent way."

I objected strenuously, but he looked so worn and thin, so lonely and

bad-tempered, so lovelessly grotesque, that I got out of bed and

passed a spongeful of cold water over my head.

Then I returned to bed and propped the pillows up for a back-rest,

ready to quarrel with him if it might bring some little pleasure into

his morbid existence.

"No," he said, amiably, "I'm too worried to quarrel, but I'm much

obliged for your kindly offer. I want to tell you something."

"What?" I asked, suspiciously.

"I want to ask you if you ever saw a man with gills like a fish?"

"Gills?" I repeated.

"Yes, gills! Did you?"

"No," I replied, angrily, "and neither did you."

"No, I never did," he said, in a curiously placid voice, "but there's

a man with gills like a fish who lives in the ocean out there. Oh, you

needn't look that way--nobody ever thinks of doubting my word, and I

tell you that there's a man--or a thing that looks like a man--as big

as you are, too--all slate-colored--with nasty red gills like a

fish!--and I've a witness to prove what I say!"

"Who?" I asked, sarcastically.

"The witness? My nurse."

"Oh! She saw a slate-colored man with gills?"

"Yes, she did. So did Francis Lee, superintendent of the Mica Quarry

Company at Port-of-Waves. So have a dozen men who work in the quarry.

Oh, you needn't laugh, young man. It's an old story here, and anybody

can tell you about the harbor-master."

"The harbor-master!" I exclaimed.

"Yes, that slate-colored thing with gills, that looks like a

man--and--by Heaven! _is_ a man--that's the harbor-master. Ask any

quarryman at Port-of-Waves what it is that comes purring around their

boats at the wharf and unties painters and changes the mooring of

every cat-boat in the cove at night! Ask Francis Lee what it was he

saw running and leaping up and down the shoal at sunset last Friday!

Ask anybody along the coast what sort of a thing moves about the

cliffs like a man and slides over them into the sea like an otter--"

"I saw it do that!" I burst out.

"Oh, did you? Well, _what was it?_"

Something kept me silent, although a dozen explanations flew to my

lips.

After a pause, Halyard said: "You saw the harbor-master, that's what

you saw!"

I looked at him without a word.

"Don't mistake me," he said, pettishly; "I don't think that the

harbor-master is a spirit or a sprite or a hobgoblin, or any sort of

damned rot. Neither do I believe it to be an optical illusion."

"What do you think it is?" I asked.

"I think it's a man--I think it's a branch of the human race--that's

what I think. Let me tell you something: the deepest spot in the

Atlantic Ocean is a trifle over five miles deep--and I suppose you

know that this place lies only about a quarter of a mile off this

headland. The British exploring vessel, _Gull_, Captain Marotte,

discovered and sounded it, I believe. Anyway, it's there, and it's my

belief that the profound depths are inhabited by the remnants of the

last race of amphibious human beings!"

This was childish; I did not bother to reply.

"Believe it or not, as you will," he said, angrily; "one thing I know,

and that is this: the harbor-master has taken to hanging around my

cove, and he is attracted by my nurse! I won't have it! I'll blow his

fishy gills out of his head if I ever get a shot at him! I don't care

whether it's homicide or not--anyway, it's a new kind of murder and it

attracts me!"

I gazed at him incredulously, but he was working himself into a

passion, and I did not choose to say what I thought.

"Yes, this slate-colored thing with gills goes purring and grinning

and spitting about after my nurse--when she walks, when she rows, when

she sits on the beach! Gad! It drives me nearly frantic. I won't

tolerate it, I tell you!"

"No," said I, "I wouldn't either." And I rolled over in bed convulsed

with laughter.

The next moment I heard my door slam. I smothered my mirth and rose to

close the window, for the land-wind blew cold from the forest, and a

drizzle was sweeping the carpet as far as my bed.

That luminous glare which sometimes lingers after the stars go out,

threw a trembling, nebulous radiance over sand and cove. I heard the

seething currents under the breakers' softened thunder--louder than I

ever heard it. Then, as I closed my window, lingering for a last look

at the crawling tide, I saw a man standing, ankle-deep, in the surf,

all alone there in the night. But--was it a man? For the figure

suddenly began running over the beach on all fours like a beetle,

waving its limbs like feelers. Before I could throw open the window

again it darted into the surf, and, when I leaned out into the

chilling drizzle, I saw nothing save the flat ebb crawling on the

coast--I heard nothing save the purring of bubbles on seething sands.

V

It took me a week to perfect my arrangements for transporting the

great auks, by water, to Port-of-Waves, where a lumber schooner was to

be sent from Petite Sainte Isole, chartered by me for a voyage to New

York.

I had constructed a cage made of osiers, in which my auks were to

squat until they arrived at Bronx Park. My telegrams to Professor

Farrago were brief. One merely said "Victory!" Another explained that

I wanted no assistance; and a third read: "Schooner chartered. Arrive

New York July 1st. Send furniture-van to foot of Bluff Street."

My week as a guest of Mr. Halyard proved interesting. I wrangled with

that invalid to his heart's content, I worked all day on my osier

cage, I hunted the thimble in the moonlight with the pretty nurse. We

sometimes found it.

As for the thing they called the harbor-master, I saw it a dozen

times, but always either at night or so far away and so close to the

sea that of course no trace of it remained when I reached the spot,

rifle in hand.

I had quite made up my mind that the so-called harbor-master was a

demented darky--wandered from, Heaven knows where--perhaps shipwrecked

and gone mad from his sufferings. Still, it was far from pleasant to

know that the creature was strongly attracted by the pretty nurse.

She, however, persisted in regarding the harbor-master as a

sea-creature; she earnestly affirmed that it had gills, like a fish's

gills, that it had a soft, fleshy hole for a mouth, and its eyes were

luminous and lidless and fixed.

"Besides," she said, with a shudder, "it's all slate color, like a

porpoise, and it looks as wet as a sheet of india-rubber in a

dissecting-room."

The day before I was to set sail with my auks in a cat-boat bound for

Port-of-Waves, Halyard trundled up to me in his chair and announced

his intention of going with me.

"Going where?" I asked.

"To Port-of-Waves and then to New York," he replied, tranquilly.

I was doubtful, and my lack of cordiality hurt his feelings.

"Oh, of course, if you need the sea-voyage--" I began.

"I don't; I need you," he said, savagely; "I need the stimulus of our

daily quarrel. I never disagreed so pleasantly with anybody in my

life; it agrees with me; I am a hundred per cent. better than I was

last week."

I was inclined to resent this, but something in the deep-lined face of

the invalid softened me. Besides, I had taken a hearty liking to the

old pig.

"I don't want any mawkish sentiment about it," he said, observing me

closely; "I won't permit anybody to feel sorry for me--do you

understand?"

"I'll trouble you to use a different tone in addressing me," I

replied, hotly; "I'll feel sorry for you if I choose to!" And our

usual quarrel proceeded, to his deep satisfaction.

By six o'clock next evening I had Halyard's luggage stowed away in the

cat-boat, and the pretty nurse's effects corded down, with the newly

hatched auk-chicks in a hat-box on top. She and I placed the osier

cage aboard, securing it firmly, and then, throwing tablecloths over

the auks' heads, we led those simple and dignified birds down the path

and across the plank at the little wooden pier. Together we locked up

the house, while Halyard stormed at us both and wheeled himself

furiously up and down the beach below. At the last moment she forgot

her thimble. But we found it, I forget where.

"Come on!" shouted Halyard, waving his shawls furiously; "what the

devil are you about up there?"

He received our explanation with a sniff, and we trundled him aboard

without further ceremony.

"Don't run me across the plank like a steamer trunk!" he shouted, as I

shot him dexterously into the cock-pit. But the wind was dying away,

and I had no time to dispute with him then.

The sun was setting above the pine-clad ridge as our sail flapped and

partly filled, and I cast off, and began a long tack, east by south,

to avoid the spouting rocks on our starboard bow.

The sea-birds rose in clouds as we swung across the shoal, the black

surf-ducks scuttered out to sea, the gulls tossed their sun-tipped

wings in the ocean, riding the rollers like bits of froth.

Already we were sailing slowly out across that great hole in the

ocean, five miles deep, the most profound sounding ever taken in the

Atlantic. The presence of great heights or great depths, seen or

unseen, always impresses the human mind--perhaps oppresses it. We were

very silent; the sunlight stain on cliff and beach deepened to

crimson, then faded into sombre purple bloom that lingered long after

the rose-tint died out in the zenith.

Our progress was slow; at times, although the sail filled with the

rising land breeze, we scarcely seemed to move at all.

"Of course," said the pretty nurse, "we couldn't be aground in the

deepest hole in the Atlantic."

"Scarcely," said Halyard, sarcastically, "unless we're grounded on a

whale."

"What's that soft thumping?" I asked. "Have we run afoul of a barrel

or log?"

It was almost too dark to see, but I leaned over the rail and swept

the water with my hand.

Instantly something smooth glided under it, like the back of a great

fish, and I jerked my hand back to the tiller. At the same moment the

whole surface of the water seemed to begin to purr, with a sound like

the breaking of froth in a champagne-glass.

"What's the matter with you?" asked Halyard, sharply.

"A fish came up under my hand," I said; "a porpoise or something--"

With a low cry, the pretty nurse clasped my arm in both her hands.

"Listen!" she whispered. "It's purring around the boat."

"What the devil's purring?" shouted Halyard. "I won't have anything

purring around me!"

At that moment, to my amazement, I saw that the boat had stopped

entirely, although the sail was full and the small pennant fluttered

from the mast-head. Something, too, was tugging at the rudder,

twisting and jerking it until the tiller strained and creaked in my

hand. All at once it snapped; the tiller swung useless and the boat

whirled around, heeling in the stiffening wind, and drove shoreward.

It was then that I, ducking to escape the boom, caught a glimpse of

something ahead--something that a sudden wave seemed to toss on deck

and leave there, wet and flapping--a man with round, fixed, fishy

eyes, and soft, slaty skin.

But the horror of the thing were the two gills that swelled and

relaxed spasmodically, emitting a rasping, purring sound--two gasping,

blood-red gills, all fluted and scolloped and distended.

Frozen with amazement and repugnance, I stared at the creature; I felt

the hair stirring on my head and the icy sweat on my forehead.

"It's the harbor-master!" screamed Halyard.

The harbor-master had gathered himself into a wet lump, squatting

motionless in the bows under the mast; his lidless eyes were

phosphorescent, like the eyes of living codfish. After a while I felt

that either fright or disgust was going to strangle me where I sat,

but it was only the arms of the pretty nurse clasped around me in a

frenzy of terror.

There was not a fire-arm aboard that we could get at. Halyard's hand

crept backward where a steel-shod boat-hook lay, and I also made a

clutch at it. The next moment I had it in my hand, and staggered

forward, but the boat was already tumbling shoreward among the

breakers, and the next I knew the harbor-master ran at me like a

colossal rat, just as the boat rolled over and over through the surf,

spilling freight and passengers among the sea-weed-covered rocks.

When I came to myself I was thrashing about knee-deep in a rocky pool,

blinded by the water and half suffocated, while under my feet, like a

stranded porpoise, the harbor-master made the water boil in his

efforts to upset me. But his limbs seemed soft and boneless; he had no

nails, no teeth, and he bounced and thumped and flapped and splashed

like a fish, while I rained blows on him with the boat-hook that

sounded like blows on a football. And all the while his gills were

blowing out and frothing, and purring, and his lidless eyes looked

into mine, until, nauseated and trembling, I dragged myself back to

the beach, where already the pretty nurse alternately wrung her hands

and her petticoats in ornamental despair.

Beyond the cove, Halyard was bobbing up and down, afloat in his

invalid's chair, trying to steer shoreward. He was the maddest man I

ever saw.

"Have you killed that rubber-headed thing yet?" he roared.

"I can't kill it," I shouted, breathlessly. "I might as well try to

kill a football!"

"Can't you punch a hole in it?" he bawled. "If I can only get at

him--"

His words were drowned in a thunderous splashing, a roar of great,

broad flippers beating the sea, and I saw the gigantic forms of my two

great auks, followed by their chicks, blundering past in a shower of

spray, driving headlong out into the ocean.

"Oh, Lord!" I said. "I can't stand that," and, for the first time in

my life, I fainted peacefully--and appropriately--at the feet of the

pretty nurse.

      *       *       *       *       *

It is within the range of possibility that this story may be doubted.

It doesn't matter; nothing can add to the despair of a man who has

lost two great auks.

As for Halyard, nothing affects him--except his involuntary sea-bath,

and that did him so much good that he writes me from the South that

he's going on a walking-tour through Switzerland--if I'll join him. I

might have joined him if he had not married the pretty nurse. I wonder

whether--But, of course, this is no place for speculation.

In regard to the harbor-master, you may believe it or not, as you

choose. But if you hear of any great auks being found, kindly throw a

table-cloth over their heads and notify the authorities at the new

Zoological Gardens in Bronx Park, New York. The reward is ten thousand

dollars.

VI

Before I proceed any further, common decency requires me to reassure

my readers concerning my intentions, which, Heaven knows, are far from

flippant.

To separate fact from fancy has always been difficult for me, but now

that I have had the honor to be chosen secretary of the Zoological

Gardens in Bronx Park, I realize keenly that unless I give up writing

fiction nobody will believe what I write about science. Therefore it

is to a serious and unimaginative public that I shall hereafter

address myself; and I do it in the modest confidence that I shall

neither be distrusted nor doubted, although unfortunately I still

write in that irrational style which suggests covert frivolity, and

for which I am undergoing a course of treatment in English literature

at Columbia College. Now, having promised to avoid originality and

confine myself to facts, I shall tell what I have to tell concerning

the dingue, the mammoth, and--something else.

For some weeks it had been rumored that Professor Farrago, president

of the Bronx Park Zoological Society, would resign, to accept an

enormous salary as manager of Barnum & Bailey's circus. He was now

with the circus in London, and had promised to cable his decision

before the day was over.

I hoped he would decide to remain with us. I was his secretary and

particular favorite, and I viewed, without enthusiasm, the advent of a

new president, who might shake us all out of our congenial and

carefully excavated ruts. However, it was plain that the trustees of

the society expected the resignation of Professor Farrago, for they

had been in secret session all day, considering the names of possible

candidates to fill Professor Farrago's large, old-fashioned shoes.

These preparations worried me, for I could scarcely expect another

chief as kind and considerate as Professor Leonidas Farrago.

That afternoon in June I left my office in the Administration Building

in Bronx Park and strolled out under the trees for a breath of air.

But the heat of the sun soon drove me to seek shelter under a little

square arbor, a shady retreat covered with purple wistaria and

honeysuckle. As I entered the arbor I noticed that there were three

other people seated there--an elderly lady with masculine features and

short hair, a younger lady sitting beside her, and, farther away, a

rough-looking young man reading a book.

For a moment I had an indistinct impression of having met the elder

lady somewhere, and under circumstances not entirely agreeable, but

beyond a stony and indifferent glance she paid no attention to me. As

for the younger lady, she did not look at me at all. She was very

young, with pretty eyes, a mass of silky brown hair, and a skin as

fresh as a rose which had just been rained on.

With that delicacy peculiar to lonely scientific bachelors, I modestly

sat down beside the rough young man, although there was more room

beside the younger lady. "Some lazy loafer reading a penny dreadful,"

I thought, glancing at him, then at the title of his book. Hearing me

beside him, he turned around and blinked over his shabby shoulder, and

the movement uncovered the page he had been silently conning. The

volume in his hands was Darwin's famous monograph on the monodactyl.

He noticed the astonishment on my face and smiled uneasily, shifting

the short clay pipe in his mouth.

"I guess," he observed, "that this here book is too much for me,

mister."

"It's rather technical," I replied, smiling.

"Yes," he said, in vague admiration; "it's fierce, ain't it?"

After a silence I asked him if he would tell me why he had chosen

Darwin as a literary pastime.

"Well," he said, placidly, "I was tryin' to read about annermals, but

I'm up against a word-slinger this time all right. Now here's a

gum-twister," and he painfully spelled out m-o-n-o-d-a-c-t-y-l,

breathing hard all the while.

"Monodactyl," I said, "means a single-toed creature."

He turned the page with alacrity. "Is that the beast he's talkin'

about?" he asked.

The illustration he pointed out was a wood-cut representing Darwin's

reconstruction of the dingue from the fossil bones in the British

Museum. It was a well-executed wood-cut, showing a dingue in the

foreground and, to give scale, a mammoth in the middle distance.

"Yes," I replied, "that is the dingue."

"I've seen one," he observed, calmly.

I smiled and explained that the dingue had been extinct for some

thousands of years.

"Oh, I guess not," he replied, with cool optimism. Then he placed a

grimy forefinger on the mammoth.

"I've seen them things, too," he remarked.

Again I patiently pointed out his error, and suggested that he

referred to the elephant.

"Elephant be blowed!" he replied, scornfully. "I guess I know what I

seen. An' I seen that there thing you call a dingue, too."

Not wishing to prolong a futile discussion, I remained silent. After a

moment he wheeled around, removing his pipe from his hard mouth.

"Did you ever hear tell of Graham's Glacier?" he demanded.

"Certainly," I replied, astonished; "it's the southernmost glacier in

British America."

"Right," he said. "And did you ever hear tell of the Hudson Mountings,

mister?"

"Yes," I replied.

"What's behind 'em?" he snapped out.

"Nobody knows," I answered. "They are considered impassable."

"They ain't, though," he said, doggedly; "I've been behind 'em."

"Really!" I replied, tiring of his yarn.

"Ya-as, reely," he repeated, sullenly. Then he began to fumble and

search through the pages of his book until he found what he wanted.

"Mister," he said, "jest read that out loud, please."

The passage he indicated was the famous chapter beginning:

   "Is the mammoth extinct? Is the dingue extinct? Probably. And

   yet the aborigines of British America maintain the contrary.

   Probably both the mammoth and the dingue are extinct; but

   until expeditions have penetrated and explored not only the

   unknown region in Alaska but also that hidden table-land

   beyond the Graham Glacier and the Hudson Mountains, it will

   not be possible to definitely announce the total extinction of

   either the mammoth or the dingue."

When I had read it, slowly, for his benefit, he brought his hand down

smartly on one knee and nodded rapidly.

"Mister," he said, "that gent knows a thing or two, and don't you

forgit it!" Then he demanded, abruptly, how I knew he hadn't been

behind the Graham Glacier.

I explained.

"Shucks!" he said; "there's a road five miles wide inter that there

table-land. Mister, I ain't been in New York long; I come inter port a

week ago on the _Arctic Belle_, whaler. I was in the Hudson range when

that there Graham Glacier bust up--"

"What!" I exclaimed.

"Didn't you know it?" he asked. "Well, mebbe it ain't in the papers,

but it busted all right--blowed up by a earthquake an' volcano

combine. An', mister, it was oreful. My, how I did run!"

"Do you mean to tell me that some convulsion of the earth has

shattered the Graham Glacier?" I asked.

"Convulsions? Ya-as, an' fits, too," he said, sulkily. "The hull blame

thing dropped inter a hole. An' say, mister, home an' mother is good

enough fur me now."

I stared at him stupidly.

"Once," he said, "I ketched pelts fur them sharps at Hudson Bay, like

any yaller husky, but the things I seen arter that convulsion-fit--the

_things I seen behind the Hudson Mountings_--don't make me hanker

arter no life on the pe-rarie wild, lemme tell yer. I may be a Mother

Carey chicken, but this chicken has got enough."

After a long silence I picked up his book again and pointed at the

picture of the mammoth.

"What color is it?" I asked.

"Kinder red an' brown," he answered, promptly. "It's woolly, too."

Astounded, I pointed to the dingue.

"One-toed," he said, quickly; "makes a noise like a bell when

scutterin' about."

Intensely excited, I laid my hand on his arm. "My society will give

you a thousand dollars," I said, "if you pilot me inside the Hudson

table-land and show me either a mammoth or a dingue!"

He looked me calmly in the eye.

"Mister," he said, slowly, "have you got a million for to squander on

me?"

"No," I said, suspiciously.

"Because," he went on, "it wouldn't be enough. Home an' mother suits

me now."

He picked up his book and rose. In vain I asked his name and address;

in vain I begged him to dine with me--to become my honored guest.

"Nit," he said, shortly, and shambled off down the path.

But I was not going to lose him like that. I rose and deliberately

started to stalk him. It was easy. He shuffled along, pulling on his

pipe, and I after him.

It was growing a little dark, although the sun still reddened the tops

of the maples. Afraid of losing him in the falling dusk, I once more

approached him and laid my hand upon his ragged sleeve.

"Look here," he cried, wheeling about, "I want you to quit follerin'

me. Don't I tell you money can't make me go back to them mountings!"

And as I attempted to speak, he suddenly tore off his cap and pointed

to his head. His hair was white as snow.

"That's what come of monkeyin' inter your cursed mountings," he

shouted, fiercely. "There's things in there what no Christian oughter

see. Lemme alone er I'll bust yer."

He shambled on, doubled fists swinging by his side. The next moment,

setting my teeth obstinately, I followed him and caught him by the

park gate. At my hail he whirled around with a snarl, but I grabbed

him by the throat and backed him violently against the park wall.

"You invaluable ruffian," I said, "now you listen to me. I live in

that big stone building, and I'll give you a thousand dollars to take

me behind the Graham Glacier. Think it over and call on me when you

are in a pleasanter frame of mind. If you don't come by noon to-morrow

I'll go to the Graham Glacier without you."

He was attempting to kick me all the time, but I managed to avoid him,

and when I had finished I gave him a shove which almost loosened his

spinal column. He went reeling out across the sidewalk, and when he

had recovered his breath and his balance he danced with displeasure

and displayed a vocabulary that astonished me. However, he kept his

distance.

As I turned back into the park, satisfied that he would not follow,

the first person I saw was the elderly, stony-faced lady of the

wistaria arbor advancing on tiptoe. Behind her came the younger lady

with cheeks like a rose that had been rained on.

Instantly it occurred to me that they had followed us, and at the same

moment I knew who the stony-faced lady was. Angry, but polite, I

lifted my hat and saluted her, and she, probably furious at having

been caught tip-toeing after me, cut me dead. The younger lady passed

me with face averted, but even in the dusk I could see the tip of one

little ear turn scarlet.

Walking on hurriedly, I entered the Administration Building, and found

Professor Lesard, of the reptilian department, preparing to leave.

"Don't you do it," I said, sharply; "I've got exciting news."

"I'm only going to the theatre," he replied. "It's a good show--Adam

and Eve; there's a snake in it, you know. It's in my line."

"I can't help it," I said; and I told him briefly what had occurred in

the arbor.

"But that's not all," I continued, savagely. "Those women followed us,

and who do you think one of them turned out to be? Well, it was

Professor Smawl, of Barnard College, and I'll bet every pair of boots

I own that she starts for the Graham Glacier within a week. Idiot that

I was!" I exclaimed, smiting my head with both hands. "I never

recognized her until I saw her tip-toeing and craning her neck to

listen. Now she knows about the glacier; she heard every word that

young ruffian said, and she'll go to the glacier if it's only to

forestall me."

Professor Lesard looked anxious. He knew that Miss Smawl, professor of

natural history at Barnard College, had long desired an appointment

at the Bronx Park gardens. It was even said she had a chance of

succeeding Professor Farrago as president, but that, of course, must

have been a joke. However, she haunted the gardens, annoying the

keepers by persistently poking the animals with her umbrella. On one

occasion she sent us word that she desired to enter the tigers'

enclosure for the purpose of making experiments in hypnotism.

Professor Farrago was absent, but I took it upon myself to send back

word that I feared the tigers might injure her. The miserable small

boy who took my message informed her that I was afraid she might

injure the tigers, and the unpleasant incident almost cost me my

position.

"I am quite convinced," said I to Professor Lesard, "that Miss Smawl

is perfectly capable of abusing the information she overheard, and of

starting herself to explore a region that, by all the laws of decency,

justice, and prior claim, belongs to me."

"Well," said Lesard, with a peculiar laugh, "it's not certain whether

you can go at all."

"Professor Farrago will authorize me," I said, confidently.

"Professor Farrago has resigned," said Lesard. It was a bolt from a

clear sky.

"Good Heavens!" I blurted out. "What will become of the rest of us,

then?"

"I don't know," he replied. "The trustees are holding a meeting over

in the Administration Building to elect a new president for us. It

depends on the new president what becomes of us."

"Lesard," I said, hoarsely, "you don't suppose that they could

possibly elect Miss Smawl as our president, do you?"

He looked at me askance and bit his cigar.

"I'd be in a nice position, wouldn't I?" said I, anxiously.

"The lady would probably make you walk the plank for that tiger

business," he replied.

"But I didn't do it," I protested, with sickly eagerness. "Besides, I

explained to her--"

He said nothing, and I stared at him, appalled by the possibility of

reporting to Professor Smawl for instructions next morning.

"See here, Lesard," I said, nervously, "I wish you would step over to

the Administration Building and ask the trustees if I may prepare for

this expedition. Will you?"

He glanced at me sympathetically. It was quite natural for me to wish

to secure my position before the new president was elected--especially

as there was a chance of the new president being Miss Smawl.

"You are quite right," he said; "the Graham Glacier would be the

safest place for you if our next president is to be the Lady of the

Tigers." And he started across the park puffing his cigar.

I sat down on the doorstep to wait for his return, not at all charmed

with the prospect. It made me furious, too, to see my ambition nipped

with the frost of a possible veto from Miss Smawl.

"If she is elected," thought I, "there is nothing for me but to

resign--to avoid the inconvenience of being shown the door. Oh, I wish

I had allowed her to hypnotize the tigers!"

Thoughts of crime flitted through my mind. Miss Smawl would not remain

president--or anything else very long--if she persisted in her desire

for the tigers. And then when she called for help I would pretend not

to hear.

Aroused from criminal meditation by the return of Professor Lesard, I

jumped up and peered into his perplexed eyes. "They've elected a

president," he said, "but they won't tell us who the president is

until to-morrow."

"You don't think--" I stammered.

"I don't know. But I know this: the new president sanctions the

expedition to the Graham Glacier, and directs you to choose an

assistant and begin preparations for four people."

Overjoyed, I seized his hand and said, "Hurray!" in a voice weak with

emotion. "The old dragon isn't elected this time," I added,

triumphantly.

"By-the-way," he said, "who was the other dragon with her in the park

this evening?"

I described her in a more modulated voice.

"Whew!" observed Professor Lesard, "that must be her assistant,

Professor Dorothy Van Twiller! She's the prettiest blue-stocking in

town."

With this curious remark my confrère followed me into my room and

wrote down the list of articles I dictated to him. The list included a

complete camping equipment for myself and three other men.

"Am I one of those other men?" inquired Lesard, with an unhappy smile.

Before I could reply my door was shoved open and a figure appeared at

the threshold, cap in hand.

"What do you want?" I asked, sternly; but my heart was beating high

with triumph.

The figure shuffled; then came a subdued voice:

"Mister, I guess I'll go back to the Graham Glacier along with you.

I'm Billy Spike, an' it kinder scares me to go back to them Hudson

Mountains, but somehow, mister, when you choked me and kinder walked

me off on my ear, why, mister, I kinder took to you like."

There was absolute silence for a minute; then he said:

"So if you go, I guess I'll go, too, mister."

"For a thousand dollars?"

"Fur nawthin'," he muttered--"or what you like."

"All right, Billy," I said, briskly; "just look over those rifles and

ammunition and see that everything's sound."

He slowly lifted his tough young face and gave me a doglike glance.

They were hard eyes, but there was gratitude in them.

"You'll get your throat slit," whispered Lesard.

"Not while Billy's with me," I replied, cheerfully.

Late that night, as I was preparing for pleasant dreams, a knock came

on my door and a telegraph-messenger handed me a note, which I read,

shivering in my bare feet, although the thermometer marked eighty

Fahrenheit:

   "You will immediately leave for the Hudson Mountains via

   Wellman Bay, Labrador, there to await further instructions.

   Equipment for yourself and one assistant will include

   following articles" [here began a list of camping utensils,

   scientific paraphernalia, and provisions]. "The steamer

   _Penguin_ sails at five o'clock to-morrow morning. Kindly find

   yourself on board at that hour. Any excuse for not complying

   with these orders will be accepted as your resignation.

               "SUSAN SMAWL,

            "President Bronx Zoological Society."

"Lesard!" I shouted, trembling with fury.

He appeared at his door, chastely draped in pajamas; and he read the

insolent letter with terrified alacrity.

"What are you going to do--resign?" he asked, much frightened.

"Do!" I snarled, grinding my teeth; "I'm going--that's what I'm going

to do!"

"But--but you can't get ready and catch that steamer, too," he

stammered.

He did not know me.

VII

And so it came about that one calm evening towards the end of June,

William Spike and I went into camp under the southerly shelter of that

vast granite wall called the Hudson Mountains, there to await the

promised "further instructions."

It had been a tiresome trip by steamer to Anticosti, from there by

schooner to Widgeon Bay, then down the coast and up the Cape Clear

River to Port Porpoise. There we bought three pack-mules and started

due north on the Great Fur Trail. The second day out we passed Fort

Boisé, the last outpost of civilization, and on the sixth day we were

travelling eastward under the granite mountain parapets.

On the evening of the sixth day out from Fort Boisé we went into camp

for the last time before entering the unknown land.

I could see it already through my field-glasses, and while William was

building the fire I climbed up among the rocks above and sat down,

glasses levelled, to study the prospect.

There was nothing either extraordinary or forbidding in the landscape

which stretched out beyond; to the right the solid palisade of granite

cut off the view; to the left the palisade continued, an endless

barrier of sheer cliffs crowned with pine and hemlock. But the

interesting section of the landscape lay almost directly in front of

me--a rent in the mountain-wall through which appeared to run a level,

arid plain, miles wide, and as smooth and even as a highroad.

There could be no doubt concerning the significance of that rent in

the solid mountain-wall; and, moreover, it was exactly as William

Spike had described it. However, I called to him and he came up from

the smoky camp-fire, axe on shoulder.

"Yep," he said, squatting beside me; "the Graham Glacier used to

meander through that there hole, but somethin' went wrong with the

earth's in'ards an' there was a bust-up."

"And you saw it, William?" I said, with a sigh of envy.

"Hey? Seen it? Sure I seen it! I was to Spoutin' Springs, twenty mile

west, with a bale o' blue fox an' otter pelt. Fust I knew them geysers

begun for to groan egregious like, an' I seen the caribou gallopin'

hell-bent south. 'This climate,' sez I, 'is too bracin' for me,' so I

struck a back trail an' landed onto a hill. Then them geysers blowed

up, one arter the next, an' I heard somethin' kinder cave in between

here an' China. I disremember things what happened. Somethin' throwed

me down, but I couldn't stay there, for the blamed ground was runnin'

like a river--all wavy-like, an' the sky hit me on the back o' me

head."

"And then?" I urged, in that new excitement which every repetition of

the story revived. I had heard it all twenty times since we left New

York, but mere repetition could not apparently satisfy me.

"Then," continued William, "the whole world kinder went off like a

fire-cracker, an' I come too, an' ran like--"

"I know," said I, cutting him short, for I had become wearied of the

invariable profanity which lent a lurid ending to his narrative.

"After that," I continued, "you went through the rent in the

mountains?"

"Sure."

"And you saw a dingue and a creature that resembled a mammoth?"

"Sure," he repeated, sulkily.

"And you saw something else?" I always asked this question; it

fascinated me to see the sullen fright flicker in William's eyes, and

the mechanical backward glance, as though what he had seen might still

be behind him.

He had never answered this third question but once, and that time he

fairly snarled in my face as he growled: "I seen what no Christian

oughter see."

So when I repeated: "And you saw something else, William?" he gave me

a wicked, frightened leer, and shuffled off to feed the mules.

Flattery, entreaties, threats left him unmoved; he never told me what

the third thing was that he had seen behind the Hudson Mountains.

William had retired to mix up with his mules; I resumed my binoculars

and my silent inspection of the great, smooth path left by the Graham

Glacier when something or other exploded that vast mass of ice into

vapor.

The arid plain wound out from the unknown country like a river, and I

thought then, and think now, that when the glacier was blown into

vapor the vapor descended in the most terrific rain the world has ever

seen, and poured through the newly blasted mountain-gateway, sweeping

the earth to bed-rock. To corroborate this theory, miles to the

southward I could see the débris winding out across the land towards

Wellman Bay, but as the terminal moraine of the vanished glacier

formerly ended there I could not be certain that my theory was

correct. Owing to the formation of the mountains I could not see more

than half a mile into the unknown country. What I could see appeared

to be nothing but the continuation of the glacier's path, scored out

by the cloud-burst, and swept as smooth as a floor.

Sitting there, my heart beating heavily with excitement, I looked

through the evening glow at the endless, pine-crowned mountain-wall

with its giant's gateway pierced for me! And I thought of all the

explorers and the unknown heroes--trappers, Indians, humble

naturalists, perhaps--who had attempted to scale that sheer barricade

and had died there or failed, beaten back from those eternal cliffs.

Eternal? No! For the Eternal Himself had struck the rock, and it had

sprung asunder, thundering obedience.

In the still evening air the smoke from the fire below mounted in a

straight, slender pillar, like the smoke from those ancient altars

builded before the first blood had been shed on earth.

The evening wind stirred the pines; a tiny spring brook made thin

harmony among the rocks; a murmur came from the quiet camp. It was

William adjuring his mules. In the deepening twilight I descended the

hillock, stepping cautiously among the rocks.

Then, suddenly, as I stood outside the reddening ring of firelight,

far in the depths of the unknown country, far behind the

mountain-wall, a sound grew on the quiet air. William heard it and

turned his face to the mountains. The sound faded to a vibration which

was felt, not heard. Then once more I began to divine a vibration in

the air, gathering in distant volume until it became a sound, lasting

the space of a spoken word, fading to vibration, then silence.

Was it a cry?

I looked at William inquiringly. He had quietly fainted away.

I got him to the little brook and poked his head into the icy water,

and after a while he sat up pluckily.

To an indignant question he replied: "Naw, I ain't a-cussin' you.

Lemme be or I'll have fits."

"Was it that sound that scared you?" I asked.

"Ya-as," he replied with a dauntless shiver.

"Was it the voice of the mammoth?" I persisted, excitedly. "Speak,

William, or I'll drag you about and kick you!"

He replied that it was neither a mammoth nor a dingue, and added a

strong request for privacy, which I was obliged to grant, as I could

not torture another word out of him.

I slept little that night; the exciting proximity of the unknown land

was too much for me. But although I lay awake for hours, I heard

nothing except the tinkle of water among the rocks and the plover

calling from some hidden marsh. At daybreak I shot a ptarmigan which

had walked into camp, and the shot set the echoes yelling among the

mountains.

William, sullen and heavy-eyed, dressed the bird, and we broiled it

for breakfast.

Neither he nor I alluded to the sound we had heard the night before;

he boiled water and cleaned up the mess-kit, and I pottered about

among the rocks for another ptarmigan. Wearying of this, presently, I

returned to the mules and William, and sat down for a smoke.

"It strikes me," I said, "that our instructions to 'await further

orders' are idiotic. How are we to receive 'further orders' here?"

William did not know.

"You don't suppose," said I, in sudden disgust, "that Miss Smawl

believes there is a summer hotel and daily mail service in the Hudson

Mountains?"

William thought perhaps she did suppose something of the sort.

It irritated me beyond measure to find myself at last on the very

border of the unknown country, and yet checked, held back, by the

irresponsible orders of a maiden lady named Smawl. However, my salary

depended upon the whim of that maiden lady, and although I fussed and

fumed and glared at the mountains through my glasses, I realized that

I could not stir without the permission of Miss Smawl. At times this

grotesque situation became almost unbearable, and I often went away by

myself and indulged in fantasies, firing my gun off and pretending I

had hit Miss Smawl by mistake. At such moments I would imagine I was

free at last to plunge into the strange country, and I would squat on

a rock and dream of bagging my first mammoth.

The time passed heavily; the tension increased with each new day. I

shot ptarmigan and kept our table supplied with brook-trout. William

chopped wood, conversed with his mules, and cooked very badly.

"See here," I said, one morning; "we have been in camp a week to-day,

and I can't stand your cooking another minute!"

William, who was washing a saucepan, looked up and begged me

sarcastically to accept the _cordon bleu_. But I know only how to cook

eggs, and there were no eggs within some hundred miles.

To get the flavor of the breakfast out of my mouth I walked up to my

favorite hillock and sat down for a smoke. The next moment, however, I

was on my feet, cheering excitedly and shouting for William.

"Here come 'further instructions' at last!" I cried, pointing to the

southward, where two dots on the grassy plain were imperceptibly

moving in our direction.

"People on mules," said William, without enthusiasm.

"They must be messengers for us!" I cried, in chaste joy. "Three

cheers for the northward trail, William, and the mischief take

Miss--Well, never mind now," I added.

"On them approachin' mules," observed William, "there is wimmen."

I stared at him for a second, then attempted to strike him. He dodged

wearily and repeated his incredible remark: "Ya-as, there

is--wimmen--two female ladies onto them there mules."

"Bring me my glasses!" I said, hoarsely; "bring me those glasses,

William, because I shall destroy you if you don't!"

Somewhat awed by my calm fury, he hastened back to camp and returned

with the binoculars. It was a breathless moment. I adjusted the lenses

with a steady hand and raised them.

Now, of all unexpected sights my fate may reserve for me in the

future, I trust--nay, I know--that none can ever prove as unwelcome as

the sight I perceived through my binoculars. For upon the backs of

those distant mules were two women, and the first one was Miss Smawl!

Upon her head she wore a helmet, from which fluttered a green veil.

Otherwise she was clothed in tweeds; and at moments she beat upon her

mule with a thick umbrella.

Surfeited with the sickening spectacle, I sat down on a rock and tried

to cry.

"I told yer so," observed William; but I was too tired to attack him.

When the caravan rode into camp I was myself again, smilingly prepared

for the worst, and I advanced, cap in hand, followed furtively by

William.

"Welcome," I said, violently injecting joy into my voice. "Welcome,

Professor Smawl, to the Hudson Mountains!"

"Kindly take my mule," she said, climbing down to mother earth.

"William," I said, with dignity, "take the lady's mule."

Miss Smawl gave me a stolid glance, then made directly for the

camp-fire, where a kettle of game-broth simmered over the coals. The

last I saw of her she was smelling of it, and I turned my back and

advanced towards the second lady pilgrim, prepared to be civil until

snubbed.

Now, it is quite certain that never before had William Spike or I

beheld so much feminine loveliness in one human body on the back of a

mule. She was clad in the daintiest of shooting-kilts, yet there was

nothing mannish about her except the way she rode the mule, and that

only accentuated her adorable femininity.

I remembered what Professor Lesard had said about blue stockings--but

Miss Dorothy Van Twiller's were gray, turned over at the tops, and

disappearing into canvas spats buckled across a pair of slim

shooting-boots.

"Welcome," said I, attempting to restrain a too violent cordiality.

"Welcome, Professor Van Twiller, to the Hudson Mountains."

"Thank you," she replied, accepting my assistance very sweetly; "it is

a pleasure to meet a human being again."

I glanced at Miss Smawl. She was eating game-broth, but she resembled

a human being in a general way.

"I should very much like to wash my hands," said Professor Van

Twiller, drawing the buckskin gloves from her slim fingers.

I brought towels and soap and conducted her to the brook.

She called to Professor Smawl to join her, and her voice was

crystalline; Professor Smawl declined, and her voice was batrachian.

"She is so hungry!" observed Miss Van Twiller. "I am very thankful we

are here at last, for we've had a horrid time. You see, we neither of

us know how to cook."

I wondered what they would say to William's cooking, but I held my

peace and retired, leaving the little brook to mirror the sweetest

face that was ever bathed in water.

VIII

That afternoon our expedition, in two sections, moved forward. The

first section comprised myself and all the mules; the second section

was commanded by Professor Smawl, followed by Professor Van Twiller,

armed with a tiny shot-gun. William, loaded down with the ladies'

toilet articles, skulked in the rear. I say skulked; there was no

other word for it.

"So you're a guide, are you?" observed Professor Smawl when William,

cap in hand, had approached her with well-meant advice. "The woods are

full of lazy guides. Pick up those Gladstone bags! I'll do the guiding

for this expedition."

Made cautious by William's humiliation, I associated with the mules

exclusively. Nevertheless, Professor Smawl had her hard eyes on me,

and I realized she meant mischief.

The encounter took place just as I, driving the five mules, entered

the great mountain gateway, thrilled with anticipation which almost

amounted to foreboding. As I was about to set foot across the

imaginary frontier which divided the world from the unknown land,

Professor Smawl hailed me and I halted until she came up.

"As commander of this expedition," she said, somewhat out of breath,

"I desire to be the first living creature who has ever set foot

behind the Graham Glacier. Kindly step aside, young sir!"

"Madam," said I, rigid with disappointment, "my guide, William Spike,

entered that unknown land a year ago."

"He _says_ he did," sneered Professor Smawl.

"As you like," I replied; "but it is scarcely generous to forestall

the person whose stupidity gave you the clew to this unexplored

region."

"You mean yourself?" she asked, with a stony stare.

"I do," said I, firmly.

Her little, hard eyes grew harder, and she clutched her umbrella until

the steel ribs crackled.

"Young man," she said, insolently; "if I could have gotten rid of you

I should have done so the day I was appointed president. But Professor

Farrago refused to resign unless your position was assured, subject,

of course, to your good behavior. Frankly, I don't like you, and I

consider your views on science ridiculous, and if an opportunity

presents itself I will be most happy to request your resignation.

Kindly collect your mules and follow me."

Mortified beyond measure, I collected my mules and followed my

president into the strange country behind the Hudson Mountains--I who

had aspired to lead, compelled to follow in the rear, driving mules.

The journey was monotonous at first, but we shortly ascended a ridge

from which we could see, stretching out below us, the wilderness

where, save the feet of William Spike, no human feet had passed.

As for me, tingling with enthusiasm, I forgot my chagrin, I forgot the

gross injustice, I forgot my mules. "Excelsior!" I cried, running up

and down the ridge in uncontrollable excitement at the sublime

spectacle of forest, mountain, and valley all set with little lakes.

"Excelsior!" repeated an excited voice at my side, and Professor Van

Twiller sprang to the ridge beside me, her eyes bright as stars.

Exalted, inspired by the mysterious beauty of the view, we clasped

hands and ran up and down the grassy ridge.

"That will do," said Professor Smawl, coldly, as we raced about like a

pair of distracted kittens. The chilling voice broke the spell; I

dropped Professor Van Twiller's hand and sat down on a bowlder, aching

with wrath.

Late that afternoon we halted beside a tiny lake, deep in the unknown

wilderness, where purple and scarlet bergamot choked the shores and

the spruce-partridge strutted fearlessly under our very feet. Here we

pitched our two tents. The afternoon sun slanted through the pines;

the lake glittered; acres of golden brake perfumed the forest silence,

broken only at rare intervals by the distant thunder of a partridge

drumming.

Professor Smawl ate heavily and retired to her tent to lie torpid

until evening. William drove the unloaded mules into an intervale full

of sun-cured, fragrant grasses; I sat down beside Professor Van

Twiller.

The wilderness is electric. Once within the influence of its currents,

human beings become positively or negatively charged, violently

attracting or repelling each other.

"There is something the matter with this air," said Professor Van

Twiller. "It makes me feel as though I were desperately enamoured of

the entire human race."

She leaned back against a pine, smiling vaguely, and crossing one knee

over the other.

Now I am not bold by temperament, and, normally, I fear ladies.

Therefore it surprised me to hear myself begin a frivolous _causerie_,

replying to her pretty epigrams with epigrams of my own, advancing to

the borderland of badinage, fearlessly conducting her and myself over

that delicate frontier to meet upon the terrain of undisguised

flirtation.

It was clear that she was out for a holiday. The seriousness and

restraints of twenty-two years she had left behind her in the

civilized world, and now, with a shrug of her young shoulders, she

unloosened her burden of reticence, dignity, and responsibility and

let the whole load fall with a discreet thud.

"Even hares go mad in March," she said, seriously. "I know you intend

to flirt with me--and I don't care. Anyway, there's nothing else to

do, is there?"

"Suppose," said I, solemnly, "I should take you behind that big tree

and attempt to kiss you!"

The prospect did not appear to appall her, so I looked around with

that sneaking yet conciliatory caution peculiar to young men who are

novices in the art. Before I had satisfied myself that neither William

nor the mules were observing us, Professor Van Twiller rose to her

feet and took a short step backward.

"Let's set traps for a dingue," she said, "will you?"

I looked at the big tree, undecided. "Come on," she said; "I'll show

you how." And away we went into the woods, she leading, her kilts

flashing through the golden half-light.

Now I had not the faintest notion how to trap the dingue, but

Professor Van Twiller asserted that it formerly fed on the tender tips

of the spruce, quoting Darwin as her authority.

So we gathered a bushel of spruce-tips, piled them on the bank of a

little stream, then built a miniature stockade around the bait, a foot

high. I roofed this with hemlock, then laboriously whittled out and

adjusted a swinging shutter for the entrance, setting it on springy

twigs.

"The dingue, you know, was supposed to live in the water," she said,

kneeling beside me over our trap.

I took her little hand and thanked her for the information.

"Doubtless," she said, enthusiastically, "a dingue will come out of

the lake to-night to feed on our spruce-tips. Then," she added, "we've

got him."

"True!" I said, earnestly, and pressed her fingers very gently.

Her face was turned a little away; I don't remember what she said; I

don't remember that she said anything. A faint rose-tint stole over

her cheek. A few moments later she said: "You must not do that again."

It was quite late when we strolled back to camp. Long before we came

in sight of the twin tents we heard a deep voice bawling our names. It

was Professor Smawl, and she pounced upon Dorothy and drove her

ignominiously into the tent.

"As for you," she said, in hollow tones, "you may explain your

conduct at once, or place your resignation at my disposal."

But somehow or other I appeared to be temporarily lost to shame, and I

only smiled at my infuriated president, and entered my own tent with a

step that was distinctly frolicsome.

"Billy," said I to William Spike, who regarded me morosely from the

depths of the tent, "I'm going out to bag a mammoth to-morrow, so

kindly clean my elephant-gun and bring an axe to chop out the tusks."

That night Professor Smawl complained bitterly of the cooking, but as

neither Dorothy nor I knew how to improve it, she revenged herself on

us by eating everything on the table and retiring to bed, taking

Dorothy with her.

I could not sleep very well; the mosquitoes were intrusive, and

Professor Smawl dreamed she was a pack of wolves and yelped in her

sleep.

"Bird, ain't she?" said William, roused from slumber by her weird

noises.

Dorothy, much frightened, crawled out of her tent, where her

blanket-mate still dreamed dyspeptically, and William and I made her

comfortable by the camp-fire.

It takes a pretty girl to look pretty half asleep in a blanket.

"Are you sure you are quite well?" I asked her.

To make sure, I tested her pulse. For an hour it varied more or less,

but without alarming either of us. Then she went back to bed and I sat

alone by the camp-fire.

Towards midnight I suddenly began to feel that strange, distant

vibration that I had once before felt. As before, the vibration grew

on the still air, increasing in volume until it became a sound, then

died out into silence.

I rose and stole into my tent.

William, white as death, lay in his corner, weeping in his sleep.

I roused him remorselessly, and he sat up scowling, but refused to

tell me what he had been dreaming.

"Was it about that third thing you saw--" I began. But he snarled up

at me like a startled animal, and I was obliged to go to bed and toss

about and speculate.

The next morning it rained. Dorothy and I visited our dingue-trap but

found nothing in it. We were inclined, however, to stay out in the

rain behind a big tree, but Professor Smawl vetoed that proposition

and sent me off to supply the larder with fresh meat.

I returned, mad and wet, with a dozen partridges and a white

hare--brown at that season--and William cooked them vilely.

"I can taste the feathers!" said Professor Smawl, indignantly.

"There is no accounting for taste," I said, with a polite gesture of

deprecation; "personally, I find feathers unpalatable."

"You may hand in your resignation this evening!" cried Professor

Smawl, in hollow tones of passion.

I passed her the pancakes with a cheerful smile, and flippantly

pressed the hand next me. Unexpectedly it proved to be William's

sticky fist, and Dorothy and I laughed until her tears ran into

Professor Smawl's coffee-cup--an accident which kindled her wrath to

red heat, and she requested my resignation five times during the

evening.

The next day it rained again, more or less. Professor Smawl complained

of the cooking, demanded my resignation, and finally marched out to

explore, lugging the reluctant William with her. Dorothy and I sat

down behind the largest tree we could find.

I don't remember what we were saying when a peculiar sound interrupted

us, and we listened earnestly.

It was like a bell in the woods, ding-dong! ding-dong! ding-dong!--a

low, mellow, golden harmony, coming nearer, then stopping.

I clasped Dorothy in my arms in my excitement.

"It is the note of the dingue!" I whispered, "and that explains its

name, handed down from remote ages along with the names of the

behemoth and the coney. It was because of its bell-like cry that it

was named! Darling!" I cried, forgetting our short acquaintance, "we

have made a discovery that the whole world will ring with!"

Hand in hand we tiptoed through the forest to our trap. There was

something in it that took fright at our approach and rushed

panic-stricken round and round the interior of the trap, uttering its

alarm-note, which sounded like the jangling of a whole string of

bells.

I seized the strangely beautiful creature; it neither attempted to

bite nor scratch, but crouched in my arms, trembling and eying me.

Delighted with the lovely, tame animal, we bore it tenderly back to

the camp and placed it on my blanket. Hand in hand we stood before it,

awed by the sight of this beast, so long believed to be extinct.

"It is too good to be true," sighed Dorothy, clasping her white hands

under her chin and gazing at the dingue in rapture.

"Yes," said I, solemnly, "you and I, my child, are face to face with

the fabled dingue--_Dingus solitarius_! Let us continue to gaze at it,

reverently, prayerfully, humbly--"

Dorothy yawned--probably with excitement.

We were still mutely adoring the dingue when Professor Smawl burst

into the tent at a hand-gallop, bawling hoarsely for her kodak and

note-book.

Dorothy seized her triumphantly by the arm and pointed at the dingue,

which appeared to be frightened to death.

"What!" cried Professor Smawl, scornfully; "_that_ a dingue? Rubbish!"

"Madam," I said, firmly, "it is a dingue! It's a monodactyl! See! It

has but a single toe!"

"Bosh!" she retorted; "it's got four!"

"Four!" I repeated, blankly.

"Yes; one on each foot!"

"Of course," I said; "you didn't suppose a monodactyl meant a beast

with one leg and one toe!"

But she laughed hatefully and declared it was a woodchuck.

We squabbled for a while until I saw the significance of her attitude.

The unfortunate woman wished to find a dingue first and be accredited

with the discovery.

I lifted the dingue in both hands and shook the creature gently, until

the chiming ding-dong of its protestations filled our ears like sweet

bells jangled out of tune.

Pale with rage at this final proof of the dingue's identity, she

seized her camera and note-book.

"I haven't any time to waste over that musical woodchuck!" she

shouted, and bounced out of the tent.

"What have you discovered, dear?" cried Dorothy, running after her.

"A mammoth!" bawled Professor Smawl, triumphantly; "and I'm going to

photograph him!"

Neither Dorothy nor I believed her. We watched the flight of the

infatuated woman in silence.

And now, at last, the tragic shadow falls over my paper as I write. I

was never passionately attached to Professor Smawl, yet I would gladly

refrain from chronicling the episode that must follow if, as I have

hitherto attempted, I succeed in sticking to the unornamented truth.

I have said that neither Dorothy nor I believed her. I don't know why,

unless it was that we had not yet made up our minds to believe that

the mammoth still existed on earth. So, when Professor Smawl

disappeared in the forest, scuttling through the underbrush like a

demoralized hen, we viewed her flight with unconcern. There was a

large tree in the neighborhood--a pleasant shelter in case of rain. So

we sat down behind it, although the sun was shining fiercely.

It was one of those peaceful afternoons in the wilderness when the

whole forest dreams, and the shadows are asleep and every little

leaflet takes a nap. Under the still tree-tops the dappled sunlight,

motionless, soaked the sod; the forest-flies no longer whirled in

circles, but sat sunning their wings on slender twig-tips.

The heat was sweet and spicy; the sun drew out the delicate essence

of gum and sap, warming volatile juices until they exhaled through the

aromatic bark.

The sun went down into the wilderness; the forest stirred in its

sleep; a fish splashed in the lake. The spell was broken. Presently

the wind began to rise somewhere far away in the unknown land. I heard

it coming, nearer, nearer--a brisk wind that grew heavier and blew

harder as it neared us--a gale that swept distant branches--a furious

gale that set limbs clashing and cracking, nearer and nearer. Crack!

and the gale grew to a hurricane, trampling trees like dead twigs!

Crack! Crackle! Crash! Crash!

_Was it the wind?_

With the roaring in my ears I sprang up, staring into the forest

vista, and at the same instant, out of the crashing forest, sped

Professor Smawl, skirts tucked up, thin legs flying like

bicycle-spokes. I shouted, but the crashing drowned my voice. Then all

at once the solid earth began to shake, and with the rush and roar of

a tornado a gigantic living thing burst out of the forest before our

eyes--a vast shadowy bulk that rocked and rolled along, mowing down

trees in its course.

Two great crescents of ivory curved from its head; its back swept

through the tossing tree-tops. Once it bellowed like a gun fired from

a high bastion.

The apparition passed with the noise of thunder rolling on towards the

ends of the earth. Crack! crash! went the trees, the tempest swept

away in a rolling volley of reports, distant, more distant, until,

long after the tumult had deadened, then ceased, the stunned forest

echoed with the fall of mangled branches slowly dropping.

That evening an agitated young couple sat close together in the

deserted camp, calling timidly at intervals for Professor Smawl and

William Spike. I say timidly, because it is correct; we did not care

to have a mammoth respond to our calls. The lurking echoes across the

lake answered our cries; the full moon came up over the forest to look

at us. We were not much to look at. Dorothy was moistening my shoulder

with unfeigned tears, and I, afraid to light the fire, sat hunched up

under the common blanket, wildly examining the darkness around us.

Chilled to the spinal marrow, I watched the gray lights whiten in the

east. A single bird awoke in the wilderness. I saw the nearer trees

looming in the mist, and the silver fog rolling on the lake.

All night long the darkness had vibrated with the strange monotone

which I had heard the first night, camping at the gate of the unknown

land. My brain seemed to echo that subtle harmony which rings in the

auricular labyrinth after sound has ceased.

There are ghosts of sound which return to haunt long after sound is

dead. It was these voiceless spectres of a voice long dead that

stirred the transparent silence, intoning toneless tones.

I think I make myself clear.

It was an uncanny night; morning whitened the east; gray daylight

stole into the woods, blotting the shadows to paler tints. It was

nearly mid-day before the sun became visible through the fine-spun web

of mist--a pale spot of gilt in the zenith.

By this pallid light I labored to strike the two empty tents, gather

up our equipments and pack them on our five mules. Dorothy aided me

bravely, whimpering when I spoke of Professor Smawl and William Spike,

but abating nothing of her industry until we had the mules loaded and

I was ready to drive them, Heaven knows whither.

"Where shall we go?" quavered Dorothy, sitting on a log with the

dingue in her lap.

One thing was certain; this mammoth-ridden land was no place for

women, and I told her so.

We placed the dingue in a basket and tied it around the leading mule's

neck. Immediately the dingue, alarmed, began dingling like a cow-bell.

It acted like a charm on the other mules, and they gravely filed off

after their leader, following the bell. Dorothy and I, hand in hand,

brought up the rear.

I shall never forget that scene in the forest--the gray arch of the

heavens swimming in mist through which the sun peered shiftily, the

tall pines wavering through the fog, the preoccupied mules marching

single file, the foggy bell-note of the gentle dingue in its swinging

basket, and Dorothy, limp kilts dripping with dew, plodding through

the white dusk.

We followed the terrible tornado-path which the mammoth had left in

its wake, but there were no traces of its human victims--neither one

jot of Professor Smawl nor one solitary tittle of William Spike.

And now I would be glad to end this chapter if I could; I would gladly

leave myself as I was, there in the misty forest, with an arm

encircling the slender body of my little companion, and the mules

moving in a monotonous line, and the dingue discreetly jingling--but

again that menacing shadow falls across my page, and truth bids me

tell all, and I, the slave of accuracy, must remember my vows as the

dauntless disciple of truth.

Towards sunset--or that pale parody of sunset which set the forest

swimming in a ghastly, colorless haze--the mammoth's trail of ruin

brought us suddenly out of the trees to the shore of a great sheet of

water.

It was a desolate spot; northward a chaos of sombre peaks rose, piled

up like thunder-clouds along the horizon; east and south the darkening

wilderness spread like a pall. Westward, crawling out into the mist

from our very feet, the gray waste of water moved under the dull sky,

and flat waves slapped the squatting rocks, heavy with slime.

And now I understood why the trail of the mammoth continued straight

into the lake, for on either hand black, filthy tamarack swamps lay

under ghostly sheets of mist. I strove to creep out into the bog,

seeking a footing, but the swamp quaked and the smooth surface

trembled like jelly in a bowl. A stick thrust into the slime sank into

unknown depths.

Vaguely alarmed, I gained the firm land again and looked around,

believing there was no road open but the desolate trail we had

traversed. But I was in error; already the leading mule was wading out

into the water, and the others, one by one, followed.

How wide the lake might be we could not tell, because the band of fog

hung across the water like a curtain. Yet out into this flat, shallow

void our mules went steadily, slop! slop! slop! in single file.

Already they were growing indistinct in the fog, so I bade Dorothy

hasten and take off her shoes and stockings.

She was ready before I was, I having to unlace my shooting-boots, and

she stepped out into the water, kilts fluttering, moving her white

feet cautiously. In a moment I was beside her, and we waded forward,

sounding the shallow water with our poles.

When the water had risen to Dorothy's knees I hesitated, alarmed. But

when we attempted to retrace our steps we could not find the shore

again, for the blank mist shrouded everything, and the water deepened

at every step.

I halted and listened for the mules. Far away in the fog I heard a

dull splashing, receding as I listened. After a while all sound died

away, and a slow horror stole over me--a horror that froze the little

net-work of veins in every limb. A step to the right and the water

rose to my knees; a step to the left and the cold, thin circle of the

flood chilled my breast. Suddenly Dorothy screamed, and the next

moment a far cry answered--a far, sweet cry that seemed to come from

the sky, like the rushing harmony of the world's swift winds. Then the

curtain of fog before us lighted up from behind; shadows moved on the

misty screen, outlines of trees and grassy shores, and tiny birds

flying. Thrown on the vapory curtain, in silhouette, a man and a woman

passed under the lovely trees, arms about each other's necks; near

them the shadows of five mules grazed peacefully; a dingue gambolled

close by.

"It is a mirage!" I muttered, but my voice made no sound. Slowly the

light behind the fog died out; the vapor around us turned to rose,

then dissolved, while mile on mile of a limitless sea spread away

till, like a quick line pencilled at a stroke, the horizon cut sky and

sea in half, and before us lay an ocean from which towered a mountain

of snow--or a gigantic berg of milky ice--for it was moving.

"Good Heavens," I shrieked; "it is alive!"

At the sound of my crazed cry the mountain of snow became a pillar,

towering to the clouds, and a wave of golden glory drenched the figure

to its knees! Figure? Yes--for a colossal arm shot across the sky,

then curved back in exquisite grace to a head of awful beauty--a

woman's head, with eyes like the blue lake of heaven--ay, a woman's

splendid form, upright from the sky to the earth, knee-deep in the

sea. The evening clouds drifted across her brow; her shimmering hair

lighted the world beneath with sunset. Then, shading her white brow

with one hand, she bent, and with the other hand dipped in the sea,

she sent a wave rolling at us. Straight out of the horizon it sped--a

ripple that grew to a wave, then to a furious breaker which caught us

up in a whirl of foam, bearing us onward, faster, faster, swiftly

flying through leagues of spray until consciousness ceased and all was

blank.

Yet ere my senses fled I heard again that strange cry--that sweet,

thrilling harmony rushing out over the foaming waters, filling earth

and sky with its soundless vibrations.

And I knew it was the hail of the Spirit of the North warning us back

to life again.

      *       *       *       *       *

Looking back, now, over the days that passed before we staggered into

the Hudson Bay outpost at Gravel Cove, I am inclined to believe that

neither Dorothy nor I were clothed entirely in our proper minds--or,

if we were, our minds, no doubt, must have been in the same condition

as our clothing. I remember shooting ptarmigan, and that we ate them;

flashes of memory recall the steady downpour of rain through the

endless twilight of shaggy forests; dim days on the foggy tundra,

mud-holes from which the wild ducks rose in thousands; then the

stunted hemlocks, then the forest again. And I do not even recall the

moment when, at last, stumbling into the smooth path left by the

Graham Glacier, we crawled through the mountain-wall, out of the

unknown land, and once more into a world protected by the Lord

Almighty.

A hunting-party of Elbon Indians brought us in to the post, and

everybody was most kind--that I remember, just before going into

several weeks of unpleasant delirium mercifully mitigated with

unconsciousness.

Curiously enough, Professor Van Twiller was not very much battered,

physically, for I had carried her for days, pickaback. But the awful

experience had produced a shock which resulted in a nervous condition

that lasted so long after she returned to New York that the wealthy

and eminent specialist who attended her insisted upon taking her to

the Riviera and marrying her. I sometimes wonder--but, as I have said,

such reflections have no place in these austere pages.

However, anybody, I fancy, is at liberty to speculate upon the fate of

the late Professor Smawl and William Spike, and upon the mules and the

gentle dingue. Personally, I am convinced that the suggestive

silhouettes I saw on that ghastly curtain of fog were cast by

beatified beings in some earthly paradise--a mirage of bliss of which

we caught but the colorless shadow-shapes floating 'twixt sea and

sky.

At all events, neither Professor Smawl nor her William Spike ever

returned; no exploring expedition has found a trace of mule or lady,

of William or the dingue. The new expedition to be organized by

Barnard College may penetrate still farther. I suppose that, when the

time comes, I shall be expected to volunteer. But Professor Van

Twiller is married, and William and Professor Smawl ought to be, and

altogether, considering the mammoth and that gigantic and splendid

apparition that bent from the zenith to the ocean and sent a

tidal-wave rolling from the palm of one white hand--I say, taking all

these various matters under consideration, I think I shall decide to

remain in New York and continue writing for the scientific

periodicals. Besides, the mortifying experience at the Paris

Exposition has dampened even my perennially youthful enthusiasm. And

as for the late expedition to Florida, Heaven knows I am ready to

repeat it--nay, I am already forming a plan for the rescue--but though

I am prepared to encounter any danger for the sake of my beloved

superior, Professor Farrago, I do not feel inclined to commit

indiscretions in order to pry into secrets which, as I regard it,

concern Professor Smawl and William Spike alone.

But all this is, in a measure, premature. What I now have to relate is

the recital of an eye-witness to that most astonishing scandal which

occurred during the recent exposition in Paris.

IX

When the delegates were appointed to the International Scientific

Congress at the Paris Exposition of 1900, how little did anybody

imagine that the great conference would end in the most gigantic

scandal that ever stirred two continents?

Yet, had it not been for the pair of American newspapers published in

Paris, this scandal would never have been aired, for the continental

press is so well muzzled that when it bites its teeth merely meet in

the empty atmosphere with a discreet snap.

But to the Yankee nothing excepting the Monroe Doctrine is sacred, and

the unsopped watch-dogs of the press bite right and left, unmuzzled.

The biter bites--it is his profession--and that ends the affair; the

bitee is bitten, and, in the deplorable argot of the hour, "it is up

to him."

So now that the scandal has been well aired and hung out to dry in the

teeth of decency and the four winds, and as all the details have been

cheerfully and grossly exaggerated, it is, perhaps, the proper moment

for the truth to be written by the only person whose knowledge of all

the facts in the affair entitles him to speak for himself as well as

for those honorable ladies and gentlemen whose names and titles have

been so mercilessly criticised.

These, then, are the simple facts:

The International Scientific Congress, now adjourned _sine die_, met

at nine o'clock in the morning, May 3, 1900, in the Tasmanian Pavilion

of the Paris Exposition. There were present the most famous scientists

of Great Britain, France, Germany, Russia, Italy, Switzerland, and the

United States.

His Royal Highness the Crown-Prince of Monaco presided.

It is not necessary, now, to repeat the details of that preliminary

meeting. It is sufficient to say that committees representing the

various known sciences were named and appointed by the Prince of

Monaco, who had been unanimously elected permanent chairman of the

conference. It is the composition of a single committee that concerns

us now, and that committee, representing the science which treats of

bird life, was made up as follows:

Chairman--His Royal Highness the Crown-Prince of Monaco. Members--Sir

Peter Grebe, Great Britain; Baron de Becasse, France; his Royal

Highness King Christian, of Finland; the Countess d'Alzette, of

Belgium; and I, from the United States, representing the Smithsonian

Institution and the Bronx Park Zoological Society of New York.

This, then, was the composition of that now notorious ornithological

committee, a modest, earnest, self-effacing little band of workers,

bound together--in the beginning--by those ties of mutual respect and

esteem which unite all laborers in the vineyard of science.

From the first meeting of our committee, science, the great leveller,

left no artificial barriers of rank or title standing between us. We

were enthusiasts in our love for ornithology; we found new inspiration

in the democracy of our common interests.

As for me, I chatted with my fellows, feeling no restraint myself and

perceiving none. The King of Finland and I discussed his latest

monograph on the speckled titmouse, and I was glad to agree with the

King in all his theories concerning the nesting habits of that

important bird.

Sir Peter Grebe, a large, red gentleman in tweeds, read us some notes

he had made on the domestic hen and her reasons for running ahead of a

horse and wagon instead of stepping aside to let the disturbing

vehicle pass.

The Crown-Prince of Monaco took issue with Sir Peter; so did the Baron

de Becasse; and we were entertained by a friendly and marvellously

interesting three-cornered dispute, shared in by three of the most

profound thinkers of the century.

I shall never forget the brilliancy of that argument, nor the modest,

good-humored retorts which gave us all a glimpse into depths of

erudition which impressed us profoundly and set the seal on the bonds

which held us so closely together.

Alas, that the seal should ever have been broken! Alas, that the

glittering apple of discord should have been flung into our

midst!--no, not flung, but gently rolled under our noses by the gloved

fingers of the lovely Countess d'Alzette.

"Messieurs," said the fair Countess, when all present, excepting she

and I, had touched upon or indicated the subjects which they had

prepared to present to the congress--"messieurs mes confrиres, I have

been requested by our distinguished chairman, the Crown-Prince of

Monaco, to submit to your judgment the subject which, by favor of the

King of the Belgians, I have prepared to present to the International

Scientific Congress."

She made a pretty courtesy as she named her own sovereign, and we all

rose out of respect to that most austere and moral ruler the King of

Belgium.

"But," she said, with a charming smile of depreciation, "I am very,

very much afraid that the subject which I have chosen may not meet

with your approval, gentlemen."

She stood there in her dainty Parisian gown and bonnet, shaking her

pretty head uncertainly, a smile on her lips, her small, gloved

fingers interlocked.

"Oh, I know how dreadful it would be if this great congress should be

compelled to listen to any hoax like that which Monsieur de Rougemont

imposed on the British Royal Society," she said, gravely; "and because

the subject of my paper is as strange as the strangest phenomenon

alleged to have been noted by Monsieur de Rougemont, I hesitate--"

She glanced at the silent listeners around her. Sir Peter's red face

had hardened; the King of Finland frowned slightly; the Crown-Prince

of Monaco and Baron de Becasse wore anxious smiles. But when her

violet eyes met mine I gave her a glance of encouragement, and that

glance, I am forced to confess, was not dictated by scientific

approval, but by something that never entirely dries up in the

mustiest and dustiest of savants--the old Adam implanted in us all.

Now, I knew perfectly well what her subject must be; so did every man

present. For it was no secret that his Majesty of Belgium had been

swindled by some natives in Tasmania, and had paid a very large sum of

money for a skin of that gigantic bird, the ux, which has been so

often reported to exist among the inaccessible peaks of the Tasmanian

Mountains. Needless, perhaps, to say that the skin proved a fraud,

being nothing more than a Barnum contrivance made up out of the skins

of a dozen ostriches and cassowaries, and most cleverly put together

by Chinese workmen; at least, such was the report made on it by Sir

Peter Grebe, who had been sent by the British Society to Antwerp to

examine the acquisition. Needless, also, perhaps, to say that King

Leopold, of Belgium, stoutly maintained that the skin of the ux was

genuine from beak to claw.

For six months there had been a most serious difference of opinion

among European ornithologists concerning the famous ux in the Antwerp

Museum; and this difference had promised to result in an open quarrel

between a few Belgian savants on one side and-all Europe and Great

Britain on the other.

Scientists have a deep--rooted horror of anything that touches on

charlatanism; the taint of trickery not only alarms them, but drives

them away from any suspicious subject, and usually ruins,

scientifically speaking, the person who has introduced the subject for

discussion.

Therefore, it took no little courage for the Countess d'Alzette to

touch, with her dainty gloves, a subject which every scientist in

Europe, with scarcely an exception, had pronounced fraudulent and

unworthy of investigation. And to bring it before the great

International Congress required more courage still; for the person

who could face, in executive session, the most brilliant intellects in

the world, and openly profess faith in a Barnumized bird skin, either

had no scientific reputation to lose or was possessed of a bravery far

above that of the savants who composed the audience.

Now, when the pretty Countess caught a flash of encouragement in my

glance she turned rosy with gratification and surprise. Clearly, she

had not expected to find a single ally in the entire congress. Her

quick smile of gratitude touched me, and made me ashamed, too, for I

had encouraged her out of the pure love of mischief, hoping to hear

the whole matter threshed before the congress and so have it settled

once for all. It was a thoughtless thing to do on my part. I should

have remembered the consequences to the Countess if it were proven

that she had been championing a fraud. The ruffled dignity of the

congress would never forgive her; her scientific career would

practically be at an end, because her theories and observations could

no longer command respect or even the attention of those who knew that

she herself had once been deceived by a palpable fraud.

I looked at her guiltily, already ashamed of myself for encouraging

her to her destruction. How lovely and innocent she appeared, standing

there reading her notes in a low, clear voice, fresh as a child's,

with now and then a delicious upward sweep of her long, dark lashes.

With a start I came to my senses and bestowed a pinch on myself. This

was neither the time nor the place to sentimentalize over a girlish

beauty whose small, Parisian head was crammed full of foolish, brave

theories concerning an imposition which her aged sovereign had been

unable to detect.

I saw the gathering frown on the King of Finland's dark face; I saw

Sir Peter Grebe grow redder and redder, and press his thick lips

together to control the angry "Bosh!" which need not have been uttered

to have been understood. The Baron de Becasse wore a painfully neutral

smile, which froze his face into a quaint gargoyle; the Crown-Prince

of Monaco looked at his polished fingernails with a startled yet

abstracted resignation. Clearly the young Countess had not a

sympathizer in the committee.

Something--perhaps it was the latent chivalry which exists imbedded in

us all, perhaps it was pity, perhaps a glimmering dawn of belief in

the ux skin--set my thoughts working very quickly.

The Countess d'Alzette finished her notes, then glanced around with a

deprecating smile, which died out on her lips when she perceived the

silent and stony hostility of her fellow-scientists. A quick

expression of alarm came into her lovely eyes. Would they vote against

giving her a hearing before the congress? It required a unanimous vote

to reject a subject. She turned her eyes on me.

I rose, red as fire, my head humming with a chaos of ideas all

disordered and vague, yet whirling along in a single, resistless

current. I had come to the congress prepared to deliver a monograph on

the great auk; but now the subject went overboard as the birds

themselves had, and I found myself pleading with the committee to give

the Countess a hearing on the ux.

"Why not?" I exclaimed, warmly. "It is established beyond question

that the ux does exist in Tasmania. Wallace saw several uxen, through

his telescope, walking about upon the inaccessible heights of the

Tasmanian Mountains. Darwin acknowledged that the bird exists;

Professor Farrago has published a pamphlet containing an accumulation

of all data bearing upon the ux. Why should not Madame la Comtesse be

heard by the entire congress?"

I looked at Sir Peter Grebe.

"Have _you_ seen this alleged bird skin in the Antwerp Museum?" he

asked, perspiring with indignation.

"Yes, I have," said I. "It has been patched up, but how are we to know

that the skin did not require patching? I have not found that ostrich

skin has been used. It is true that the Tasmanians may have shot the

bird to pieces and mended the skin with bits of cassowary hide here

and there. But the greater part of the skin, and the beak and claws,

are, in my estimation, well worth the serious attention of savants. To

pronounce them fraudulent is, in my opinion, rash and premature."

I mopped my brow; I was in for it now. I had thrown in my reputation

with the reputation of the Countess.

The displeasure and astonishment of my confrères was unmistakable. In

the midst of a strained silence I moved that a vote be taken upon the

advisability of a hearing before the congress on the subject of the

ux. After a pause the young Countess, pale and determined, seconded my

motion. The result of the balloting was a foregone conclusion; the

Countess had one vote--she herself refraining from voting--and the

subject was

subject was entered on the committee-book as acceptable and a date set

for the hearing before the International Congress.

The effect of this vote on our little committee was most marked.

Constraint took the place of cordiality, polite reserve replaced that

guileless and open-hearted courtesy with which our proceedings had

begun.

With icy politeness, the Crown-Prince of Monaco asked me to state the

subject of the paper I proposed to read before the congress, and I

replied quietly that, as I was partly responsible for advocating the

discussion of the ux, I proposed to associate myself with the Countess

d'Alzette in that matter--if Madame la Comtesse would accept the offer

of a brother savant.

"Indeed I will," she said, impulsively, her blue eyes soft with

gratitude.

"Very well," observed Sir Peter Grebe, swallowing his indignation and

waddling off towards the door; "I shall resign my position on this

committee--yes, I will, I tell you!"--as the King of Finland laid a

fatherly hand on Sir Peter's sleeve--"I'll not be made responsible for

this damn--"

He choked, sputtered, then bowed to the horrified Countess, asking

pardon, and declaring that he yielded to nobody in respect for the

gentler sex. And he retired with the Baron de Becasse.

But out in the hallway I heard him explode. "Confound it! This is no

place for petticoats, Baron! And as for that Yankee ornithologist,

he's hung himself with the Countess's corset--string--yes, he has!

Don't tell me, Baron! The young idiot was all right until the Countess

looked at him, I tell you. Gad! how she crumpled him up with those

blue eyes of hers! What the devil do women come into such committees

for? Eh? It's an outrage, I tell you! Why, the whole world will jeer

at us if we sit and listen to her monograph on that fraudulent bird!"

The young Countess, who was writing near the window, could not have

heard this outburst; but I heard it, and so did King Christian and the

Crown-Prince of Monaco.

"Lord," thought I, "the Countess and I are in the frying-pan this

time. I'll do what I can to keep us both out of the fire."

When the King and the Crown-Prince had made their adieux to the

Countess, and she had responded, pale and serious, they came over to

where I was standing, looking out on the Seine.

"Though we must differ from you," said the King, kindly, "we wish you

all success in this dangerous undertaking."

I thanked him.

"You are a young man to risk a reputation already established,"

remarked the Crown-Prince, then added: "You are braver than I.

Ridicule is a barrier to all knowledge, and, though we know that, we

seekers after truth always bring up short at that barrier and

dismount, not daring to put our hobbies to the fence."

"One can but come a cropper," said I.

"And risk staking our hobbies? No, no, that would make us ridiculous;

and ridicule kills in Europe."

"It's somewhat deadly in America, too," I said, smiling.

"The more honor to you," said the Crown-Prince, gravely.

"Oh, I am not the only one," I answered, lightly. "There is my

confrиre, Professor Hyssop, who studies apparitions and braves a

contempt and ridicule which none of us would dare challenge. We

Yankees are learning slowly. Some day we will find the lost key to the

future while Europe is sneering at those who are trying to pick the

lock."

When King Christian, of Finland, and the Crown-Prince of Monaco had

taken their hats and sticks and departed, I glanced across the room at

the young Countess, who was now working rapidly on a type-writer,

apparently quite oblivious of my presence.

I looked out of the window again, and my gaze wandered over the

exposition grounds. Gilt and scarlet and azure the palaces rose in

every direction, under a wilderness of fluttering flags. Towers,

minarets, turrets, golden spires cut the blue sky; in the west the

gaunt Eiffel Tower sprawled across the glittering Esplanade; behind it

rose the solid golden dome of the Emperor's tomb, gilded once more by

the Almighty's sun, to amuse the living rabble while the dead

slumbered in his imperial crypt, himself now but a relic for the

amusement of the people whom he had despised. O tempora! O mores! O

Napoleon!

Down under my window, in the asphalted court, the King of Finland was

entering his beautiful victoria. An adjutant, wearing a cocked hat and

brilliant uniform, mounted the box beside the green-and-gold coachman;

the two postilions straightened up in their saddles; the four horses

danced. Then, when the Crown-Prince of Monaco had taken a seat beside

the King, the carriage rolled away, and far down the quay I watched it

until the flutter of the green-and-white plumes in the adjutant's

cocked hat was all I could see of vanishing royalty.

I was still musing there by the window, listening to the click and

ringing of the type-writer, when I suddenly became aware that the

clicking had ceased, and, turning, I saw the young Countess standing

beside me.

"Thank you for your chivalrous impulse to help me," she said, frankly,

holding out her bare hand.

I bent over it.

"I had not realized how desperate my case was," she said, with a

smile. "I supposed that they would at least give me a hearing. How can

I thank you for your brave vote in my favor?"

"By giving me your confidence in this matter," said I, gravely. "If we

are to win, we must work together and work hard, madame. We are

entering a struggle, not only to prove the genuineness of a bird skin

and the existence of a bird which neither of us has ever seen, but

also a struggle which will either make us famous forever or render it

impossible for either of us ever again to face a scientific audience."

"I know it," she said, quietly "And I understand all the better how

gallant a gentleman I have had the fortune to enlist in my cause.

Believe me, had I not absolute confidence in my ability to prove the

existence of the ux I should not, selfish as I am, have accepted your

chivalrous offer to stand or fall with me."

The subtle emotion in her voice touched a responsive chord in me. I

looked at her earnestly; she raised her beautiful eyes to mine.

"Will you help me?" she asked.

Would I help her? Faith, I'd pass the balance of my life turning

flip-flaps to please her. I did not attempt to undeceive myself; I

realized that the lightning had struck me--that I was desperately in

love with the young Countess from the tip of her bonnet to the toe of

her small, polished shoe. I was curiously cool about it, too, although

my heart gave a thump that nigh choked me, and I felt myself going red

from temple to chin.

If the Countess d'Alzette noticed it she gave no sign, unless the pink

tint under her eyes, deepening, was a subtle signal of understanding

to the signal in my eyes.

"Suppose," she said, "that I failed, before the congress, to prove my

theory? Suppose my investigations resulted in the exposure of a fraud

and my name was held up to ridicule before all Europe? What would

become of you, monsieur?"

I was silent.

"You are already celebrated as the discoverer of the mammoth and the

great auk," she persisted. "You are young, enthusiastic, renowned, and

you have a future before you that anybody in the world might envy."

I said nothing.

"And yet," she said, softly, "you risk all because you will not leave

a young woman friendless among her confrиres. It is not wise,

monsieur; it is gallant and generous and impulsive, but it is not

wisdom. Don Quixote rides no more in Europe, my friend."

"He stays at home--seventy million of him--in America," said I.

After a moment she said, "I believe you, monsieur."

"It is true enough," I said, with a laugh. "We are the only people who

tilt at windmills these days--we and our cousins, the British, who

taught us."

I bowed gayly, and added:

"With your colors to wear, I shall have the honor of breaking a lance

against the biggest windmill in the world."

"You mean the Citadel of Science," she said, smiling.

"And its rock-ribbed respectability," I replied.

She looked at me thoughtfully, rolling and unrolling the scroll in her

hands. Then she sighed, smiled, and brightened, handing me the scroll.

"Read it carefully," she said; "it is an outline of the policy I

suggest that we follow. You will be surprised at some of the

statements. Yet every word is the truth. And, monsieur, your reward

for the devotion you have offered will be no greater than you deserve,

when you find yourself doubly famous for our joint monograph on the

ux. Without your vote in the committee I should have been denied a

hearing, even though I produced proofs to support my theory. I

appreciate that; I do most truly appreciate the courage which prompted

you to defend a woman at the risk of your own ruin. Come to me this

evening at nine. I hold for you in store a surprise and pleasure which

you do not dream of."

"Ah, but I do," I said, slowly, under the spell of her delicate beauty

and enthusiasm.

"How can you?" she said, laughing. "You don't know what awaits you at

nine this evening?"

"You," I said, fascinated.

The color swept her face; she dropped me a deep courtesy.

"At nine, then," she said. "No. 8 Rue d'Alouette."

I bowed, took my hat, gloves, and stick, and attended her to her

carriage below.

Long after the blue-and-black victoria had whirled away down the

crowded quay I stood looking after it, mazed in the web of that

ancient enchantment whose spell fell over the first man in Eden, and

whose sorcery shall not fail till the last man returns his soul.

X

I lunched at my lodgings on the Quai Malthus, and I had but little

appetite, having fed upon such an unexpected variety of emotions

during the morning.

Now, although I was already heels over head in love, I do not believe

that loss of appetite was the result of that alone. I was slowly

beginning to realize what my recent attitude might cost me, not only

in an utter collapse of my scientific career, and the consequent

material ruin which was likely to follow, but in the loss of all my

friends at home. The Zoological Society of Bronx Park and the

Smithsonian Institution of Washington had sent me as their trusted

delegate, leaving it entirely to me to choose the subject on which I

was to speak before the International Congress. What, then, would be

their attitude when they learned that I had chosen to uphold the

dangerous theory of the existence of the ux.

Would they repudiate me and send another delegate to replace me? Would

they merely wash their hands of me and let me go to my own

destruction?

"I will know soon enough," thought I, "for this morning's proceedings

will have been cabled to New York ere now, and read at the

breakfast-tables of every old, moss-grown naturalist in America before

I see the Countess d'Alzette this evening." And I drew from my pocket

the roll of paper which she had given me, and, lighting a cigar, lay

back in my chair to read it.

The manuscript had been beautifully type-written, and I had no trouble

in following her brief, clear account of the circumstances under which

the notorious ux-skin had been obtained. As for the story itself, it

was somewhat fishy, but I manfully swallowed my growing nervousness

and comforted myself with the belief of Darwin in the existence of the

ux, and the subsequent testimony of Wallace, who simply stated what he

had seen through his telescope, and then left it to others to identify

the enormous birds he described as he had observed them stalking about

on the snowy peaks of the Tasmanian Alps.

My own knowledge of the ux was confined to a single circumstance.

When, in 1897, I had gone to Tasmania with Professor Farrago, to make

a report on the availability of the so-called "Tasmanian devil," as a

substitute for the mongoose in the West Indies, I of course heard a

great deal of talk among the natives concerning the birds which they

affirmed haunted the summits of the mountains.

Our time in Tasmania was too limited to admit of an exploration then.

But although we were perfectly aware that the summits of the Tasmanian

Alps are inaccessible, we certainly should have attempted to gain them

had not the time set for our departure arrived before we had completed

the investigation for which we were sent.

One relic, however, I carried away with me. It was a single greenish

bronzed feather, found high up in the mountains by a native, and sold

to me for a somewhat large sum of money.

Darwin believed the ux to be covered with greenish plumage; Wallace

was too far away to observe the color of the great birds; but all the

natives of Tasmania unite in affirming that the plumage of the ux is

green.

It was not only the color of this feather that made me an eager

purchaser, it was the extraordinary length and size. I knew of no

living bird large enough to wear such a feather. As for the color,

that might have been tampered with before I bought it, and, indeed,

testing it later, I found on the fronds traces of sulphate of copper.

But the same thing has been found in the feathers of certain birds

whose color is metallic green, and it has been proven that such birds

pick up and swallow shining bits of copper pyrites.

Why should not the ux do the same thing?

Still, my only reason for believing in the existence of the bird was

this single feather. I had easily proved that it belonged to no known

species of bird. I also proved it to be similar to the tail-feathers

of the ux-skin in Antwerp. But the feathers on the Antwerp specimen

were gray, and the longest of them was but three feet in length, while

my huge, bronze-green feather measured eleven feet from tip to tip.

One might account for it supposing the Antwerp skin to be that of a

young bird, or of a moulting bird, or perhaps of a different sex from

the bird whose feather I had secured.

Still, these ideas were not proven. Nothing concerning the birds had

been proven. I had but a single fact to lean on, and that was that the

feather I possessed could not have belonged to any known species of

bird. Nobody but myself knew of the existence of this feather. And now

I meant to cable to Bronx Park for it, and to place this evidence at

the disposal of the beautiful Countess d'Alzette.

My cigar had gone out, as I sat musing, and I relighted it and resumed

my reading of the type-written notes, lazily, even a trifle

sceptically, for all the evidence that she had been able to collect to

substantiate her theory of the existence of the ux was not half as

important as the evidence I was to produce in the shape of that

enormous green feather.

I came to the last paragraph, smoking serenely, and leaning back

comfortably, one leg crossed over the other. Then, suddenly, my

attention became riveted on the words under my eyes. Could I have read

them aright? Could I believe what I read in ever-growing astonishment

which culminated in an excitement that stirred the very hair on my

head?

   "The ux exists. There is no longer room for doubt. Ocular

   proof I can now offer in the shape of _five living eggs_ of

   this gigantic bird. All measures have been taken to hatch

   these eggs; they are now in the vast incubator. It is my plan

   to have them hatch, one by one, under the very eyes of the

   International Congress. It will be the greatest triumph that

   science has witnessed since the discovery of the New World.

         [Signed] "SUSANNE D'ALZETTE."

"Either," I cried out, in uncontrollable excitement--"either that girl

is mad or she is the cleverest woman on earth."

After a moment I added:

"In either event I am going to marry her."

XI

That evening, a few minutes before nine o'clock, I descended from a

cab in front of No. 8 Rue d'Alouette, and was ushered into a pretty

reception-room by an irreproachable servant, who disappeared directly

with my card.

In a few moments the young Countess came in, exquisite in her silvery

dinner-gown, eyes bright, white arms extended in a charming, impulsive

welcome. The touch of her silky fingers thrilled me; I was dumb under

the enchantment of her beauty; and I think she understood my silence,

for her blue eyes became troubled and the happy parting of her lips

changed to a pensive curve.

Presently I began to tell her about my bronzed-green feather; at my

first word she looked up brightly, almost gratefully, I fancied; and

in another moment we were deep in eager discussion of the subject

which had first drawn us together.

What evidence I possessed to sustain our theory concerning the

existence of the ux I hastened to reveal; then, heart beating

excitedly, I asked her about the eggs and where they were at present,

and whether she believed it possible to bring them to Paris--all these

questions in the same breath--which brought a happy light into her

eyes and a delicious ripple of laughter to her lips.

"Why, of course it is possible to bring the eggs here," she cried. "Am

I sure? Parbleu! The eggs are already here, monsieur!"

"Here!" I exclaimed. "In Paris?"

"In Paris? Mais oui; and in my own house--_this very house_, monsieur.

Come, you shall behold them with your own eyes!"

Her eyes were brilliant with excitement; impulsively she stretched out

her rosy hand. I took it; and she led me quickly back through the

drawing-room, through the dining-room, across the butler's pantry, and

into a long, dark hallway. We were almost running now--I keeping tight

hold of her soft little hand, she, raising her gown a trifle, hurrying

down the hallway, silken petticoats rustling like a silk banner in the

wind. A turn to the right brought us to the cellar-stairs; down we

hastened, and then across the cemented floor towards a long,

glass-fronted shelf, pierced with steam-pipes.

"A match," she whispered, breathlessly.

I struck a wax match and touched it to the gas-burner overhead.

Never, never can I forget what that flood of gas-light revealed. In a

row stood five large, glass-mounted incubators; behind the glass doors

lay, in dormant majesty, five enormous eggs. The eggs were

pale-green--lighter, somewhat, than robins' eggs, but not as pale as

herons' eggs. Each egg appeared to be larger than a large hogs-head,

and was partly embedded in bales of cotton-wool.

Five little silver thermometers inside the glass doors indicated a

temperature of 95° Fahrenheit. I noticed that there was an automatic

arrangement connected with the pipes which regulated the temperature.

I was too deeply moved for words. Speech seemed superfluous as we

stood there, hand in hand, contemplating those gigantic, pale-green

eggs.

There is something in a silent egg which moves one's deeper

emotions--something solemn in its embryotic inertia, something awesome

in its featureless immobility.

I know of nothing on earth which is so totally lacking in expression

as an egg. The great desert Sphinx, brooding through its veil of sand,

has not that tremendous and meaningless dignity which wraps the

colorless oval effort of a single domestic hen.

I held the hand of the young Countess very tightly. Her fingers closed

slightly.

Then and there, in the solemn presence of those emotionless eggs, I

placed my arm around her supple waist and kissed her.

She said nothing. Presently she stooped to observe the thermometer.

Naturally, it registered 95° Fahrenheit.

"Susanne," I said, softly.

"Oh, we must go up-stairs," she whispered, breathlessly; and, picking

up her silken skirts, she fled up the cellar-stairs.

I turned out the gas, with that instinct of economy which early

wastefulness has implanted in me, and followed the Countess Suzanne

through the suite of rooms and into the small reception-hall where she

had first received me.

She was sitting on a low divan, head bent, slowly turning a sapphire

ring on her finger, round and round.

I looked at her romantically, and then--

"Please don't," she said.

The correct reply to this is:

"Why not?"--very tenderly spoken.

"Because," she replied, which was also the correct and regular answer.

"Suzanne," I said, slowly and passionately.

She turned the sapphire ring on her finger. Presently she tired of

this, so I lifted her passive hand very gently and continued turning

the sapphire ring on her finger, slowly, to harmonize with the cadence

of our unspoken thoughts.

Towards midnight I went home, walking with great care through a new

street in Paris, paved exclusively with rose-colored blocks of air.

XII

At nine o'clock in the evening, July 31, 1900, the International

Congress was to assemble in the great lecture-hall of the Belgian

Scientific Pavilion, which adjourned the Tasmanian Pavilion, to hear

the Countess Suzanne d'Alzette read her paper on the ux.

That morning the Countess and I, with five furniture vans, had

transported the five great incubators to the platform of the

lecture-hall, and had engaged an army of plumbers and gas-fitters to

make the steam-heating connections necessary to maintain in the

incubators a temperature of 100° Fahrenheit.

A heavy green curtain hid the stage from the body of the lecture-hall.

Behind this curtain the five enormous eggs reposed, each in its

incubator.

The Countess Suzanne was excited and calm by turns, her cheeks were

pink, her lips scarlet, her eyes bright as blue planets at midnight.

Without faltering she rehearsed her discourse before me, reading from

her type-written manuscript in a clear voice, in which I could

scarcely discern a tremor. Then we went through the dumb show of

exhibiting the uxen eggs to a frantically applauding audience; she

responded to countless supposititious encores, I leading her out

repeatedly before the green curtain to face the great, damp, darkened

auditorium.

Then, in response to repeated imaginary recalls, she rehearsed the

extemporaneous speech, thanking the distinguished audience for their

patience in listening to an unknown confrиre, and confessing her

obligations to me (here I appeared and bowed in self-abasement) for my

faith in her and my aid in securing for her a public hearing before

the most highly educated audience in the world.

After that we retired behind the curtain to sit on an empty box and

eat sandwiches and watch the last lingering plumbers pasting up the

steam connections with a pot of molten lead.

The plumbers were Americans, brought to Paris to make repairs on the

American buildings during the exposition, and we conversed with them

affably as they pottered about, plumber-like, poking under the

flooring with lighted candles, rubbing their thumbs up and down musty

old pipes, and prying up planks in dark corners.

They informed us that they were union men and that they hoped we were

too. And I replied that union was certainly my ultimate purpose, at

which the young Countess smiled dreamily at vacancy.

We did not dare leave the incubators. The plumbers lingered on, hour

after hour, while we sat and watched the little silver thermometers,

and waited.

It was time for the Countess Suzanne to dress, and still the plumbers

had not finished; so I sent a messenger for her maid, to bring her

trunk to the lecture-hall, and I despatched another messenger to my

lodgings for my evening clothes and fresh linen.

There were several dressing-rooms off the stage. Here, about six

o'clock, the Countess retired with her maid, to dress, leaving me to

watch the plumbers and the thermometers.

When the Countess Suzanne returned, radiant and lovely in an evening

gown of black lace, I gave her the roses I had brought for her and

hurried off to dress in my turn, leaving her to watch the

thermometers.

I was not absent more than half an hour, but when I returned I found

the Countess anxiously conversing with the plumbers and pointing

despairingly at the thermometers, which now registered only 95°.

"You must keep up the temperature!" I said. "Those eggs are due to

hatch within a few hours. What's the trouble with the heat?"

The plumber did not know, but thought the connections were defective.

"But that's why we called you in!" exclaimed the Countess. "Can't you

fix things securely?"

"Oh, we'll fix things, lady," replied the plumber, condescendingly,

and he ambled away to rub his thumb up and down a pipe.

As we alone were unable to move and handle the enormous eggs, the

Countess, whose sweet character was a stranger to vindictiveness or

petty resentment, had written to the members of the ornithological

committee, revealing the marvellous fortune which had crowned her

efforts in the search for evidence to sustain her theory concerning

the ux, and inviting these gentlemen to aid her in displaying the

great eggs to the assembled congress.

This she had done the night previous. Every one of the gentlemen

invited had come post-haste to her "hotel," to view the eggs with

their own sceptical and astonished eyes; and the fair young Countess

and I tasted our first triumph in her cellar, whither we conducted Sir

Peter Grebe, the Crown-Prince of Monaco, Baron de Becasse, and his

Majesty King Christian of Finland.

Scepticism and incredulity gave place to excitement and unbounded

enthusiasm. The old King embraced the Countess; Baron de Becasse

attempted to kiss me; Sir Peter Grebe made a handsome apology for his

folly and vowed that he would do open penance for his sins. The poor

Crown-Prince, who was of a nervous temperament, sat on the

cellar-stairs and wept like a child.

His grief at his own pig-headedness touched us all profoundly.

So it happened that these gentlemen were coming to-night to give their

aid to us in moving the priceless eggs, and lend their countenance and

enthusiastic support to the young Countess in her maiden effort.

Sir Peter Grebe arrived first, all covered with orders and

decorations, and greeted us affectionately, calling the Countess the

"sweetest lass in France," and me his undutiful Yankee cousin who had

landed feet foremost at the expense of the British Empire.

The King of Finland, the Crown-Prince, and Baron de Becasse arrived

together, a composite mass of medals, sashes, and academy palms. To

see them moving boxes about, straightening chairs, and pulling out

rugs reminded me of those golden-embroidered gentlemen who run out

into the arena and roll up carpets after the acrobats have finished

their turn in the Nouveau Cirque.

I was aiding the King of Finland to move a heavy keg of nails, when

the Countess called out to me in alarm, saying that the thermometers

had dropped to 80° Fahrenheit.

I spoke sharply to the plumbers, who were standing in a circle behind

the dressing-rooms; but they answered sullenly that they could do no

more work that day.

Indignant and alarmed, I ordered them to come out to the stage, and,

after some hesitation, they filed out, a sulky, silent lot of workmen,

with their tools already gathered up and tied in their kits. At once I

noticed that a new man had appeared among them--a red-faced, stocky

man wearing a frock-coat and a shiny silk hat.

"Who is the master-workman here?" I asked.

"I am," said a man in blue overalls.

"Well," said I, "why don't you fix those steam-fittings?"

There was a silence. The man in the silk hat smirked.

"Well?" said I.

"Come, come, that's all right," said the man in the silk hat. "These

men know their business without you tellin' them."

"Who are you?" I demanded, sharply.

"Oh, I'm just a walkin' delegate," he replied, with a sneer. "There's

a strike in New York and I come over here to tie this here exposition

up. See?"

"You mean to say you won't let these men finish their work?" I asked,

thunderstruck.

"That's about it, young man," he said, coolly.

Furious, I glanced at my watch, then at the thermometers, which now

registered only 75°. Already I could hear the first-comers of the

audience arriving in the body of the hall. Already a stage-hand was

turning up the footlights and dragging chairs and tables hither and

thither.

"What will you take to stay and attend to those steam-pipes?" I

demanded, desperately.

"It can't be done nohow," observed the man in the silk hat. "That New

York strike is good for a month yet." Then, turning to the workmen, he

nodded and, to my horror, the whole gang filed out after him, turning

deaf ears to my entreaties and threats.

There was a deathly silence, then Sir Peter exploded into a vivid

shower of words. The Countess, pale as a ghost, gave me a

heart-breaking look. The Crown-Prince wept.

"Great Heaven!" I cried; "the thermometers have fallen to 70°!"

The King of Finland sat down on a chair and pressed his hands over his

eyes. Baron de Becasse ran round and round, uttering subdued and

plaintive screams; Sir Peter swore steadily.

"Gentlemen," I cried, desperately, "we must save those eggs! They are

on the very eve of hatching! Who will volunteer?"

"To do what?" moaned the Crown-Prince.

"I'll show you," I exclaimed, running to the incubators and beckoning

to the Baron to aid me.

In a moment we had rolled out the great egg, made a nest on the stage

floor with the bales of cotton-wool, and placed the egg in it. One

after another we rolled out the remaining eggs, building for each its

nest of cotton; and at last the five enormous eggs lay there in a row

behind the green curtain.

"Now," said I, excitedly, to the King, "you must get up on that egg

and try to keep it warm."

The King began to protest, but I would take no denial, and presently

his Majesty was perched up on the great egg, gazing foolishly about at

the others, who were now all climbing up on their allotted eggs.

"Great Heaven!" muttered the King, as Sir Peter settled down

comfortably on his egg, "I am willing to give life and fortune for the

sake of science, but I can't bear to hatch out eggs like a bird!"

The Crown-Prince was now sitting patiently beside the Baron de

Becasse.

"I feel in my bones," he murmured, "that I'm about to hatch something.

Can't you hear a tapping on the shell of your egg, Baron?"

"Parbleu!" replied the Baron. "The shell is moving under me."

It certainly was; for, the next moment, the Baron fell into his egg

with a crash and a muffled shriek, and floundered out, dripping,

yellow as a canary.

"N'importe!" he cried, excitedly. "Allons! Save the eggs! Hurrah! Vive

la science!" And he scrambled up on the fourth egg and sat there, arms

folded, sublime courage transfiguring him from head to foot.

We all gave him a cheer, which was hushed as the stage-manager ran in,

warning us that the audience was already assembled and in place.

"You're not going to raise the curtain while we're sitting, are you?"

demanded the King of Finland, anxiously.

"No, no," I said; "sit tight, your Majesty. Courage, gentlemen! Our

vindication is at hand!"

The Countess glanced at me with startled eyes; I took her hand,

saluted it respectfully, and then quietly led her before the curtain,

facing an ocean of upturned faces across the flaring footlights.

She stood a moment to acknowledge the somewhat ragged applause, a calm

smile on her lips. All her courage had returned; I saw that at once.

Very quietly she touched her lips to the _eau-sucrйe_, laid her

manuscript on the table, raised her beautiful head, and began:

"That the ux is a living bird I am here before you to prove--"

A sharp report behind the curtain drowned her voice. She paled; the

audience rose amid cries of excitement.

"What was it?" she asked, faintly.

"Sir Peter has hatched out his egg," I whispered. "Hark! There goes

another egg!" And I ran behind the curtain.

Such a scene as I beheld was never dreamed of on land or sea. Two

enormous young uxen, all over gigantic pin-feathers, were wandering

stupidly about. Mounted on one was Sir Peter Grebe, eyes starting from

his apoplectic visage; on the other, clinging to the bird's neck, hung

the Baron de Becasse.

Before I could move, the two remaining eggs burst, and a pair of huge,

scrawny fledglings rose among the dйbris, bearing off on their backs

the King and Crown-Prince.

"Help!" said the King of Finland, faintly. "I'm falling off!"

I sprang to his aid, but tripped on the curtain-spring. The next

instant the green curtain shot up, and there, revealed to that vast

and distinguished audience, roamed four enormous chicks, bearing on

their backs the most respected and exclusive aristocracy of Europe.

The Countess Suzanne turned with a little shriek of horror, then sat

down in her chair, laid her lovely head on the table, and very quietly

fainted away, unconscious of the frantic cheers which went roaring to

the roof.

      *       *       *       *       *

This, then, is the _true_ history of the famous exposition scandal.

And, as I have said, had it not been for the presence in that audience

of two American reporters nobody would have known what all the world

now knows--nobody would have read of the marvellous feats of bareback

riding indulged in by the King of Finland--nobody would have read how

Sir Peter Grebe steered his mount safely past the footlights only to

come to grief over the prompter's box.

But this _is_ scandal. And, as for the charming Countess Suzanne

d'Alzette, the public has heard all that it is entitled to hear, and

much that it is not entitled to hear.

However, on second thoughts, perhaps the public is entitled to hear a

little more. I will therefore say this much--the shock of astonishment

which stunned me when the curtain flew up, revealing the

King-bestridden uxen, was nothing to the awful blow which smote me

when the Count d'Alzette leaped from the orchestra, over the

footlights, and bore away with him the fainting form of his wife, the

lovely Countess d'Alzette.

I sometimes wonder--but, as I have repeatedly observed, this dull and

pedantic narrative of fact is no vehicle for sentimental soliloquy. It

is, then, merely sufficient to say that I took the earliest steamer

for kinder shores, spurred on to haste by a venomous cable-gram from

the Smithsonian, repudiating me, and by another from Bronx Park,

ordering me to spend the winter in some inexpensive, poisonous, and

unobtrusive spot, and make a collection of isopods. The island of Java

appeared to me to be as poisonously unobtrusive and inexpensive a

region as I had ever heard of; a steamer sailed from Antwerp for

Batavia in twenty-four hours. Therefore, as I say, I took the

night-train for Brussels, and the steamer from Antwerp the following

evening.

Of my uneventful voyage, of the happy and successful quest, there is

little to relate. The Javanese are frolicsome and hospitable. There

was a girl there with features that were as delicate as though

chiselled out of palest amber; and I remember she wore a most

wonderful jewelled, helmet-like head-dress, and jingling bangles on

her ankles, and when she danced she made most graceful and poetic

gestures with her supple wrists--but that has nothing to do with

isopods, absolutely nothing.

Letters from home came occasionally. Professor Farrago had returned to

the Bronx and had been re-elected to the high office he had so nobly

held when I first became associated with him.

Through his kindness and by his advice I remained for several years in

the Far East, until a letter from him arrived recalling me and also

announcing his own hurried and sudden departure for Florida. He also

mentioned my promotion to the office of subcurator of department; so I

started on my homeward voyage very much pleased with the world, and

arrived in New York on April 1, 1904, ready for a rest to which I

believed myself entitled. And the first thing that they handed me was

a letter from Professor Farrago, summoning me South.

XIII

The letter that started me--I was going to say startled me, but only

imaginative people are startled--the letter, then, that started me

from Bronx Park to the South I print without the permission of my

superior, Professor Farrago. I have not obtained his permission, for

the somewhat exciting reason that nobody knows where he is. Publicity

being now recognized as the annihilator of mysteries, a benevolent

purpose alone inspires me to publish a letter so strange, so

pathetically remarkable, in view of what has recently occurred.

As I say, I had only just returned from Java with a valuable

collection of undescribed isopods--an order of edriophthalmous

crustaceans with seven free thoracic somites furnished with fourteen

legs--and I beg my reader's pardon, but my reader will see the

necessity for the author's absolute accuracy in insisting on detail,

because the story that follows is a dangerous story for a scientist to

tell, in view of the vast amount of nonsense and fiction in

circulation masquerading as stories of scientific adventure.

I was, therefore, anticipating a delightful summer's work with pen and

microscope, when on April 1st I received the following extraordinary

letter from Professor Farrago:

           "IN CAMP, LITTLE SPRITE LAKE,

         "EVERGLADES, FLORIDA, _March 15, 1902._

   "MY DEAR MR. GILLAND,--On receipt of this communication you

   will immediately secure for me the following articles:

   "One complete outfit of woman's clothing.

   "One camera.

   "One light steel cage, large enough for you to stand in.

   "One stenographer (male sex).

   "One five-pound steel tank, with siphon and hose attachment.

   "One rifle and ammunition.

   "Three ounces rosium oxyde.

   "One ounce chlorate strontium.

   "You will then, within twenty-four hours, set out with the

   stenographer and the supplies mentioned and join me in camp on

   Little Sprite Lake. This order is formal and admits of no

   delay. You will appreciate the necessity of absolute and

   unquestioning obedience when I tell you that I am practically

   on the brink of the most astonishing discovery recorded in

   natural history since Monsieur Zani discovered the

   purple-spotted zoombok in Nyanza; and that I depend upon you

   and your zeal and fidelity for success.

   "I dare not, lest my letter fall into unscrupulous hands,

   convey to you more than a hint of what lies before us in these

   uncharted solitudes of the Everglades.

   "You must read between the lines when I say that because one

   can see through a sheet of glass, the glass is none the less

   solid and palpable. One can see _through_ it--if that is also

   seeing it; but one can nevertheless hold it and feel it and

   receive from it sensations of cold or heat according to its

   temperature.

   "Certain jellyfish are absolutely transparent when in the

   water, and one can only know of their presence by accidental

   contact, not by sight.

   "_Have you ever thought that possibly there might exist larger

   and more highly organized creatures transparent to eyesight,

   yet palpable to touch?_

   "Little Sprite Lake is the jumping-off place; beyond lie the

   Everglades, the outskirts of which are haunted by the

   Seminoles, the interior of which have never been visited by

   man, as far as we know.

   "As you are aware, no general survey of Florida has yet been

   made; there exist no maps of the Everglades south of

   Okeechobee; even Little Sprite Lake is but a vague blot on our

   maps. We know, of course, that south of the eleven thousand

   square miles of fresh water which is called Lake Okeechobee

   the Everglades form a vast, delta-like projection of thousands

   and thousands of square miles. Darkest Africa is no longer a

   mystery; but the Everglades to-day remain the sombre secret of

   our continent. And, to-day, this unknown expanse of swamps,

   barrens, forests, and lagoons is greater than in the days of

   De Soto, because the entire region has been slowly rising.

   "All this, my dear sir, you already know, and I ask your

   indulgence for recalling the facts to your memory. I do it for

   this reason--the search for _what I am seeking_ may lead us to

   utter destruction; and therefore my formal orders to you

   should be modified to this extent:--do you volunteer? If you

   volunteer, my orders remain; if not, turn this letter over to

   Mr. Kingsley, who will find for me the companion I require.

   "In the event of your coming, you must break your journey at

   False Cape and ask for an old man named Slunk. He will give

   you a packet; you will give him a dollar, and drive on to Cape

   Canaveral, and you will do what is to be done there. From

   there to Fort Kissimmee, to Okeechobee, traversing the lake to

   the Rita River, where I have marked the trail to Little

   Sprite.

   "At Little Sprite I shall await you; beyond that point a

   merciful Providence alone can know what awaits us.

         "Yours fraternally,

         "FARRAGO.

   "P.S.--I think that you had better make your will, and suggest

   the same idea to the stenographer who is to accompany you.

             F."

And that was the letter I received while seated comfortably on the

floor of my work-room, surrounded by innocent isopods, all patiently

awaiting scientific investigation.

And this is what I did: Within twenty-four hours I had assembled the

supplies required--the cage, the woman's clothing, tank, arms and

ammunition, and the chemicals; I had secured accommodations, for that

evening, on the Florida, Volusia, and Fort Lauderdale Railway as far

as Citron City; and I had been interviewing stenographers all day

long, the result of an innocently worded advertisement in the daily

newspapers.

It was now very close to the time when I must summon a cab and drive

to the ferry; and yet I was still shy one stenographer.

I had seen scores; they simply would not listen to the proposition.

"Why does a gentleman in the backwoods of Florida want a

stenographer?" they demanded; and as I had not the faintest idea, I

could only say so. I think the majority interviewed concluded I had

escaped from a State institution.

As the time for departure approached I became desperate, urging and

beseeching applicants to accompany me; but neither sympathy for my

instant need nor desire for salary moved them.

I waited until the last moment, hoping against hope. Then, with a

groan of despair, I seized luggage and raincoat, made for the door and

flung it open, only to find myself face to face with an attractive

young girl, apparently on the point of pressing the electric button.

"I'm sorry," I said, "but I have a train to catch."

She was noticeably attractive in her storm-coat and pretty hat, and I

really was sorry--so sorry that I added:

"I have about twenty-seven seconds to place at your service before I

go."

"Twenty will be sufficient," she replied, pleasantly. "I saw your

advertisement for a stenographer--"

"We require a man," I interposed, hastily.

"Have you engaged him?"

"N-no."

We looked at each other.

"You wouldn't accept, anyway," I began.

"How do you know?"

"You wouldn't leave town, would you?"

"Yes, if you required it."

"What? Go to Florida?"

"Y-yes--if I must."

"But think of the alligators! Think of the snakes--big, bitey snakes!"

"Gracious!" she exclaimed, eyes growing bigger.

"Indians, too!--unreconciled, sulky Seminoles! Fevers! Mud-puddles!

Spiders! And only fifty dollars a week--"

"I--I'll go," she stammered.

"Go?" I repeated, grimly; "then you've exactly two and three-quarter

seconds left for preparations."

Instinctively she raised her little gloved hand and patted her hair.

"I'm ready," she said, unsteadily.

"One extra second to make your will," I added, stunned by her

self-possession.

"I--I have nothing to leave--nobody to leave it to," she said,

smiling; "I am ready."

I took that extra second myself for a lightning course in reflection

upon effects and consequences.

"It's silly, it's probably murder," I said, "but you're engaged! Now

we must run for it!"

And that is how I came to engage the services of Miss Helen Barrison

as stenographer.

XIV

At noon on the second day I disembarked from the train at Citron City

with all paraphernalia--cage, chemicals, arsenal, and stenographer; an

accumulation of very dusty impedimenta--all but the stenographer. By

three o'clock our hotel livery-rig was speeding along the beach at

False Cape towards the tall lighthouse looming above the dunes.

The abode of a gentleman named Slunk was my goal. I sat brooding in

the rickety carriage, still dazed by the rapidity of my flight from

New York; the stenographer sat beside me, blue eyes bright with

excitement, fair hair blowing in the sea-wind.

Our railway companionship had been of the slightest, also absolutely

formal; for I was too absorbed in conjecturing the meaning of this

journey to be more than absent-mindedly civil; and she, I fancy, had

had time for repentance and perhaps for a little fright, though I

could discover traces of neither.

I remember she left the train at some city or other where we were held

for an hour; and out of the car-window I saw her returning with a

brand-new grip sack.

She must have bought clothes, for she continued to remain cool and

fresh in her summer shirt-waists and short outing skirt; and she

looked immaculate now, sitting there beside me, the trace of a smile

curving her red mouth.

"I'm looking for a personage named Slunk," I observed.

After a moment's silent consideration of the Atlantic Ocean she said,

"When do my duties begin, Mr. Gilland?"

"The Lord alone knows," I replied, grimly. "Are you repenting of your

bargain?"

"I am quite happy," she said, serenely.

Remorse smote me that I had consented to engage this frail,

pink-and-ivory biped for an enterprise which lay outside the suburbs

of Manhattan. I glanced guiltily at my victim; she sat there, the

incarnation of New York piquancy--a translated denizen of the

metropolis--a slender spirit of the back offices of sky-scrapers. Why

had I lured her hither?--here where the heavy, lavender-tinted

breakers thundered on a lost coast; here where above the dune-jungles

vultures soared, and snowy-headed eagles, hulking along the sands,

tore dead fish and yelped at us as we passed.

Strange waters, strange skies--a strange, lost land aquiver under an

exotic sun; and there she sat with her wise eyes of a child,

unconcerned, watching the world in perfect confidence.

"May I pay a little compliment to your pluck?" I asked, amused.

"Certainly," she said, smiling as the maid of Manhattan alone knows

how to smile--shyly, inquiringly--with a lingering hint of laughter in

the curled lips' corners. Then her sensitive features fell a trifle.

"Not pluck," she said, "but necessity; I had no chance to choose, no

time to wait. My last dollar, Mr. Gilland, is in my purse!"

With a gay little gesture she drew it from her shirt-front, then,

smiling, sat turning it over and over in her lap.

The sun fell on her hands, gilding the smooth skin with the first tint

of sunburn. Under the corners of her eyes above the rounded cheeks a

pink stain lay like the first ripening flush on a wild strawberry.

That, too, was the mark left by the caress of wind and sun. I had had

no idea she was so pretty.

"I think we'll enjoy this adventure," I said; "don't you?"

"I try to make the best of things," she said, gazing off into the

horizon haze. "Look," she added; "is that a man?"

A spot far away on the beach caught my eye. At first I thought it was

a pelican--and small wonder, too, for the dumpy, waddling,

goose-necked individual who loomed up resembled a heavy bottomed bird

more than a human being.

"Do you suppose that could be Mr. Slunk?" asked the stenographer, as

our vehicle drew nearer.

He looked as though his name ought to be Slunk; he was digging coquina

clams, and he dug with a pecking motion like a water-turkey mastering

a mullet too big for it.

His name was Slunk; he admitted it when I accused him. Our negro

driver drew rein, and I descended to the sand and gazed on Mr. Slunk.

He was, as I have said, not impressive, even with the tremendous

background of sky and ocean.

"I've come something over a thousand miles to see you," I said,

reluctant to admit that I had come as far to see such a specimen of

human architecture.

A weather-beaten grin stretched the skin that covered his face, and he

shoved a hairy paw into the pockets of his overalls, digging deeply

into profound depths. First he brought to light a twist of South

Carolina tobacco, which he leisurely inserted in his mouth--not,

apparently, for pleasure, but merely to get rid of it.

The second object excavated from the overalls was a small packet

addressed to me. This he handed to me; I gravely handed him a silver

dollar; he went back to his clam-digging, and I entered the carriage

and drove on. All had been carried out according to the letter of my

instructions so far, and my spirits brightened.

"If you don't mind I'll read my instructions," I said, in high

good-humor.

"Pray do not hesitate," she said, smiling in sympathy.

So I opened the little packet and read:

   "Drive to Cape Canaveral along the beach. You will find a gang

   of men at work on a government breakwater. The superintendent

   is Mr. Rowan. Show him this letter.

               "FARRAGO."

Rather disappointed--for I had been expecting to find in the packet

some key to the interesting mystery which had sent Professor Farrago

into the Everglades--I thrust the missive into my pocket and resumed a

study of the immediate landscape. It had not changed as we progressed:

ocean, sand, low dunes crowned with impenetrable tangles of wild bay,

sparkleberry, and live-oak, with here and there a weather-twisted

palmetto sprawling, and here and there the battered blades of cactus

and Spanish-bayonet thrust menacingly forward; and over all the

vultures, sailing, sailing--some mere circling motes lost in the blue

above, some sheering the earth so close that their swiftly sweeping

shadows slanted continually across our road.

"I detest a buzzard," I said, aloud.

"I thought they were crows," she confessed.

"Carrion-crows--yes.

   "'The carrion-crows

     Sing, Caw! caw!'

--only they don't," I added, my song putting me in good-humor once

more. And I glanced askance at the pretty stenographer.

"It is a pleasure to be employed by agreeable people," she said,

innocently.

"Oh, I can be much more agreeable than that," I said.

"Is Professor Farrago--amusing?" she asked.

"Well--oh, certainly--but not in--in the way I am."

Suddenly it flashed upon me that my superior was a confirmed hater of

unmarried women. I had clean forgotten it; and now the full import of

what I had done scared me silent.

"Is anything the matter?" asked Miss Barrison.

"No--not yet," I said, ominously.

How on earth could I have overlooked that well-known fact. The hurry

and anxiety, the stress of instant preparation and departure, had

clean driven it from my absent-minded head.

Jogging on over the sand, I sat silent, cudgelling my brains for a

solution of the disastrous predicament I had gotten into. I pictured

the astonished rage of my superior--my probable dismissal from

employment--perhaps the general overturning and smash-up of the entire

expedition.

A distant, dark object on the beach concentrated my distracted

thoughts; it must be the breakwater at Cape Canaveral. And it was the

breakwater, swarming with negro workmen, who were swinging great

blocks of coquina into cemented beds, singing and whistling at their

labor.

I forgot my predicament when I saw a thin white man in sun-helmet and

khaki directing the work from the beach; and as our horses plodded up,

I stepped out and hailed him by name.

"Yes, my name is Rowan," he said, instantly, turning to meet me. His

sharp, clear eyes included the vehicle and the stenographer, and he

lifted his helmet, then looked squarely at me.

"My name is Gilland," I said, dropping my voice and stepping nearer.

"I have just come from Bronx Park, New York."

He bowed, waiting for something more from me; so I presented my

credentials.

His formal manner changed at once. "Come over here and let us talk a

bit," he said, cordially--then hesitated, glancing at Miss

Barrison--"if your wife would excuse us--"

The pretty stenographer colored, and I dryly set Mr. Rowan

right--which appeared to disturb him more than his mistake.

"Pardon me, Mr. Gilland, but you do not propose to take this young

girl into the Everglades, do you?"

"That's what I had proposed to do," I said, brusquely.

Perfectly aware that I resented his inquiry, he cast a perplexed and

troubled glance at her, then slowly led the way to a great block of

sun-warmed coquina, where he sat down, motioning me to do the same.

"I see," he said, "that you don't know just where you are going or

just what you are expected to do."

"No, I don't," I said.

"Well, I'll tell you, then. You are going into the devil's own country

to look for something that I fled five hundred miles to avoid."

"Is that so?" I said, uneasily.

"That is so, Mr. Gilland."

"Oh! And what is this object that I am to look for and from which you

fled five hundred miles?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know what you ran away from?"

"No, sir. Perhaps if I had known I should have run a thousand miles."

We eyed one another.

"You think, then, that I'd better send Miss Barrison back to New

York?" I asked.

"I certainly do. It may be murder to take her."

"Then I'll do it!" I said, nervously. "Back she goes from the first

railroad station."

In a flash the thought came to me that here was a way to avoid the

wrath of Professor Farrago--and a good excuse, too. He might forgive

my not bringing a man as stenographer in view of my limited time; he

never would forgive my presenting him with a woman.

"She must go back," I repeated; and it rather surprised me to find

myself already anticipating loneliness--something that never in all my

travels had I experienced before.

"By the first train," I added, firmly, disliking Mr. Rowan without any

reason except that he had suddenly deprived me of my stenographer.

"What I have to tell you," he began, lighting a cigarette, the mate to

which I declined, "is this: Three years ago, before I entered this

contracting business, I was in the government employ as officer in the

Coast Survey. Our duties took us into Florida waters; we were months

at a time working on shore."

He pulled thoughtfully at his cigarette and blew a light cloud into

the air.

"I had leave for a month once; and like an ass I prepared to spend it

in a hunting-trip among the Everglades."

He crossed his lean legs and gazed meditatively at his cigarette.

"I believe," he went on, "that we penetrated the Everglades farther

than any white man who ever lived to return. There's nothing very

dismal about the Everglades--the greater part, I mean. You get high

and low hummock, marshes, creeks, lakes, and all that. If you get

lost, you're a goner. If you acquire fever, you're as well off as the

seraphim--and not a whit better. There are the usual animals

there--bears (little black fellows) lynxes, deer, panthers,

alligators, and a few stray crocodiles. As for snakes, of course

they're there, moccasins a-plenty, some rattlers, but, after all, not

as many snakes as one finds in Alabama, or even northern Florida and

Georgia.

"The Seminoles won't help you--won't even talk to you. They're a

sullen pack--but not murderous, as far as I know. Beyond their inner

limits lie the unknown regions."

He bit the wet end from his cigarette.

"I went there," he said; "I came out as soon as I could."

"Why?"

"Well--for one thing, my companion died of fright."

"Fright? What at?"

"Well, there's something in there."

"What?"

He fixed a penetrating gaze on me. "I don't know, Mr. Gilland."

"Did you see anything to frighten you?" I insisted.

"No, but I felt something." He dropped his cigarette and ground it

into the sand viciously. "To cut it short," he said, "I am most

unwillingly led to believe that there are--creatures--of some sort in

the Everglades--living creatures quite as large as you or I--and that

they are perfectly transparent--as transparent as a colorless

jellyfish."

Instantly the veiled import of Professor Farrago's letter was made

clear to me. He, too, believed that.

"It embarrasses me like the devil to say such a thing," continued

Rowan, digging in the sand with his spurred heels. "It seems so--so

like a whopping lie--it seems so childish and ridiculous--so cursed

cheap! But I fled; and there you are. I might add," he said,

indifferently, "that I have the ordinary portion of courage allotted

to normal men."

"But what do you believe these--these animals to be?" I asked,

fascinated.

"I don't know." An obstinate look came into his eyes. "I don't know,

and I absolutely refuse to speculate for the benefit of anybody. I

wouldn't do it for my friend Professor Farrago; and I'm not going to

do it for you," he ended, laughing a rather grim laugh that somehow

jarred me into realizing the amazing import of his story. For I did

not doubt it, strange as it was--fantastic, incredible though it

sounded in the ears of a scientist.

What it was that carried conviction I do not know--perhaps the fact

that my superior credited it; perhaps the manner of narration. Told in

quiet, commonplace phrases, by an exceedingly practical and

unimaginative young man who was plainly embarrassed in the telling,

the story rang out like a shout in a caсon, startling because of the

absolute lack of emphasis employed in the telling.

"Professor Farrago asked me to speak of this to no one except the man

who should come to his assistance. He desired the first chance of

clearing this--this rather perplexing matter. No doubt he didn't want

exploring parties prowling about him," added Rowan, smiling. "But

there's no fear of that, I fancy. I never expect to tell that story

again to anybody; I shouldn't have told him, only somehow it's worried

me for three years, and though I was deadly afraid of ridicule, I

finally made up my mind that science ought to have a hack at it.

"When I was in New York last winter I summoned up courage and wrote

Professor Farrago. He came to see me at the Holland House that same

evening; I told him as much as I ever shall tell anybody. That is all,

Mr. Gilland."

For a long time I sat silent, musing over the strange words. After a

while I asked him whether Professor Farrago was supplied with

provisions; and he said he was; that a great store of staples and tins

of concentrated rations had been carried in as far as Little Sprite

Lake; that Professor Farrago was now there alone, having insisted upon

dismissing all those he had employed.

"There was no practical use for a guide," added Rowan, "because no

cracker, no Indian, and no guide knows the region beyond the Seminole

country."

I rose, thanking him and offering my hand. He took it and shook it in

manly fashion, saying: "I consider Professor Farrago a very brave man;

I may say the same of any man who volunteers to accompany him.

Good-bye, Mr. Gilland; I most earnestly wish for your success.

Professor Farrago left this letter for you."

And that was all. I climbed back into the rickety carriage, carrying

my unopened letter; the negro driver cracked his whip and whistled,

and the horses trotted inland over a fine shell road which was to lead

us across Verbena Junction to Citron City. Half an hour later we

crossed the tracks at Verbena and turned into a broad marl road. This

aroused me from my deep and speculative reverie, and after a few

moments I asked Miss Barrison's indulgence and read the letter from

Professor Farrago which Mr. Rowan had given me:

   "DEAR MR. GILLAND,--You now know all I dared not write,

   fearing to bring a swarm of explorers about my ears in case

   the letter was lost, and found by unscrupulous meddlers. If

   you still are willing to volunteer, knowing all that I know,

   join me as soon as possible. If family considerations deter

   you from taking what perhaps is an insane risk, I shall not

   expect you to join me. In that event, return to New York

   immediately and send Kingsley.

             "Yours, F."

"What the deuce is the matter with him!" I exclaimed, irritably. "I'll

take any chances Kingsley does!"

Miss Barrison looked up in surprise.

"Miss Barrison," I said, plunging into the subject headfirst, "I'm

extremely sorry, but I have news that forces me to believe the journey

too dangerous for you to attempt, so I think that it would be much

better--" The consternation in her pretty face checked me.

"I'm awfully sorry," I muttered, appalled by her silence.

"But--but you engaged me!"

"I know it--I should not have done it. I only--"

"But you did engage me, didn't you?"

"I believe that I did--er--oh, of course--"

"But a verbal contract is binding between honorable people, isn't it,

Mr. Gilland?"

"Yes, but--"

"And ours was a verbal contract; and in consideration you paid me my

first week's salary, and I bought shirt-waists and a short skirt and

three changes of--and tooth-brushes and--"

"I know, I know," I groaned. "But I'll fix all that."

"You can't if you break your contract."

"Why not?"

"Because," she said, flushing up, "I should not accept."

"You don't understand--"

"Really I do. You are going into a dangerous country and you're afraid

I'll be frightened."

"It's something like that."

"Tell me what are the dangers?"

"Alligators, big, bitey snakes--"

"Oh, you've said all that before!"

"Seminoles--"

"And that too. What else is there? Did the young man in the sun-helmet

tell you of something worse?"

"Yes--much worse! Something so dreadfully horrible that--"

"What?"

"I am not at liberty to tell you, Miss Barrison," I said, striving to

appear shocked.

"It would not make any difference anyway," she observed, calmly. "I'm

not afraid of anything in the world."

"Yes, you are!" I said. "Listen to me; I'd be awfully glad to have you

go--I--I really had no idea how I'd miss you--miss such pleasant

companionship. But it is not possible--" The recollection of Professor

Farrago's aversion suddenly returned. "No, no," I said, "it can't be

done. I'm most unhappy over this mistake of mine; please don't look as

though you were ready to cry!"

"Don't discharge me, Mr. Gilland," she said.

"I'm a brute to do it, but I must; I was a bigger brute to engage you,

but I did. Don't--please don't look at me that way, Miss Barrison! As

a matter of fact, I'm tender-hearted and I can't endure it."

"If you only knew what I had been through you wouldn't send me away,"

she said, in a low voice. "It took my last penny to clothe myself and

pay for the last lesson at the college of stenography. I--I lived on

almost nothing for weeks; every respectable place was filled; I walked

and walked and walked, and nobody wanted me--they all required people

with experience--and how can I have experience until I begin, Mr.

Gilland? I was perfectly desperate when I went to see you, knowing

that you had advertised for a man--" The slightest break in her clear

voice scared me.

"I'm not going to cry," she said, striving to smile. "If I must go, I

will go. I--I didn't mean to say all this--but--but I've been so--so

discouraged;--and you were not very cross with me--"

Smitten with remorse, I picked up her hand and fell to patting it

violently, trying to think of something to say. The exercise did not

appear to stimulate my wits.

"Then--then I'm to go with you?" she asked.

"I will see," I said, weakly, "but I fear there's trouble ahead for

this expedition."

"I fear there is," she agreed, in a cheerful voice. "You have a rifle

and a cage in your luggage. Are you going to trap Indians and have me

report their language?"

"No, I'm not going to trap Indians," I said, sharply. "They may trap

us--but that's a detail. What I want to say to you is this: Professor

Farrago detests unmarried women, and I forgot it when I engaged you."

"Oh, is that all?" she asked, laughing.

"Not all, but enough to cost me my position."

"How absurd! Why, there are millions of things we might

do!--millions!"

"What's one of them?" I inquired.

"Why, we might pretend to be married!" Her frank and absolutely

innocent delight in this suggestion was refreshing, but troubling.

"We would have to be demonstrative to make that story go," I said.

"Why? Well-bred people are not demonstrative in public," she retorted,

turning a trifle pink.

"No, but in private--"

"I think there is no necessity for carrying a pleasantry into our

private life," she said, in a perfectly amiable voice. "Anyway, if

Professor Farrago's feelings are to be spared, no sacrifice on the

part of a mere girl could be too great," she added, gayly; "I will

wear men's clothes if you wish."

"You may have to anyhow in the jungle," I said; "and as it's not an

uncommon thing these days, nobody would ever take you for anything

except what you are--a very wilful and plucky and persistent and--"

"And what, Mr. Gilland?"

"And attractive," I muttered.

"Thank you, Mr. Gilland."

"You're welcome," I snapped. The near whistle of a locomotive warned

us, and I rose in the carriage, looking out across the sand-hills.

"That is probably our train," observed the pretty stenographer.

"_Our_ train!"

"Yes; isn't it?"

"Then you insist--"

"Ah, no, Mr. Gilland; I only trust implicitly in my employer."

"We'll wait till we get to Citron City," I said, weakly; "then it will

be time enough to discuss the situation, won't it?"

"Yes, indeed," she said, smiling; but she knew, and I already feared,

that the situation no longer admitted of discussion. In a few moments

more we emerged, without warning, from the scrub-crested sand-hills

into the single white street of Citron City, where China-trees hung

heavy with bloom, and magnolias, already set with perfumed candelabra,

spread soft, checkered shadows over the marl.

The train lay at the station, oceans of heavy, black smoke lazily

flowing from the locomotive; negroes were hoisting empty fruit-crates

aboard the baggage-car, through the door of which I caught a glimpse

of my steel cage and remaining paraphernalia, all securely crated.

"Telegram hyah foh Mistuh Gilland," remarked the operator, lounging at

his window as we descended from our dusty vehicle. He had not

addressed himself to anybody in particular, but I said that I was Mr.

Gilland, and he produced the envelope. "Toted in from Okeechobee?" he

inquired, listlessly.

"Probably; it's signed 'Farrago,' isn't it?"

"It's foh yoh, suh, I reckon," said the operator, handing it out with

a yawn. Then he removed his hat and fanned his head, which was

perfectly bald.

I opened the yellow envelope. "Get me a good dog with points," was the

laconic message; and it irritated me to receive such idiotic

instructions at such a time and in such a place. A good dog? Where the

mischief could I find a dog in a town consisting of ten houses and a

water-tank? I said as much to the bald-headed operator, who smiled

wearily and replaced his hat: "Dawg? They's moh houn'-dawgs in Citron

City than they's wood-ticks to keep them busy. I reckon a dollah 'll

do a heap foh you, suh."

"Could you get me a dog for a dollar?" I asked;--"one with points?"

"Points? I sholy can, suh;--plenty of points. What kind of dawg do yoh

requiah, suh?--live dawg? daid dawg? houn'-dawg? raid-dawg? hawg-dawg?

coon-dawg?--"

The locomotive emitted a long, lazy, softly modulated and thoroughly

Southern toot. I handed the operator a silver dollar, and he presently

emerged from his office and slouched off up the street, while I walked

with Miss Barrison to the station platform, where I resumed the

discussion of her future movements.

"You are very young to take such a risk," I said, gravely. "Had I not

better buy your ticket back to New York? The north-bound train meets

this one. I suppose we are waiting for it now--" I stopped, conscious

of her impatience.

Her face flushed brightly: "Yes; I think it best. I have embarrassed

you too long already--"

"Don't say that!" I muttered. "I--I--shall be deadly bored without

you."

"I am not an entertainer, only a stenographer," she said, curtly.

"Please get me my ticket, Mr. Gilland."

She gazed at me from the car-platform; the locomotive tooted two

drawling toots.

"It is for your sake," I said, avoiding her gaze as the far-off

whistle of the north-bound express came floating out of the blue

distance.

She did not answer; I fished out my watch, regarding it in silence,

listening to the hum of the approaching train, which ought presently

to bear her away into the North, where nothing could menace her except

the brilliant pitfalls of a Christian civilization. But I stood

there, temporizing, unable to utter a word as her train shot by us

with a rush, slower, slower, and finally stopped, with a long-drawn

sigh from the air-brakes.

At that instant the telegraph-operator appeared, carrying a dog by the

scruff of the neck--a sad-eyed, ewe-necked dog, from the four corners

of which dangled enormous, cushion-like paws. He yelped when he beheld

me. Miss Barrison leaned down from the car-platform and took the

animal into her arms, uttering a suppressed exclamation of pity as she

lifted him.

"You have your hands full," she said to me; "I'll take him into the

car for you."

She mounted the steps; I followed with the valises, striving to get a

good view of my acquisition over her shoulder.

"That isn't the kind of dog I wanted!" I repeated again and again,

inspecting the animal as it sprawled on the floor of the car at the

edge of Miss Barrison's skirt. "That dog is all voice and feet and

emotion! What makes it stick up its paws like that? I don't want that

dog and I'm not going to identify myself with it! Where's the

operator--"

I turned towards the car-window; the operator's bald head was visible

on a line with the sill, and I made motions at him. He bowed with

courtly grace, as though I were thanking him.

"I'm not!" I cried, shaking my head. "I wanted a dog with points--not

the kind of points that stick up all over this dog. Take him away!"

The operator's head appeared to be gliding out of my range of vision;

then the windows of the north-bound train slid past, faster and

faster. A melancholy grace-note from the dog, a jolt, and I turned

around, appalled.

"This train is going," I stammered, "and you are on it!"

Miss Barrison sprang up and started towards the door, and I sped after

her.

"I can jump," she said, breathlessly, edging out to the platform;

"please let me! There is time yet--if you only wouldn't hold me--so

tight--"

A few moments later we walked slowly back together through the car and

took seats facing one another.

Between us sat the hound-dog, a prey to melancholy unutterable.

XV

It was on Sunday when I awoke to the realization that I had quitted

civilization and was afloat on an unfamiliar body of water in an open

boat containing--

   One light steel cage,

   One rifle and ammunition,

   One stenographer,

   Three ounces rosium oxide,

   One hound-dog,

   Two valises.

A playful wave slopped over the bow and I lost count; but the pretty

stenographer made the inventory, while I resumed the oars, and the dog

punctured the primeval silence with staccato yelps.

A few minutes later everything and everybody was accounted for; the

sky was blue and the palms waved, and several species of dicky-birds

tuned up as I pulled with powerful strokes out into the sunny waters

of Little Sprite Lake, now within a few miles of my journey's end.

From ponds hidden in the marshes herons rose in lazily laborious

flight, flapping low across the water; high in the cypress yellow-eyed

ospreys bent crested heads to watch our progress; sun-baked

alligators, lying heavily in the shoreward sedge, slid open, glassy

eyes as we passed.

"Even the 'gators make eyes at you," I said, resting on my oars.

We were on terms of badinage.

"Who was it who shed crocodile tears at the prospect of shipping me

North?" she inquired.

"Speaking of tears," I observed, "somebody is likely to shed a number

when Professor Farrago is picked up."

"Pooh!" she said, and snapped her pretty, sun-tanned fingers; and I

resumed the oars in time to avoid shipwreck on a large mud-bar.

She reclined in the stern, serenely occupied with the view, now and

then caressing the discouraged dog, now and then patting her hair

where the wind had loosened a bright strand.

"If Professor Farrago didn't expect a woman stenographer," she said,

abruptly, "why did he instruct you to bring a complete outfit of

woman's clothing?"

"I don't know," I said, tartly.

"But you bought them. Are they for a young woman or an old woman?"

"I don't know; I sent a messenger to a department store. I don't know

what he bought."

"Didn't you look them over?"

"No. Why? I should have been no wiser. I fancy they're all right,

because the bill was eighteen hundred dollars--"

The pretty stenographer sat up abruptly.

"Is that much?" I asked, uneasily. "I've always heard women's clothing

was expensive. Wasn't it enough? I told the boy to order the

best;--Professor Farrago always requires the very best scientific

instruments, and--I listed the clothes as scientific accessories--that

being the object of this expedition--_What_ are you laughing at?"

When it pleased her to recover her gravity she announced her desire to

inspect and repack the clothing; but I refused.

"They're for Professor Farrago," I said. "I don't know what he wants

of them. I don't suppose he intends to wear 'em and caper about the

jungle, but they're his. I got them because he told me to. I bought a

cage, too, to fit myself, but I don't suppose he means to put me in

it. Perhaps," I added, "he may invite you into it."

"Let me refold the gowns," she pleaded, persuasively. "What does a

clumsy man know about packing such clothing as that? If you don't,

they'll be ruined. It's a shame to drag those boxes about through mud

and water!"

So we made a landing, and lifted out and unlocked the boxes. All I

could see inside were mounds of lace and ribbons, and with a vague

idea that Miss Barrison needed no assistance I returned to the boat

and sat down to smoke until she was ready.

When she summoned me her face was flushed and her eyes bright.

"Those are certainly the most beautiful things!" she said, softly.

"Why, it is like a bride's trousseau--absolutely complete--all except

the bridal gown--"

"Isn't there a dress there?" I exclaimed, in alarm.

"No--not a day-dress."

"Night-dresses!" I shrieked. "He doesn't want women's night-dresses!

He's a bachelor! Good Heavens! I've done it this time!"

"But--but who is to wear them?" she asked.

"How do I know? I don't know anything; I can only presume that he

doesn't intend to open a department store in the Everglades. And if

any lady is to wear garments in his vicinity, I assume that those

garments are to be anything except diaphanous!... Please take your

seat in the boat, Miss Barrison. I want to row and think."

I had had my fill of exercise and thought when, about four o'clock in

the afternoon, Miss Barrison directed my attention to a point of palms

jutting out into the water about a mile to the southward.

"That's Farrago!" I exclaimed, catching sight of a United States flag

floating majestically from a bamboo-pole. "Give me the megaphone, if

you please."

She handed me the instrument; I hailed the shore; and presently a man

appeared under the palms at the water's edge.

"Hello!" I roared, trying to inject cheerfulness into the hollow

bellow. "How are you, professor?"

The answer came distinctly across the water:

"_Who_ is that with you?"

My lips were buried in the megaphone; I strove to speak; I only

produced a ghastly, chuckling sound.

"Of course you expect to tell the truth," observed the pretty

stenographer, quietly.

I removed my lips from the megaphone and looked around at her. She

returned my gaze with a disturbing smile.

"I want to mitigate the blow," I said, hoarsely. "Tell me how."

"I'm sure I don't know," she said, sweetly.

"Well, _I_ do!" I fairly barked, and seizing the megaphone again, I

set it to my lips and roared, "My fiancйe!"

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Miss Barrison, in consternation, "I thought

you were going to tell the truth!"

"Don't do that or you'll upset us," I snapped--"I'm telling the truth;

I've engaged myself to you; I did it mentally before I bellowed."

"But--"

"You know as well as I do what engagements mean," I said, picking up

the oars and digging them deep in the blue water.

She assented uncertainly.

A few minutes more of vigorous rowing brought us to a muddy landing

under a cluster of tall palmettos, where a gasoline launch lay.

Professor Farrago came down to the shore as I landed, and I walked

ahead to meet him. He was the maddest man I ever saw. But I was his

match, for I was desperate.

"What the devil--" he began, under his breath.

"Nonsense!" I said, deliberately. "An engaged woman is practically

married already, because marriages are made in heaven."

"Good Lord!" he gasped, "are you mad, Gilland? I sent for a

stenographer--"

"Miss Barrison is a stenographer," I said, calmly; and before he could

recover I had presented him, and left them face to face, washing my

hands of the whole affair.

Unloading the boat and carrying the luggage up under the palms, I

heard her saying:

"No, I am not in the least afraid of snakes, and I am quite ready to

begin my duties."

And he: "Mr. Gilland is a young man who--er--lacks practical

experience."

And she: "Mr. Gilland has been most thoughtful for my comfort. The

journey has been perfectly heavenly."

And he, clumsily: "Ahem!--the--er--celestial aspect of your journey

has--er--doubtless been colored by--er--the prospect of

your--er--approaching nuptials--"

She, hastily: "Oh, I do not think so, professor."

"Idiot!" I muttered, dragging the dog to the shore, where his yelps

brought the professor hurrying.

"Is _that_ the dog?" he inquired, adjusting his spectacles.

"That's the dog," I said. "He's full of points, you see?"

"Oh," mused the professor; "I thought he was full of--" He hesitated,

inspecting the animal, who, nose to the ground, stood investigating a

smell of some sort.

"See," I said, with enthusiasm, "he's found a scent; he's trailing it

already! Now he's rolling on it!"

"He's rolling on one of our concentrated food lozenges," said the

professor, dryly. "Tie him up, Mr. Gilland, and ask Mrs. Gilland to

come up to camp. Your room is ready."

"Rooms," I corrected; "she isn't Mrs. Gilland yet," I added, with a

forced smile.

"But you're practically married," observed the professor, "as you

pointed out to me. And if she's practically Mrs. Gilland, why not say

so?"

"Don't, all the same," I snarled.

"But marriages are made in--"

I cast a desperate eye upon him.

From that moment, whenever we were alone together, he made a target of

me. I never had supposed him humorously vindictive; he was, and his

apparently innocent mistakes almost turned my hair gray.

But to Miss Barrison he was kind and courteous, and for a time

over-serious. Observing him, I could never detect the slightest

symptom of dislike for her sex--a failing which common rumor had

always credited him with to the verge of absolute rudeness.

On the contrary, it was perfectly plain to anybody that he liked her.

There was in his manner towards her a mixture of business formality

and the deferential attitude of a gentleman.

We were seated, just before sunset, outside of the hut built of

palmetto logs, when Professor Farrago, addressing us both, began the

explanation of our future duties.

Miss Barrison, it appeared, was to note everything said by himself,

making several shorthand copies by evening. In other words, she was to

report every scrap of conversation she heard while in the Everglades.

And she nodded intelligently as he finished, and drew pad and pencil

from the pocket of her walking-skirt, jotting down his instructions as

a beginning. I could see that he was pleased.

"The reason I do this," he said, "is because I do not wish to hide

anything that transpires while we are on this expedition. Only the

most scrupulously minute record can satisfy me; no details are too

small to merit record; I demand and I court from my fellow-scientists

and from the public the fullest investigation."

He smiled slightly, turning towards me.

"You know, Mr. Gilland, how dangerous to the reputation of a

scientific man is any line of investigation into the unusual. If a man

once is even suspected of charlatanism, of sensationalism, of turning

his attention to any phenomena not strictly within the proper pale of

scientific investigation, that man is doomed to ridicule; his

profession disowns him; he becomes a man without honor, without

authority. Is it not so?"

"Yes," I said.

"Therefore," he resumed, thoughtfully, "as I do most firmly believe in

the course I am now pursuing, whether I succeed or fail I desire a

true and minute record made, hiding nothing of what may be said or

done. A stenographer alone can give this to the world, while I can

only supplement it with a description of events--if I live to

transcribe them."

Sunk in profound reverie he sat there silent under the great, smooth

palm-tree--a venerable figure in his yellow dressing-gown and carpet

slippers. Seated side by side, we waited, a trifle awed. I could hear

the soft breathing of the pretty stenographer beside me.

"First of all," said Professor Farrago, looking up, "I must be able to

trust those who are here to aid me."

"I--I will be faithful," said the girl, in a low voice.

"I do not doubt you, my child," he said; "nor you, Gilland. And so I

am going to tell you this much now--more, I hope, later."

And he sat up straight, lifting an impressive forefinger.

"Mr. Rowan, lately an officer of our Coast Survey, wrote me a letter

from the Holland House in New York--a letter so strange that, on

reading it, I immediately repaired to his hotel, where for hours we

talked together.

"The result of that conference is this expedition.

"I have now been here two months, and I am satisfied of certain facts.

First, there do exist in this unexplored wilderness certain forms of

life which are solid and palpable, but transparent and practically

invisible. Second, these living creatures belong to the animal

kingdom, are warm-blooded vertebrates, possess powers of locomotion,

but whether that of flight I am not certain. Third, they appear to

possess such senses as we enjoy--smell, touch, sight, hearing, and no

doubt the sense of taste. Fourth, their skin is smooth to the touch,

and the temperature of the epidermis appears to approximate that of a

normal human being. Fifth and last, whether bipeds or quadrupeds I do

not know, though all evidence appears to confirm my theory that they

walk erect. One pair of their limbs appear to terminate in a sort of

foot--like a delicately shaped human foot, except that there appear to

be no toes. The other pair of limbs terminate in something that, from

the single instance I experienced, seemed to resemble soft but firm

antennж or, perhaps, digitated palpi--"

"Feelers!" I blurted out.

"I don't know, but I think so. Once, when I was standing in the

forest, perfectly aware that creatures I could not see had stealthily

surrounded me, the tension was brought to a crisis when over my face,

from cheek to chin, stole a soft something, brushing the skin as

delicately as a child's fingers might brush it."

"Good Lord!" I breathed.

A care-worn smile crept into his eyes. "A test for nerves, you think,

Mr. Gilland? I agree with you. Nobody fears what anybody can see."

There came the slightest movement beside me.

"Are you trembling?" I asked, turning.

"I was writing," she replied, steadily. "Did my elbow touch you?"

"By-the-way," said Professor Farrago, "I fear I forgot to congratulate

you upon your choice of a stenographer, Mr. Gilland."

A rosy light stole over her pale face.

"Am I to record that too?" she asked, raising her blue eyes.

"Certainly," he replied, gravely.

"But, professor," I began, a prey to increasing excitement, "do you

propose to attempt the capture of one of these animals?"

"That is what the cage is for," he said. "I supposed you had guessed

that."

"I had," murmured the pretty stenographer.

"I do not doubt it," said Professor Farrago, gravely.

"What are the chemicals for--and the tank and hose attachment?"

"Think, Mr. Gilland."

"I can't; I'm almost stunned by what you tell me."

He laughed. "The rosium oxide and salts of strontium are to be dumped

into the tank together. They'll effervesce, of course."

"Of course," I muttered.

"And I can throw a rose-colored spray over any object by the hose

attachment, can't I?"

"Yes."

"Well, I tried it on a transparent jelly-fish and it became perfectly

visible and of a beautiful rose-color: and I tried it on rock-crystal,

and on glass, and on pure gelatine, and all became suffused with a

delicate pink glow, which lasted for hours or minutes according to the

substance.... Now you understand, don't you?"

"Yes; you want to see what sort of creature you have to deal with."

"Exactly; so when I've trapped it I am going to spray it." He turned

half humorously towards the stenographer: "I fancy you understood long

before Mr. Gilland did."

"I don't think so," she said, with a sidelong lifting of the heavy

lashes; and I caught the color of her eyes for a second.

"You see how Miss Barrison spares your feelings," observed Professor

Farrago, dryly. "She owes you little gratitude for bringing her here,

yet she proves a generous victim."

"Oh, I am very grateful for this rarest of chances!" she said, shyly.

"To be among the first in the world to discover such wonders ought to

make me very grateful to the man who gave me the opportunity."

"Do you mean Mr. Gilland?" asked the professor, laughing.

I had never before seen Professor Farrago laugh such a care-free

laugh; I had never suspected him of harboring even an embryo of the

social graces. Dry as dust, sapless as steel, precise as the magnetic

needle, he had hitherto been to me the mummified embodiment of science

militant. Now, in the guise of a perfectly human and genial old

gentleman, I scarcely recognized my superior of the Bronx Park

society. And as a woman-hater he was a miserable failure.

"Heavens," I thought to myself, "am I becoming jealous of my revered

professor's social success with a stray stenographer?" I felt mean,

and I probably looked it, and I was glad that telepathy did not permit

Miss Barrison to record my secret and unworthy ruminations.

The professor was saying: "These transparent creatures break off

berries and fruits and branches; I have seen a flower, too, plucked

from its stem by invisible digits and borne swiftly through the

forest--only the flower visible, apparently speeding through the air

and out of sight among the thickets.

"I have found the footprints that I described to you, usually on the

edge of a stream or in the soft loam along some forest lake or lost

lagoon.

"Again and again I have been conscious in the forest that unseen eyes

were fixed on me, that unseen shapes were following me. Never but that

one time did these invisible creatures close in around me and venture

to touch me.

"They may be weak; their structure may be frail, and they may be

incapable of violence or harm, but the depth of the footprints

indicates a weight of at least one hundred and thirty pounds, and it

certainly requires some muscular strength to break off a branch of

wild guavas."

He bent his noble head, thoughtfully regarding the design on his

slippers.

"What was the rifle for?" I asked.

"Defence, not aggression," he said, simply.

"And the camera?"

"A camera record is necessary in these days of bad artists."

I hesitated, glancing at Miss Barrison. She was still writing, her

pretty head bent over the pad in her lap.

"And the clothing?" I asked, carelessly.

"Did you get it?" he demanded.

"Of course--" I glanced at Miss Barrison. "There's no use writing down

everything, is there?"

"Everything must be recorded," said Professor Farrago, inflexibly.

"What clothing did you buy?"

"I forgot the gown," I said, getting red about the ears.

"Forgot the gown!" he repeated.

"Yes--one kind of gown--the day kind. I--I got the other kind."

He was annoyed; so was I. After a moment he got up, and crossing to

the log cabin, opened one of the boxes of apparel.

"Is it what you wanted?" I inquired.

"Y-es, I presume so," he replied, visibly perplexed.

"It's the best to be had," said I.

"That's quite right," he said, musingly. "We use only the best of

everything at Bronx Park. It is traditional with us, you know."

Curiosity pushed me. "Well, what on earth is it for?" I broke out.

He looked at me gravely over the tops of his spectacles--a striking

and inspiring figure in his yellow flannel dressing-gown and

slippers.

"I shall tell you some day--perhaps," he said, mildly. "Good-night,

Miss Barrison; good-night, Mr. Gilland. You will find extra blankets

on your bunk--"

"What!" I cried.

"Bunks," he said, and shut the door.

XVI

"There is something weird about this whole proceeding," I observed to

the pretty stenographer next morning.

"These pies will be weird if you don't stop talking to me," she said,

opening the doors of Professor Farrago's portable camping-oven and

peeping in at the fragrant pastry.

The professor had gone off somewhere into the woods early that

morning. As he was not in the habit of talking to himself, the

services of Miss Barrison were not required. Before he started,

however, he came to her with a request for a dozen pies, the

construction of which he asked if she understood. She had been to

cooking-school in more prosperous days, and she mentioned it; so at

his earnest solicitation she undertook to bake for him twelve

apple-pies; and she was now attempting it, assisted by advice from me.

"Are they burned?" I asked, sniffing the air.

"No, they are not burned, Mr. Gilland, but my finger is," she

retorted, stepping back to examine the damage.

I offered sympathy and witch-hazel, but she would have none of my

offerings, and presently returned to her pies.

"We can't eat all that pastry," I protested.

"Professor Farrago said they were not for us to eat," she said,

dusting each pie with powdered sugar.

"Well, what are they for? The dog? Or are they simply objets d'art to

adorn the shanty--"

"You annoy me," she said.

"The pies annoy me; won't you tell me what they're for?"

"I have a pretty fair idea what they're for," she observed, tossing

her head. "Haven't you?"

"No. What?"

"These pies are for bait."

"To bait hooks with?" I exclaimed.

"Hooks! No, you silly man. They're for baiting the cage. He means to

trap these transparent creatures in a cage baited with pie."

She laughed scornfully; inserted the burned tip of her finger in her

mouth and stood looking at me defiantly like a flushed and bright-eyed

school-girl.

"You think you're teasing me," she said; "but you do not realize what

a singularly slow-minded young man you are."

I stopped laughing. "How did you come to the conclusion that pies were

to be used for such a purpose?" I asked.

"I deduce," she observed, with an airy wave of her disengaged hand.

"Your deductions are weird--like everything else in this vicinity.

Pies to catch invisible monsters? Pooh!"

"You're not particularly complimentary, are you?" she said.

"Not particularly; but I could be, with you for my inspiration. I

could even be enthusiastic--"

"About my pies?"

"No--about your eyes."

"You are very frivolous--for a scientist," she said, scornfully;

"please subdue your enthusiasm and bring me some wood. This fire is

almost out."

When I had brought the wood, she presented me with a pail of hot water

and pointed at the dishes on the breakfast-table.

"Never!" I cried, revolted.

"Then I suppose I must do them--"

She looked pensively at her scorched finger-tip, and, pursing up her

red lips, blew a gentle breath to cool it.

"I'll do the dishes," I said.

Splashing and slushing the cups and saucers about in the hot water, I

reflected upon the events of the last few days. The dog, stupefied by

unwonted abundance of food, lay in the sunshine, sleeping the sleep of

repletion; the pretty stenographer, all rosy from her culinary

exertions, was removing the pies and setting them in neat rows to

cool.

"There," she said, with a sigh; "now I will dry the dishes for you....

You didn't mention the fact, when you engaged me, that I was also

expected to do general housework."

"I didn't engage you," I said, maliciously; "you engaged me, you

know."

She regarded me disdainfully, nose uptilted.

"How thoroughly disagreeable you can be!" she said. "Dry your own

dishes. I'm going for a stroll."

"May I join--"

"You may _not_! I shall go so far that you cannot possibly discover

me."

I watched her forestward progress; she sauntered for about thirty

yards along the lake and presently sat down in plain sight under a

huge live-oak.

A few moments later I had completed my task as general bottle-washer,

and I cast about for something to occupy me.

First I approached and politely caressed the satiated dog. He woke up,

regarded me with dully meditative eyes, yawned, and went to sleep

again. Never a flop of tail to indicate gratitude for blandishments,

never the faintest symptom of canine appreciation.

Chilled by my reception, I moused about for a while, poking into boxes

and bundles; then raised my head and inspected the landscape. Through

the vista of trees the pink shirt-waist of the pretty stenographer

glimmered like a rose blooming in the wilderness.

From whatever point I viewed the prospect that pink spot seemed to

intrude; I turned my back and examined the jungle, but there it was

repeated in a hundred pink blossoms among the massed thickets; I

looked up into the tree-tops, where pink mosses spotted the palms; I

looked out over the lake, and I saw it in my mind's eye pinker than

ever. It was certainly a case of pink-eye.

"I'll go for a stroll, too; it's a free country," I muttered.

After I had strolled in a complete circle I found myself within three

feet of a pink shirt-waist.

"I beg your pardon," I said; "I had no inten--"

"I thought you were never coming," she said, amiably.

"How is your finger?" I asked.

She held it up. I took it gingerly; it was smooth and faintly rosy at

the tip.

"Does it hurt?" I inquired.

"Dreadfully. Your hands feel so cool--"

After a silence she said, "Thank you, that has cooled the burning."

"I am determined," said I, "to expel the fire from your finger if it

takes hours and hours." And I seated myself with that intention.

For a while she talked, making innocent observations concerning the

tropical foliage surrounding us. Then silence crept in between us,

accentuated by the brooding stillness of the forest.

"I am afraid your hands are growing tired," she said, considerately.

I denied it.

Through the vista of palms we could see the lake, blue as a violet,

sparkling with silvery sunshine. In the intense quiet the splash of

leaping mullet sounded distinctly.

Once a tall crane stalked into view among the sedges; once an unseen

alligator shook the silence with his deep, hollow roaring. Then the

stillness of the wilderness grew more intense.

We had been sitting there for a long while without exchanging a word,

dreamily watching the ripple of the azure water, when all at once

there came a scurrying patter of feet through the forest, and, looking

up, I beheld the hound-dog, tail between his legs, bearing down on us

at lightning speed. I rose instantly.

"What is the matter with the dog?" cried the pretty stenographer. "Is

he going mad, Mr. Gilland?"

"Something has scared him," I exclaimed, as the dog, eyes like lighted

candles, rushed frantically between my legs and buried his head in

Miss Barrison's lap.

"Poor doggy!" she said, smoothing the collapsed pup; "poor, p-oor

little beast! Did anything scare him? Tell aunty all about it."

When a dog flees _without yelping_ he's a badly frightened creature. I

instinctively started back towards the camp whence the beast had fled,

and before I had taken a dozen steps Miss Barrison was beside me,

carrying the dog in her arms.

"I've an idea," she said, under her breath.

"What?" I asked, keeping my eyes on the camp.

"It's this: I'll wager that we find those pies gone!"

"Pies gone?" I repeated, perplexed; "what makes you think--"

"They _are_ gone!" she exclaimed. "Look!"

I gaped stupidly at the rough pine table where the pies had stood in

three neat rows of four each. And then, in a moment, the purport of

this robbery flashed upon my senses.

"The transparent creatures!" I gasped.

"Hush!" she whispered, clinging to the trembling dog in her arms.

I listened. I could hear nothing, see nothing, yet slowly I became

convinced of the presence of something unseen--something in the forest

close by, watching us out of invisible eyes.

A chill, settling along my spine, crept upward to my scalp, until

every separate hair wiggled to the roots. Miss Barrison was pale, but

perfectly calm and self-possessed.

"Let us go in-doors," I said, as steadily as I could.

"Very well," she replied.

I held the door open; she entered with the dog; I followed, closing

and barring the door, and then took my station at the window, rifle in

hand.

There was not a sound in the forest. Miss Barrison laid the dog on the

floor and quietly picked up her pad and pencil. Presently she was deep

in a report of the phenomena, her pencil flying, leaf after leaf from

the pad fluttering to the floor.

Nor did I at the window change my position of scared alertness, until

I was aware of her hand gently touching my elbow to attract my

attention, and her soft voice at my ear--

"You don't suppose by any chance that the dog ate those pies?"

I collected my tumultuous thoughts and turned to stare at the dog.

"Twelve pies, twelve inches each in diameter," she reflected,

musingly. "One dog, twenty inches in diameter. How many times will the

pies go into the dog? Let me see." She made a few figures on her pad,

thought awhile, produced a tape-measure from her pocket, and, kneeling

down, measured the dog.

"No," she said, looking up at me, "he couldn't contain them."

Inspired by her coolness and perfect composure, I set the rifle in the

corner and opened the door. Sunlight fell in bars through the quiet

woods; nothing stirred on land or water save the great, yellow-striped

butterflies that fluttered and soared and floated above the flowering

thickets bordering the jungle.

The heat became intense; Miss Barrison went to her room to change her

gown for a lighter one; I sat down under a live-oak, eyes and ears

strained for any sign of our invisible neighbors.

When she emerged in the lightest and filmiest of summer gowns, she

brought the camera with her; and for a while we took pictures of each

other, until we had used up all but one film.

Desiring to possess a picture of Miss Barrison and myself seated

together, I tied a string to the shutter-lever and attached the other

end of the string to the dog, who had resumed his interrupted

slumbers. At my whistle he jumped up nervously, snapping the lever,

and the picture was taken.

With such innocent and harmless pastime we whiled away the afternoon.

She made twelve more apple-pies. I mounted guard over them. And we

were just beginning to feel a trifle uneasy about Professor Farrago,

when he appeared, tramping sturdily through the forest, green umbrella

and butterfly-net under one arm, shot-gun and cyanide-jar under the

other, and his breast all criss-crossed with straps, from which

dangled field-glasses, collecting-boxes, and botanizing-tins--an

inspiring figure indeed--the embodied symbol of science indomitable,

triumphant!

We hailed him with three guilty cheers; the dog woke up with a

perfunctory bark--the first sound I had heard from him since he yelped

his disapproval of me on the lagoon.

Miss Barrison produced three bowls full of boiling water and dropped

three pellets of concentrated soup-meat into them, while I prepared

coffee. And in a few moments our simple dinner was ready--the red

ants had been dusted from the biscuits, the spiders chased off the

baked beans, the scorpions shaken from the napkins, and we sat down at

the rough, improvised table under the palms.

The professor gave us a brief but modest account of his short tour of

exploration. He had brought back a new species of orchid, several

undescribed beetles, and a pocketful of coontie seed. He appeared,

however, to be tired and singularly depressed, and presently we

learned why.

It seemed that he had gone straight to that section of the forest

where he had hitherto always found signs of the transparent and

invisible creatures which he had determined to capture, and he had not

found a single trace of them.

"It alarms me," he said, gravely. "If they have deserted this region,

it might take a lifetime to locate them again in this wilderness."

Then, very quietly, sinking her voice instinctively, as though the

unseen might be at our very elbows listening, Miss Barrison recounted

the curious adventure which had befallen the dog and the first batch

of apple-pies.

With visible and increasing excitement the professor listened until

the very end. Then he struck the table with clinched fist--a

resounding blow which set the concentrated soup dancing in the bowls

and scattered the biscuits and the industrious red ants in every

direction.

"Eureka!" he whispered. "Miss Barrison, your deduction was not only

perfectly reasonable, but brilliant. You are right; the pies are for

that very purpose. I conceived the idea when I first came here. Again

and again the pies that my guide made out of dried apples disappeared

in a most astonishing and mysterious manner when left to cool. At

length I determined to watch them every second; and did so, with the

result that late one afternoon I was amazed to see a pie slowly rise

from the table and move swiftly away through the air about four feet

above the ground, finally disappearing into a tangle of jasmine and

grape-vine.

"The apparently automatic flight of that pie solved the problem; these

transparent creatures cannot resist that delicacy. Therefore I decided

to bait the cage for them this very night--Look! What's the matter

with that dog?"

The dog suddenly bounded into the air, alighted on all fours, ears,

eyes, and muzzle concentrated on a point directly behind us.

"Good gracious! The pies!" faltered Miss Barrison, half rising from

her seat; but the dog rushed madly into her skirts, scrambling for

protection, and she fell back almost into my arms.

Clasping her tightly, I looked over my shoulder; the last pie was

snatched from the table before my eyes and I saw it borne swiftly away

by something unseen, straight into the deepening shadows of the

forest.

The professor was singularly calm, even slightly ironical, as he

turned to me, saying:

"Perhaps if you relinquish Miss Barrison she may be able to free

herself from that dog."

I did so immediately, and she deposited the cowering dog in my arms.

Her face had suddenly become pink.

I passed the dog on to Professor Farrago, dumping it viciously into

his lap--a proceeding which struck me as resembling a pastime of

extreme youth known as "button, button, who's got the button?"

The professor examined the animal gravely, feeling its pulse, counting

its respirations, and finally inserting a tentative finger in an

attempt to examine its tongue. The dog bit him.

"Ouch! It's a clear case of fright," he said, gravely. "I wanted a dog

to aid me in trailing these remarkable creatures, but I think this dog

of yours is useless, Gilland."

"It's given us warning of the creatures' presence twice already," I

argued.

"Poor little thing," said Miss Barrison, softly; "I don't know why,

but I love that dog.... He has eyes like yours, Mr. Gilland--"

Exasperated, I rose from the table. "He's got eyes like holes burned

in a blanket!" I said. "And if ever a flicker of intelligence lighted

them I have failed to observe it."

The professor regarded me dreamily. "We ought to have more pies," he

observed. "Perhaps if you carried the oven into the shanty--"

"Certainly," said Miss Barrison; "we can lock the door while I make

twelve more pies."

I carried the portable camping-oven into the cabin, connected the

patent asbestos chimney-pipes, and lighted the fire. And in a few

minutes Miss Barrison, sleeves rolled up and pink apron pinned under

her chin, was busily engaged in rolling pie-crust, while Professor

Farrago measured out spices and set the dried apples to soak.

The swift Southern twilight had already veiled the forest as I

stepped out of the cabin to smoke a cigar and promenade a bit and

cogitate. A last trace of color lingering in the west faded out as I

looked; the gray glimmer deepened into darkness, through which the

white lake vapors floated in thin, wavering strata across the water.

For a while the frog's symphony dominated all other sounds, then

lagoon and forest and cypress branch awoke; and through the steadily

sustained tumult of woodland voices I could hear the dry bark of the

fox-squirrel, the whistle of the raccoon, ducks softly quacking or

whimpering as they prepared for sleep among the reeds, the soft

booming of bitterns, the clattering gossip of the heronry, the

Southern whippoorwill's incessant call.

At regular intervals the howling note of a lone heron echoed the

strident screech of a crimson-crested crane; the horned owl's savage

hunting-cry haunted the night, now near, now floating from infinite

distances.

And after a while I became aware of a nearer sound, low-pitched but

ceaseless--the hum of thousands of lesser living creatures blending to

a steady monotone.

Then the theatrical moon came up through filmy draperies of waving

Spanish moss thin as cobwebs; and far in the wilderness a cougar fell

a-crying and coughing like a little child with a bad cold.

I went in after that. Miss Barrison was sitting before the oven, knees

gathered in her clasped hands, languidly studying the fire. She looked

up as I appeared, opened the oven-doors, sniffed the aroma, and

resumed her attitude of contented indifference.

"Where is the professor?" I asked.

"He has retired. He's been talking in his sleep at moments."

"Better take it down; that's what you're here for," I observed,

closing and holding the outside door. "Ugh! there's a chill in the

air. The dew is pelting down from the pines like a steady fall of

rain."

"You will get fever if you roam about at night," she said. "Mercy!

your coat is soaking. Sit here by the fire."

So I pulled up a bench and sat down beside her like the traditional

spider.

"Miss Muffitt," I said, "don't let me frighten you away--"

"I was going anyhow--"

"Please don't."

"Why?" she demanded, reseating herself.

"Because I like to sit beside you," I said, truthfully.

"Your avowal is startling and not to be substantiated by facts," she

remarked, resting her chin on one hand and gazing into the fire.

"You mean because I went for a stroll by moonlight? I did that because

you always seem to make fun of me as soon as the professor joins us."

"Make fun of you? You surely don't expect me to make eyes at you!"

There was a silence; I toasted my shins, thoughtfully.

"How is your burned finger?" I asked.

She lifted it for my inspection, and I began a protracted examination.

"What would you prescribe?" she inquired, with an absent-minded glance

at the professor's closed door.

"I don't know; perhaps a slight but firm pressure of the

finger-tips--"

"You tried that this afternoon."

"But the dog interrupted us--"

"Interrupted _you_. Besides--"

"What?"

"I don't think you ought to," she said.

Sitting there before the oven, side by side, hand innocently clasped

in hand, we heard the drumming of the dew on the roof, the night-wind

stirring the palms, the muffled snoring of the professor, the faint

whisper and crackle of the fire.

A single candle burned brightly, piling our shadows together on the

wall behind us; moonlight silvered the window-panes, over which

crawled multitudes of soft-winged moths, attracted by the candle

within.

"See their tiny eyes glow!" she whispered. "How their wings quiver!

And all for a candle-flame! Alas! alas! fire is the undoing of us

all."

She leaned forward, resting as though buried in reverie. After a while

she extended one foot a trifle and, with the point of her shoe,

carefully unlatched the oven-door. As it swung outward a delicious

fragrance filled the room.

"They're done," she said, withdrawing her hand from mine. "Help me to

lift them out."

Together we arranged the delicious pastry in rows on the bench to

cool. I opened the door for a few minutes, then closed and bolted it

again.

"Do you suppose those transparent creatures will smell the odor and

come around the cabin?" she suggested, wiping her fingers on her

handkerchief.

I walked to the window uneasily. Outside the pane the moths crawled,

some brilliant in scarlet and tan-color set with black, some

snow-white with black tracings on their wings, and bodies peacock-blue

edged with orange. The scientist in me was aroused; I called her to

the window, and she came and leaned against the sill, nose pressed to

the glass.

"I don't suppose you know that the antennж of that silvery-winged moth

are distinctly pectinate," I said.

"Of course I do," she said. "I took my degree as D.E. at Barnard

College."

"What!" I exclaimed in astonishment. "You've been through Barnard? You

are a Doctor of Entomology?"

"It was my undoing," she said. "The department was abolished the year

I graduated. There was no similar vacancy, even in the Smithsonian."

She shrugged her shoulders, eyes fixed on the moths. "I had to make my

own living. I chose stenography as the quickest road to

self-sustenance."

She looked up, a flush on her cheeks.

"I suppose you took me for an inferior?" she said. "But do you suppose

I'd flirt with you if I was?"

She pressed her face to the pane again, murmuring that exquisite poem

of Andrew Lang:

   "Spooning is innocuous and needn't have a sequel,

    But recollect, if spoon you must, spoon only with your equal."

Standing there, watching the moths, we became rather silent--I don't

know why.

The fire in the range had gone out; the candle-flame, flaring above a

saucer of melted wax, sank lower and lower.

Suddenly, as though disturbed by something inside, the moths all left

the window-pane, darting off in the darkness.

"That's curious," I said.

"What's curious?" she asked, opening her eyes languidly. "Good

gracious! Was that a bat that beat on the window?"

"I saw nothing," I said, disturbed. "Listen!"

A soft sound against the glass, as though invisible fingers were

feeling the pane--a gentle rubbing--then a tap-tap, all but inaudible.

"Is it a bird? Can you see?" she whispered.

The candle-flame behind us flashed and expired. Moonlight flooded the

pane. The sounds continued, but there was nothing there.

We understood now what it was that so gently rubbed and patted the

glass outside. With one accord we noiselessly gathered up the pies and

carried them into my room.

Then she walked to the door of her room, turned, held out her hand,

and whispering, "Good-night! A demain, monsieur!" slipped into her

room and softly closed the door.

And all night long I lay in troubled slumber beside the pies, a rifle

resting on the blankets beside me, a revolver under my pillow. And I

dreamed of moths with brilliant eyes and vast silvery wings harnessed

to a balloon in which Miss Barrison and I sat, arms around each other,

eating slice after slice of apple-pie.

XVII

Dawn came--the dawn of a day that I am destined never to forget. Long,

rosy streamers of light broke through the forest, shaking, quivering,

like unstable beams from celestial search-lights. Mist floated upward

from marsh and lake; and through it the spectral palms loomed,

drooping fronds embroidered with dew.

For a while the ringing outburst of bird music dominated all; but it

soon ceased with dropping notes from the crimson cardinals repeated in

lengthening minor intervals; and then the spell of silence returned,

broken only by the faint splash of mullet, mocking the sun with

sinuous, silver flashes.

"Good-morning," said a low voice from the door as I stood encouraging

the camp-fire with splinter wood and dead palmetto fans.

Fresh and sweet from her toilet as a dew-drenched rose, Miss Barrison

stood there sniffing the morning air daintily, thoroughly.

"Too much perfume," she said--"too much like ylang-ylang in a

department-store. Central Park smells sweeter on an April morning."

"Are you criticising the wild jasmine?" I asked.

"I'm criticising an exotic smell. Am I not permitted to comment on the

tropics?"

Fishing out a cedar log from the lumber-stack, I fell to chopping it

vigorously. The axe-strokes made a cheerful racket through the woods.

"Did you hear anything last night after you retired?" I asked.

"Something was at my window--something that thumped softly and seemed

to be feeling all over the glass. To tell you the truth, I was silly

enough to remain dressed all night."

"You don't look it," I said.

"Oh, when daylight came I had a chance," she added, laughing.

"All the same," said I, leaning on the axe and watching her, "you are

about the coolest and pluckiest woman I ever knew."

"We were all in the same fix," she said, modestly.

"No, we were not. Now I'll tell you the truth--my hair stood up the

greater part of the night. You are looking upon a poltroon, Miss

Barrison."

"Then there was something at your window, too?"

"Something? A dozen! They were monkeying with the sashes and panes all

night long, and I imagined that I could hear them breathing--as though

from effort of intense eagerness. Ouch! I came as near losing my nerve

as I care to. I came within an ace of hurling those cursed pies

through the window at them. I'd bolt to-day if I wasn't afraid to play

the coward."

"Most people are brave for that reason," she said.

The dog, who had slept under my bunk, and who had contributed to my

entertainment by sighing and moaning all night, now appeared ready for

business--business in his case being the operation of feeding. I

presented him with a concentrated tablet, which he cautiously

investigated and then rolled on.

"Nice testimonial for the people who concocted it," I said, in

disgust. "I wish I had an egg."

"There are some concentrated egg tablets in the shanty," said Miss

Barrison; but the idea was not attractive.

"I refuse to fry a pill for breakfast," I said, sullenly, and set the

coffee-pot on the coals.

In spite of the dewy beauty of the morning, breakfast was not a

cheerful function. Professor Farrago appeared, clad in sun-helmet and

khaki. I had seldom seen him depressed; but he was now, and his very

efforts to disguise it only emphasized his visible anxiety.

His preparations for the day, too, had an ominous aspect to me. He

gave his orders and we obeyed, instinctively suppressing questions.

First, he and I transported all personal luggage of the company to the

big electric launch--Miss Barrison's effects, his, and my own. His

private papers, the stenographic reports, and all memoranda were tied

up together and carried aboard.

Then, to my surprise, two weeks' concentrated rations for two and

mineral water sufficient for the same period were stowed away aboard

the launch. Several times he asked me whether I knew how to run the

boat, and I assured him that I did.

In a short time nothing was left ashore except the bare furnishings of

the cabin, the female wearing-apparel, the steel cage and chemicals

which I had brought, and the twelve apple-pies--the latter under lock

and key in my room.

As the preparations came to an end, the professor's gentle melancholy

seemed to deepen. Once I ventured to ask him if he was indisposed, and

he replied that he had never felt in better physical condition.

Presently he bade me fetch the pies; and I brought them, and, at a

sign from him, placed them inside the steel cage, closing and locking

the door.

"I believe," he said, glancing from Miss Barrison to me, and from me

to the dog--"I believe that we are ready to start."

He went to the cabin and locked the door on the outside, pocketing the

key.

Then he backed up to the steel cage, stooped and lifted his end as I

lifted mine, and together we started off through the forest, bearing

the cage between us as porters carry a heavy piece of luggage.

Miss Barrison came next, carrying the trousseau, the tank, hose, and

chemicals; and the dog followed her--probably not from affection for

us, but because he was afraid to be left alone.

We walked in silence, the professor and I keeping an instinctive

lookout for snakes; but we encountered nothing of that sort. On every

side, touching our shoulders, crowded the closely woven and

impenetrable tangle of the jungle; and we threaded it along a narrow

path which he, no doubt, had cut, for the machete marks were still

fresh, and the blazes on hickory, live-oak, and palm were all wet with

dripping sap, and swarming with eager, brilliant butterflies.

At times across our course flowed shallow, rapid streams of water,

clear as crystal, and most alluring to the thirsty.

"There's fever in every drop," said the professor, as I mentioned my

thirst; "take the bottled water if you mean to stay a little longer."

"Stay where?" I asked.

"On earth," he replied, tersely; and we marched on.

The beauty of the tropics is marred somewhat for me; under all the

fresh splendor of color death lurks in brilliant tints. Where painted

fruit hangs temptingly, where great, silky blossoms exhale alluring

scent, where the elaps coils inlaid with scarlet, black, and saffron,

where in the shadow of a palmetto frond a succession of velvety black

diamonds mark the rattler's swollen length, there death is; and his

invisible consort, horror, creeps where the snake whose mouth is lined

with white creeps--where the tarantula squats, hairy, motionless;

where a bit of living enamel fringed with orange undulates along a

mossy log.

Thinking of these things, and watchful lest, unawares, terror unfold

from some blossoming and leafy covert, I scarcely noticed the beauty

of the glade we had entered--a long oval, cross-barred with sunshine

which fell on hedges of scrub-palmetto, chin high, interlaced with

golden blossoms of the jasmine. And all around, like pillars

supporting a high green canopy above a throne, towered the silvery

stems of palms fretted with pale, rose-tinted lichens and hung with

draperies of grape-vine.

"This is the place," said Professor Farrago.

His quiet, passionless voice sounded strange to me; his words seemed

strange, too, each one heavily weighted with hidden meaning.

We set the cage on the ground; he unlocked and opened the steel-barred

door, and, kneeling, carefully arranged the pies along the centre of

the cage.

"I have a curious presentiment," he said, "that I shall not come out

of this experiment unscathed."

"Don't, for Heaven's sake, say that!" I broke out, my nerves on edge

again.

"Why not?" he asked, surprised. "I am not afraid."

"Not afraid to die?" I demanded, exasperated.

"Who spoke of dying?" he inquired, mildly. "What I said was that I do

not expect to come out of this affair unscathed."

I did not comprehend his meaning, but I understood the reproof

conveyed.

He closed and locked the cage door again and came towards us,

balancing the key across the palm of his hand.

Miss Barrison had seated herself on the leaves; I stood back as the

professor sat down beside her; then, at a gesture from him, took the

place he indicated on his left.

"Before we begin," he said, calmly, "there are several things you

ought to know and which I have not yet told you. The first concerns

the feminine wearing apparel which Mr. Gilland brought me."

He turned to Miss Barrison and asked her whether she had brought a

complete outfit, and she opened the bundle on her knees and handed it

to him.

"I cannot," he said, "delicately explain in so many words what use I

expect to make of this apparel. Nor do I yet know whether I shall have

any use at all for it. That can only be a theoretical speculation

until, within a few more hours, my theory is proven or disproven--and,"

he said, suddenly turning on me, "my theory concerning these invisible

creatures is the most extraordinary and audacious theory ever

entertained by man since Columbus presumed that there must lie

somewhere a hidden continent which nobody had ever seen."

He passed his hand over his protruding forehead, lost for a moment in

deepest reflection. Then, "Have you ever heard of the Sphyx?" he

asked.

"It seems to me that Ponce de Leon wrote of something--" I began,

hesitating.

"Yes, the famous lines in the third volume which have set so many wise

men guessing. You recall them:

"'_And there, alas! within sound of the Fountain of Youth whose waters

tint the skin till the whole body glows softly like the petal of a

rose--there, alas! in the new world already blooming_, THE ETERNAL

ENIGMA _I beheld, in the flesh living; yet it faded even as I looked,

although I swear it lived and breathed. This is the Sphyx_.'"

A silence; then I said, "Those lines are meaningless to me."

"Not to me," said Miss Barrison, softly.

The professor looked at her. "Ah, child! Ever subtler, ever surer--the

Eternal Enigma is no enigma to you."

"What is the Sphyx?" I asked.

"Have you read De Soto? Or Goya?"

"Yes, both. I remember now that De Soto records the Syachas legend of

the Sphyx--something about a goddess--"

"Not a goddess," said Miss Barrison, her lips touched with a smile.

"Sometimes," said the professor, gently. "And Goya said:

"'_It has come to my ears while in the lands of the Syachas that the

Sphyx surely lives, as bolder and more curious men than I may, God

willing, prove to the world hereafter_.'"

"But what is the Sphyx?" I insisted.

"For centuries wise men and savants have asked each other that

question. I have answered it for myself; I am now to prove it, I

trust."

His face darkened, and again and again he stroked his heavy brow.

"If anything occurs," he said, taking my hand in his left and Miss

Barrison's hand in his right, "promise me to obey my wishes. Will

you?"

"Yes," we said, together.

"If I lose my life, or--or disappear, promise me on your honor to get

to the electric launch as soon as possible and make all speed

northward, placing my private papers, the reports of Miss Barrison,

and your own reports in the hands of the authorities in Bronx Park.

Don't attempt to aid me; don't delay to search for me. Do you

promise?"

"Yes," we breathed together.

He looked at us solemnly. "If you fail me, you betray me," he said.

We swore obedience.

"Then let us begin," he said, and he rose and went to the steel cage.

Unlocking the door, he flung it wide and stepped inside, leaving the

cage door open.

"The moment a single pie is disturbed," he said to me, "I shall close

the steel door from the inside, and you and Miss Barrison will then

dump the rosium oxide and the strontium into the tank, clap on the

lid, turn the nozzle of the hose on the cage, and spray it

thoroughly. Whatever is invisible in the cage will become visible and

of a faint rose color. And when the trapped creature becomes visible,

hold yourselves ready to aid me as long as I am able to give you

orders. After that either all will go well or all will go otherwise,

and you must run for the launch." He seated himself in the cage near

the open door.

I placed the steel tank near the cage, uncoiled the hose attachment,

unscrewed the top, and dumped in the salts of strontium. Miss Barrison

unwrapped the bottle of rosium oxide and loosened the cork. We

examined this pearl-and-pink powder and shook it up so that it might

run out quickly. Then Miss Barrison sat down, and presently became

absorbed in a stenographic report of the proceedings up to date.

When Miss Barrison finished her report she handed me the bundle of

papers. I stowed them away in my wallet, and we sat down together

beside the tank.

Inside the cage Professor Farrago was seated, his spectacled eyes

fixed on the row of pies. For a while, although realizing perfectly

that our quarry was transparent and invisible, we unconsciously

strained our eyes in quest of something stirring in the forest.

"I should think," said I, in a low voice, "that the odor of the pies

might draw at least one out of the odd dozen that came rubbing up

against my window last night."


"Hush! Listen!" she breathed. But we heard nothing save the snoring of

the overfed dog at our feet.

"He'll give us ample notice by butting into Miss Barrison's skirts," I

observed. "No need of our watching, professor."

The professor nodded. Presently he removed his spectacles and lay back

against the bars, closing his eyes.

At first the forest silence seemed cheerful there in the flecked

sunlight. The spotted wood-gnats gyrated merrily, chased by

dragon-flies; the shy wood-birds hopped from branch to twig, peering

at us in friendly inquiry; a lithe, gray squirrel, plumy tail

undulating, rambled serenely around the cage, sniffing at the pastry

within.

Suddenly, without apparent reason, the squirrel sprang to a

tree-trunk, hung a moment on the bark, quivering all over, then dashed

away into the jungle.

"Why did he act like that?" whispered Miss Barrison. And, after a

moment: "How still it is! Where have the birds gone?"

In the ominous silence the dog began to whimper in his sleep and his

hind legs kicked convulsively.

"He's dreaming--" I began.

The words were almost driven down my throat by the dog, who, without a

yelp of warning, hurled himself at Miss Barrison and alighted on my

chest, fore paws around my neck.

I cast him scornfully from me, but he scrambled back, digging like a

mole to get under us.

"The transparent creatures!" whispered Miss Barrison. "Look! See that

pie move!"

I sprang to my feet just as the professor, jamming on his spectacles,

leaned forward and slammed the cage door.

"I've got one!" he shouted, frantically. "There's one in the cage!

Turn on that hose!"

"Wait a second," said Miss Barrison, calmly, uncorking the bottle and

pouring a pearly stream of rosium oxide into the tank. "Quick! It's

fizzing! Screw on the top!"

In a second I had screwed the top fast, seized the hose, and directed

a hissing cloud of vapor through the cage bars.

For a moment nothing was heard save the whistling rush of the perfumed

spray escaping; a delicious odor of roses filled the air. Then,

slowly, there in the sunshine, a misty something grew in the cage--a

glistening, pearl-tinted phantom, imperceptibly taking shape in

space--vague at first as a shred of lake vapor, then lengthening,

rounding into flowing form, clearer, clearer.

"The Sphyx!" gasped the professor. "In the name of Heaven, play that

hose!"

As he spoke the treacherous hose burst. A showery pillar of

rose-colored vapor enveloped everything. Through the thickening fog

for one brief instant a human form appeared like magic--a woman's

form, flawless, exquisite as a statue, pure as marble. Then the

swimming vapor buried it, cage, pies, and all.

We ran frantically around, the cage in the obscurity, appealing for

instructions and feeling for the bars. Once the professor's muffled

voice was heard demanding the wearing apparel, and I groped about and

found it and stuffed it through the bars of the cage.

"Do you need help?" I shouted. There was no response. Staring around

through the thickening vapor of rosium rolling in clouds from the

overturned tank, I heard Miss Barrison's voice calling:

"I can't move! A transparent lady is holding me!"

Blindly I rushed about, arms outstretched, and the next moment struck

the door of the cage so hard that the impact almost knocked me

senseless. Clutching it to steady myself, it suddenly flew open. A

rush of partly visible creatures passed me like a burst of pink

flames, and in the midst, borne swiftly away on the crest of the

outrush, the professor passed like a bolt shot from a catapult; and

his last cry came wafted back to me from the forest as I swayed there,

drunk with the stupefying perfume: "Don't worry! I'm all right!"

I staggered out into the clearer air towards a figure seen dimly

through swirling vapor.

"Are you hurt?" I stammered, clasping Miss Barrison in my arms.

"No--oh no," she said, wringing her hands. "But the professor! I saw

him! I could not scream; I could not move! _They_ had him!"

"I saw him too," I groaned. "There was not one trace of terror on his

face. He was actually smiling."

Overcome at the sublime courage of the man, we wept in each other's

arms.

      *       *       *       *       *

True to our promise to Professor Farrago, we made the best of our way

northward; and it was not a difficult journey by any means, the voyage

in the launch across Okeechobee being perfectly simple and the trail

to the nearest railroad station but a few easy miles from the

landing-place.

Shocking as had been our experience, dreadful as was the calamity

which had not only robbed me of a life-long friend, but had also

bereaved the entire scientific world, I could not seem to feel that

desperate and hopeless grief which the natural decease of a close

friend might warrant. No; there remained a vague expectancy which so

dominated my sorrow that at moments I became hopeful--nay, sanguine,

that I should one day again behold my beloved superior in the flesh.

There was something so happy in his last smile, something so artlessly

pleased, that I was certain no fear of impending dissolution worried

him as he disappeared into the uncharted depth of the unknown

Everglades.

I think Miss Barrison agreed with me, too. She appeared to be more or

less dazed, which was, of course, quite natural; and during our return

voyage across Okeechobee and through the lagoons and forests beyond

she was very silent.

When we reached the railroad at Portulacca, a thrifty lemon-growing

ranch on the Volusia and Chinkapin Railway, the first thing I did was

to present my dog to the station-agent--but I was obliged to give him

five dollars before he consented to accept the dog.

However, Miss Barrison interviewed the station-master's wife, a

kindly, pitiful soul, who promised to be a good mistress to the

creature. We both felt better after that was off our minds; we felt

better still when the north-bound train rolled leisurely into the

white glare of Portulacca, and presently rolled out again, quite as

leisurely, bound, thank Heaven, for that abused aggregation of sinful

boroughs called New York.

Except for one young man whom I encountered in the smoker, we had the

train to ourselves, a circumstance which, curiously enough, appeared

to increase Miss Barrison's depression, and my own as a natural

sequence. The circumstances of the taking off of Professor Farrago

appeared to engross her thoughts so completely that it made me uneasy

during our trip out from Little Sprite--in fact it was growing plainer

to me every hour that in her brief acquaintance with that

distinguished scientist she had become personally attached to him to

an extent that began to worry me. Her personal indignation at the

caged Sphyx flared out at unexpected intervals, and there could be no

doubt that her unhappiness and resentment were becoming morbid.

I spent an hour or two in the smoking compartment, tenanted only by a

single passenger and myself. He was an agreeable young man, although,

in the natural acquaintanceship that we struck up, I regretted to

learn that he was a writer of popular fiction, returning from Fort

Worth, where he had been for the sole purpose of composing a poem on

Florida.

I have always, in common with other mentally balanced savants,

despised writers of fiction. All scientists harbor a natural antipathy

to romance in any form, and that antipathy becomes a deep horror if

fiction dares to deal flippantly with the exact sciences, or if some

degraded intellect assumes the warrantless liberty of using natural

history as the vehicle for silly tales.

Never but once had I been tempted to romance in any form; never but

once had sentiment interfered with a passionless transfer of

scientific notes to the sanctuary of the unvarnished note-book or the

cloister of the juiceless monograph. Nor have I the slightest approach

to that superficial and doubtful quality known as literary skill.

Once, however, as I sat alone in the middle of the floor, classifying

my isopods, I was not only astonished but totally unprepared to find

myself repeating aloud a verse that I myself had unconsciously

fashioned:

   "An isopod

    Is a work of God."

Never before in all my life had I made a rhyme; and it worried me for

weeks, ringing in my brain day and night, confusing me, interfering

with my thoughts.

I said as much to the young man, who only laughed good-naturedly and

replied that it was the Creator's purpose to limit certain intellects,

nobody knows why, and that it was apparent that mine had not escaped.

"There's one thing, however," he said, "that might be of some interest

to you and come within the circumscribed scope of your intelligence."

"And what is that?" I asked, tartly.

"A scientific experience of mine," he said, with a careless laugh.

"It's so much stranger than fiction that even Professor Bruce

Stoddard, of Columbia, hesitated to credit it."

I looked at the young fellow suspiciously. His bland smile disarmed

me, but I did not invite him to relate his experience, although he

apparently needed only that encouragement to begin.

"Now, if I could tell it exactly as it occurred," he observed, "and a

stenographer could take it down, word for word, exactly as I relate

it--"

"It would give me great pleasure to do so," said a quiet voice at the

door. We rose at once, removing the cigars from our lips; but Miss

Barrison bade us continue smoking, and at a gesture from her we

resumed our seats after she had installed herself by the window.

"Really," she said, looking coldly at me, "I couldn't endure the

solitude any longer. Isn't there anything to do on this tiresome

train?"

"If you had your pad and pencil," I began, maliciously, "you might

take down a matter of interest--"

She looked frankly at the young man, who laughed in that pleasant,

good-tempered manner of his, and offered to tell us of his alleged

scientific experience if we thought it might amuse us sufficiently to

vary the dull monotony of the journey north.

"Is it fiction?" I asked, point-blank.

"It is absolute truth," he replied.

I rose and went off to find pad and pencil. When I returned Miss

Barrison was laughing at a story which the young man had just

finished.

"But," he ended, gravely, "I have practically decided to renounce

fiction as a means of livelihood and confine myself to simple,

uninteresting statistics and facts."

"I am very glad to hear you say that," I exclaimed, warmly. He bowed,

looked at Miss Barrison, and asked her when he might begin his story.

"Whenever you are ready," replied Miss Barrison, smiling in a manner

which I had not observed since the disappearance of Professor Farrago.

I'll admit that the young fellow was superficially attractive.

"Well, then," he began, modestly, "having no technical ability

concerning the affair in question, and having no knowledge of either

comparative anatomy or zoology, I am perhaps unfitted to tell this

story. But the story is true; the episode occurred under my own

eyes--within a few hours' sail of the Battery. And as I was one of the

first persons to verify what has long been a theory among scientists,

and, moreover, as the result of Professor Holroyd's discovery is to

be placed on exhibition in Madison Square Garden on the 20th of next

month, I have decided to tell you, as simply as I am able, exactly

what occurred.

"I first told the story on April 1, 1903, to the editors of the _North

American Review_, _The Popular Science Monthly_, the _Scientific

American_, _Nature_, _Outing_, and the _Fossiliferous Magazine_. All

these gentlemen rejected it; some curtly informing me that fiction had

no place in their columns. When I attempted to explain that it was not

fiction, the editors of these periodicals either maintained a

contemptuous silence, or bluntly notified me that my literary services

and opinions were not desired. But finally, when several publishers

offered to take the story as fiction, I cut short all negotiations and

decided to publish it myself. Where I am known at all, it is my

misfortune to be known as a writer of fiction. This makes it

impossible for me to receive a hearing from a scientific audience. I

regret it bitterly, because now, when it is too late, I am prepared to

prove certain scientific matters of interest, and to produce the

proofs. In this case, however, I am fortunate, for nobody can dispute

the existence of a thing when the bodily proof is exhibited as

evidence.

"This is the story; and if I tell it as I write fiction, it is because

I do not know how to tell it otherwise.

"I was walking along the beach below Pine Inlet, on the south shore of

Long Island. The railroad and telegraph station is at West Oyster Bay.

Everybody who has travelled on the Long Island Railroad knows the

station, but few, perhaps, know Pine Inlet. Duck-shooters, of course,

are familiar with it; but as there are no hotels there, and nothing

to see except salt meadow, salt creek, and a strip of dune and sand,

the summer-squatting public may probably be unaware of its existence.

The local name for the place is Pine Inlet; the maps give its name as

Sand Point, I believe, but anybody at West Oyster Bay can direct you

to it. Captain McPeek, who keeps the West Oyster Bay House, drives

duck-shooters there in winter. It lies five miles southeast from West

Oyster Bay.

"I had walked over that afternoon from Captain McPeek's. There was a

reason for my going to Pine Inlet--it embarrasses me to explain it,

but the truth is I meditated writing an ode to the ocean. It was out

of the question to write it in West Oyster Bay, with the whistle of

locomotives in my ears. I knew that Pine Inlet was one of the

loneliest places on the Atlantic coast; it is out of sight of

everything except leagues of gray ocean. Rarely one might make out

fishing-smacks drifting across the horizon. Summer squatters never

visited it; sportsmen shunned it, except in winter. Therefore, as I

was about to do a bit of poetry, I thought that Pine Inlet was the

spot for the deed. So I went there.

"As I was strolling along the beach, biting my pencil reflectively,

tremendously impressed by the solitude and the solemn thunder of the

surf, a thought occurred to me--how unpleasant it would be if I

suddenly stumbled on a summer boarder. As this joyless impossibility

flitted across my mind, I rounded a bleak sand-dune.

"A girl stood directly in my path.

"She stared at me as though I had just crawled up out of the sea to

bite her. I don't know what my own expression resembled, but I have

been given to understand it was idiotic.

"Now I perceived, after a few moments, that the young lady was

frightened, and I knew I ought to say something civil. So I said, 'Are

there many mosquitoes here?'

"'No,' she replied, with a slight quiver in her voice; 'I have only

seen one, and it was biting somebody else.'

"The conversation seemed so futile, and the young lady appeared to be

more nervous than before. I had an impulse to say, 'Do not run; I have

breakfasted,' for she seemed to be meditating a flight into the

breakers. What I did say was: 'I did not know anybody was here. I do

not intend to intrude. I come from Captain McPeek's, and I am writing

an ode to the ocean.' After I had said this it seemed to ring in my

ears like, 'I come from Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful

James.'

"I glanced timidly at her.

"'She's thinking of the same thing,' said I to myself.

"However, the young lady seemed to be a trifle reassured. I noticed

she drew a sigh of relief and looked at my shoes. She looked so long

that it made me suspicious, and I also examined my shoes. They seemed

to be in a fair state of repair.

"'I--I am sorry,' she said, 'but would you mind not walking on the

beach?'

"This was sudden. I had intended to retire and leave the beach to her,

but I did not fancy being driven away so abruptly.

"'Dear me!' she cried; 'you don't understand. I do not--I would not

think for a moment of asking you to leave Pine Inlet. I merely

ventured to request you to walk on the dunes. I am so afraid that your

footprints may obliterate the impressions that my father is studying.'

"'Oh!' said I, looking about me as though I had been caught in the

middle of a flower-bed; 'really I did not notice any impressions.

Impressions of what?'

"'I don't know,' she said, smiling a little at my awkward pose. 'If

you step this way in a straight line you can do no damage.'

"I did as she bade me. I suppose my movements resembled the gait of a

wet peacock. Possibly they recalled the delicate manoeuvres of the

kangaroo. Anyway, she laughed.

"This seriously annoyed me. I had been at a disadvantage; I walk well

enough when let alone.

"'You can scarcely expect,' said I, 'that a man absorbed in his own

ideas could notice impressions on the sand. I trust I have obliterated

nothing.'

"As I said this I looked back at the long line of footprints

stretching away in prospective across the sand. They were my own. How

large they looked! Was that what she was laughing at?

"'I wish to explain,' she said, gravely, looking at the point of her

parasol. 'I am very sorry to be obliged to warn you--to ask you to

forego the pleasure of strolling on a beach that does not belong to

me. Perhaps,' she continued, in sudden alarm, 'perhaps this beach

belongs to you?'

"'The beach? Oh no,' I said.

"'But--but you were going to write poems about it?'

"'Only one--and that does not necessitate owning the beach. I have

observed,' said I, frankly, 'that the people who own nothing write

many poems about it.'

"She looked at me seriously.

"'I write many poems,' I added.

"She laughed doubtfully.

"'Would you rather I went away?' I asked, politely. 'My family is

respectable,' I added; and I told her my name.

"'Oh! Then you wrote _Culled Cowslips_ and _Faded Fig-Leaves_ and you

imitate Maeterlinck, and you--Oh, I know lots of people that you

know;' she cried, with every symptom of relief; 'and you know my

brother.'

"'I am the author,' said I, coldly, 'of _Culled Cowslips_, but _Faded

Fig-Leaves_ was an earlier work, which I no longer recognize, and I

should be grateful to you if you would be kind enough to deny that I

ever imitated Maeterlinck. Possibly,' I added, 'he imitates me.'

"She was very quiet, and I saw she was sorry.

"'Never mind,' I said, magnanimously, 'you probably are not familiar

with modern literature. If I knew your name I should ask permission to

present myself.'

"'Why, I am Daisy Holroyd,' she said.

"'What! Jack Holroyd's little sister?'

"'Little?' she cried.

"'I didn't mean that,' said I. 'You know that your brother and I were

great friends in Paris--'

"'I know,' she said, significantly.

"'Ahem! Of course,' I said, 'Jack and I were inseparable--'

"'Except when shut in separate cells,' said Miss Holroyd, coldly.

"This unfeeling allusion to the unfortunate termination of a

Latin-Quarter celebration hurt me.

"'The police,' said I, 'were too officious.'

"'So Jack says,' replied Miss Holroyd, demurely.

"We had unconsciously moved on along the sand-hills, side by side, as

we spoke.

"'To think,' I repeated, 'that I should meet Jack's little--'

"'Please,' she said, 'you are only three years my senior.'

"She opened the sunshade and tipped it over one shoulder. It was

white, and had spots and posies on it.

"'Jack sends us every new book you write,' she observed. 'I do not

approve of some things you write.'

"'Modern school,' I mumbled.

"'That is no excuse,' she said, severely; 'Anthony Trollope didn't do

it.'

"The foam spume from the breakers was drifting across the dunes, and

the little tip-up snipe ran along the beach and teetered and whistled

and spread their white-barred wings for a low, straight flight across

the shingle, only to tip and run and sail on again. The salt sea-wind

whistled and curled through the crested waves, blowing in perfumed

puffs across thickets of sweet bay and cedar. As we passed through the

crackling juicy-stemmed marsh-weed myriads of fiddler crabs raised

their fore-claws in warning and backed away, rustling, through the

reeds, aggressive, protesting.

"'Like millions of pygmy Ajaxes defying the lightning,' I said.

"Miss Holroyd laughed.

"'Now I never imagined that authors were clever except in print,' she

said.

"She was a most extraordinary girl.

"'I suppose,' she observed, after a moment's silence--'I suppose I am

taking you to my father.'

"'Delighted!' I mumbled. 'H'm! I had the honor of meeting Professor

Holroyd in Paris.'

"'Yes; he bailed you and Jack out,' said Miss Holroyd, serenely.

"The silence was too painful to last.

"'Captain McPeek is an interesting man,' I said. I spoke more loudly

than I intended. I may have been nervous.

"'Yes,' said Daisy Holroyd, 'but he has a most singular hotel clerk.'

"'You mean Mr. Frisby?'

"'I do.'

"'Yes,' I admitted, 'Mr. Frisby is queer. He was once a bill-poster.'

"'I know it!' exclaimed Daisy Holroyd, with some heat. 'He ruins

landscapes whenever he has an opportunity. Do you know that he has a

passion for bill-posting? He has; he posts bills for the pure pleasure

of it, just as you play golf, or tennis, or squash.'

"'But he's a hotel clerk now,' I said; 'nobody employs him to post

bills.'

"'I know it! He does it all by himself for the pure pleasure of it.

Papa has engaged him to come down here for two weeks, and I dread it,'

said the girl.

"What Professor Holroyd might want of Frisby I had not the faintest

notion. I suppose Miss Holroyd noticed the bewilderment in my face,

for she laughed and nodded her head twice.

"'Not only Mr. Frisby, but Captain McPeek also,' she said.

"'You don't mean to say that Captain McPeek is going to close his

hotel!' I exclaimed.

"My trunk was there. It contained guarantees of my respectability.

"'Oh no; his wife will keep it open,' replied the girl. 'Look! you can

see papa now. He's digging.'

"'Where?' I blurted out.

"I remembered Professor Holroyd as a prim, spectacled gentleman, with

close-cut, snowy beard and a clerical allure. The man I saw digging

wore green goggles, a jersey, a battered sou'wester, and hip-boots of

rubber. He was delving in the muck of the salt meadow, his face

streaming with perspiration, his boots and jersey splashed with

unpleasant-looking mud. He glanced up as we approached, shading his

eyes with a sunburned hand.

"'Papa, dear,' said Miss Holroyd, 'here is Jack's friend, whom you

bailed out of Mazas.'

"The introduction was startling. I turned crimson with mortification.

The professor was very decent about it; he called me by name at once.

Then he looked at his spade. It was clear he considered me a nuisance

and wished to go on with his digging.

"'I suppose,' he said, 'you are still writing?'

"'A little,' I replied, trying not to speak sarcastically. My output

had rivalled that of 'The Duchess'--in quantity, I mean.

"'I seldom read--fiction,' he said, looking restlessly at the hole in

the ground.

"Miss Holroyd came to my rescue.

"'That was a charming story you wrote last,' she said. 'Papa should

read it--you should, papa; it's all about a fossil.'

"We both looked narrowly at Miss Holroyd. Her smile was guileless.

"'Fossils!' repeated the professor. 'Do you care for fossils?'

"'Very much,' said I.

"Now I am not perfectly sure what my object was in lying. I looked at

Daisy Holroyd's dark-fringed eyes. They were very grave.

"'Fossils,' said I, 'are my hobby.'

"I think Miss Holroyd winced a little at this. I did not care. I went

on:

"'I have seldom had the opportunity to study the subject, but, as a

boy, I collected flint arrow-heads--"

"'Flint arrow-heads!' said the professor coldly.

"'Yes; they were the nearest things to fossils obtainable,' I replied,

marvelling at my own mendacity.

"The professor looked into the hole. I also looked. I could see

nothing in it. 'He's digging for fossils,' thought I to myself.

"'Perhaps,' said the professor, cautiously, 'you might wish to aid me

in a little research--that is to say, if you have an inclination for

fossils.' The double-entendre was not lost upon me.

"'I have read all your books so eagerly,' said I, 'that to join you,

to be of service to you in any research, however difficult and

trying, would be an honor and a privilege that I never dared to hope

for.'

"'That,' thought I to myself, 'will do its own work.'

"But the professor was still suspicious. How could he help it, when he

remembered Jack's escapades, in which my name was always blended!

Doubtless he was satisfied that my influence on Jack was evil. The

contrary was the case, too.

"'Fossils,' he said, worrying the edge of the excavation with his

spade--'fossils are not things to be lightly considered.'

"'No, indeed!' I protested.

"'Fossils are the most interesting as well as puzzling things in the

world,' said he.

"'They are!' I cried, enthusiastically.

"'But I am not looking for fossils,' observed the professor, mildly.

"This was a facer. I looked at Daisy Holroyd. She bit her lip and

fixed her eyes on the sea. Her eyes were wonderful eyes.

"'Did you think I was digging for fossils in a salt meadow?' queried

the professor. 'You can have read very little about the subject. I am

digging for something quite different.'

"I was silent. I knew that my face was flushed. I longed to say,

'Well, what the devil are you digging for?' but I only stared into the

hole as though hypnotized.

"'Captain McPeek and Frisby ought to be here,' he said, looking first

at Daisy and then across the meadows.

"I ached to ask him why he had subpoenaed Captain McPeek and Frisby.

"'They are coming,' said Daisy, shading her eyes. 'Do you see the

speck on the meadows?'

"'It may be a mud-hen,' said the professor.

"'Miss Holroyd is right,' I said. 'A wagon and team and two men are

coming from the north. There's a dog beside the wagon--it's that

miserable yellow dog of Frisby's.'

"'Good gracious!' cried the professor, 'you don't mean to tell me that

you see all that at such a distance?'

"'Why not?' I said.

"'I see nothing,' he insisted.

"'You will see that I'm right, presently,' I laughed.

"The professor removed his blue goggles and rubbed them, glancing

obliquely at me.

"'Haven't you heard what extraordinary eyesight duck-shooters have?'

said his daughter, looking back at her father. 'Jack says that he can

tell exactly what kind of a duck is flying before most people could

see anything at all in the sky.'

"'It's true,' I said; 'it comes to anybody, I fancy, who has had

practice.'

"The professor regarded me with a new interest. There was inspiration

in his eyes. He turned towards the ocean. For a long time he stared at

the tossing waves on the beach, then he looked far out to where the

horizon met the sea.

"'Are there any ducks out there?' he asked, at last.

"'Yes,' said I, scanning the sea, 'there are.'

"He produced a pair of binoculars from his coat-tail pocket, adjusted

them, and raised them to his eyes.

"'H'm! What sort of ducks?'

"I looked more carefully, holding both hands over my forehead.

"'Surf-ducks and widgeon. There is one bufflehead among them--no, two;

the rest are coots,' I replied.

"'This,' cried the professor, 'is most astonishing. I have good eyes,

but I can't see a blessed thing without these binoculars!'

"'It's not extraordinary,' said I; 'the surf-ducks and coots any

novice might recognize; the widgeon and buffleheads I should not have

been able to name unless they had risen from the water. It is easy to

tell any duck when it is flying, even though it looks no bigger than a

black pin-point.'

"But the professor insisted that it was marvellous, and he said that I

might render him invaluable service if I would consent to come and

camp at Pine Inlet for a few weeks.

"I looked at his daughter, but she turned her back. Her back was

beautifully moulded. Her gown fitted also.

"'Camp out here?' I repeated, pretending to be unpleasantly surprised.

"'I do not think he would care to,' said Miss Holroyd, without

turning.

"I had not expected that.

"'Above all things,' said I, in a clear, pleasant voice, 'I like to

camp out.'

"She said nothing.

"'It is not exactly camping,' said the professor. 'Come, you shall see

our conservatory. Daisy, come, dear! You must put on a heavier frock;

it is getting towards sundown.'

"At that moment, over a near dune, two horses' heads appeared,

followed by two human heads, then a wagon, then a yellow dog.

"I turned triumphantly to the professor.

"'You are the very man I want,' he muttered--'the very man--the very

man.'

"I looked at Daisy Holroyd. She returned my glance with a defiant

little smile.

"'Waal,' said Captain McPeek, driving up, 'here we be! Git out,

Frisby.'

"Frisby, fat, nervous, and sentimental, hopped out of the cart.

"'Come,' said the professor, impatiently moving across the dunes. I

walked with Daisy Holroyd. McPeek and Frisby followed. The yellow dog

walked by himself.

XVIII

"The sun was dipping into the sea as we trudged across the meadows

towards a high, dome-shaped dune covered with cedars and thickets of

sweet bay. I saw no sign of habitation among the sand-hills. Far as

the eye could reach, nothing broke the gray line of sea and sky save

the squat dunes crowned with stunted cedars.

"Then, as we rounded the base of the dune, we almost walked into the

door of a house. My amazement amused Miss Holroyd, and I noticed also

a touch of malice in her pretty eyes. But she said nothing, following

her father into the house, with the slightest possible gesture to me.

Was it invitation or was it menace?

"The house was merely a light wooden frame, covered with some

waterproof stuff that looked like a mixture of rubber and tar. Over

this--in fact, over the whole roof--was pitched an awning of heavy

sail-cloth. I noticed that the house was anchored to the sand by

chains, already rusted red. But this one-storied house was not the

only building nestling in the south shelter of the big dune. A hundred

feet away stood another structure--long, low, also built of wood. It

had rows on rows of round port-holes on every side. The ports were

fitted with heavy glass, hinged to swing open if necessary. A single,

big double door occupied the front.

"Behind this long, low building was still another, a mere shed. Smoke

rose from the sheet-iron chimney. There was somebody moving about

inside the open door.

"As I stood gaping at this mushroom hamlet the professor appeared at

the door and asked me to enter. I stepped in at once.

"The house was much larger than I had imagined. A straight hallway ran

through the centre from east to west. On either side of this hallway

were rooms, the doors swinging wide open. I counted three doors on

each side; the three on the south appeared to be bedrooms.

"The professor ushered me into a room on the north side, where I found

Captain McPeek and Frisby sitting at a table, upon which were drawings

and sketches of articulated animals and fishes.

"'You see, McPeek,' said the professor, 'we only wanted one more man,

and I think I've got him--Haven't I?' turning eagerly to me.

"'Why, yes,' I said, laughing; 'this is delightful. Am I invited to

stay here?'

"'Your bedroom is the third on the south side; everything is ready.

McPeek, you can bring his trunk to-morrow, can't you?' demanded the

professor.

"The red-faced captain nodded, and shifted a quid.

"'Then it's all settled,' said the professor, and he drew a sigh of

satisfaction. 'You see,' he said, turning to me, 'I was at my wit's

end to know whom to trust. I never thought of you. Jack's out in

China, and I didn't dare trust anybody in my own profession. All you

care about is writing verses and stories, isn't it?'

"'I like to shoot,' I replied, mildly.

"'Just the thing!' he cried, beaming at us all in turn. 'Now I can see

no reason why we should not progress rapidly. McPeek, you and Frisby

must get those boxes up here before dark. Dinner will be ready before

you have finished unloading. Dick, you will wish to go to your room

first.'

"My name isn't Dick, but he spoke so kindly, and beamed upon me in

such a fatherly manner, that I let it go. I had occasion to correct

him afterwards, several times, but he always forgot the next minute.

He calls me Dick to this day.

"It was dark when Professor Holroyd, his daughter, and I sat down to

dinner. The room was the same in which I had noticed the drawings of

beast and bird, but the round table had been extended into an oval,

and neatly spread with dainty linen and silver.

"A fresh-cheeked Swedish girl appeared from a farther room, bearing

the soup. The professor ladled it out, still beaming.

"'Now, this is very delightful--isn't it, Daisy?' he said.

"'Very,' said Miss Holroyd, with a tinge of irony.

"'Very,' I repeated, heartily.

"'I suppose,' said the professor, nodding mysteriously at his

daughter, 'that Dick knows nothing of what we're about down here?'

"'I suppose,' said Miss Holroyd, 'that he thinks we are digging for

fossils.'

"I looked at my plate. She might have spared me that.

"'Well, well,' said her father, smiling to himself, 'he shall know

everything by morning. You'll be astonished, Dick, my boy.'

"'His name isn't Dick,' corrected Daisy.

"The professor said, 'Isn't it?' in an absent-minded way, and relapsed

into contemplation of my necktie.

"I asked Miss Holroyd a few questions about Jack, and was informed

that he had given up law and entered the consular service--as what, I

did not dare ask, for I know what our consular service is.

"'In China,' said Daisy.

"'Choo Choo is the name of the city,' added her father, proudly; 'it's

the terminus of the new trans-Siberian railway.'

"'It's on the Pong Ping,' said Daisy.

"'He's vice-consul,' added the professor, triumphantly.

"'He'll make a good one,' I observed. I knew Jack. I pitied his

consul.

"So we chatted on about my old playmate, until Freda, the red-cheeked

maid, brought coffee, and the professor lighted a cigar, with a little

bow to his daughter.

"'Of course, you don't smoke,' she said to me, with a glimmer of

malice in her eyes.

"'He mustn't,' interposed the professor, hastily; 'it will make his

hand tremble.'

"'No, it won't,' said I, laughing; 'but my hand will shake if I don't

smoke. Are you going to employ me as a draughtsman?'

"'You'll know to-morrow,' he chuckled, with a mysterious smile at his

daughter. 'Daisy, give him my best cigars--put the box here on the

table. We can't afford to have his hand tremble.'

"Miss Holroyd rose and crossed the hallway to her father's room,

returning presently with a box of promising-looking cigars.

"'I don't think he knows what is good for him,' she said. 'He should

smoke only one every day.'

"It was hard to bear. I am not vindictive, but I decided to treasure

up a few of Miss Holroyd's gentle taunts. My intimacy with her brother

was certainly a disadvantage to me now. Jack had apparently been

talking too much, and his sister appeared to be thoroughly acquainted

with my past. It was a disadvantage. I remembered her vaguely as a

girl with long braids, who used to come on Sundays with her father and

take tea with us in our rooms. Then she went to Germany to school, and

Jack and I employed our Sunday evenings otherwise. It is true that I

regarded her weekly visits as a species of infliction, but I did not

think I ever showed it.

"'It is strange,' said I, 'that you did not recognize me at once, Miss

Holroyd. Have I changed so greatly in five years?'

"'You wore a pointed French beard in Paris,' she said--'a very downy

one. And you never stayed to tea but twice, and then you only spoke

once.'

"'Oh!' said I, blankly. 'What did I say?'

"'You asked me if I liked plums,' said Daisy, bursting into an

irresistible ripple of laughter.

"I saw that I must have made the same sort of an ass of myself that

most boys of eighteen do.

"It was too bad. I never thought about the future in those days. Who

could have imagined that little Daisy Holroyd would have grown up into

this bewildering young lady? It was really too bad. Presently the

professor retired to his room, carrying with him an armful of

drawings, and bidding us not to sit up late. When he closed his door

Miss Holroyd turned to me.

"'Papa will work over those drawings until midnight,' she said, with a

despairing smile.

"'It isn't good for him,' I said. 'What are the drawings?'

"'You may know to-morrow,' she answered, leaning forward on the table

and shading her face with one hand. 'Tell me about yourself and Jack

in Paris.'

"I looked at her suspiciously.

"'What! There isn't much to tell. We studied. Jack went to the law

school, and I attended--er--oh, all sorts of schools.'

"'Did you? Surely you gave yourself a little recreation occasionally?'

"'Occasionally,' I nodded.

"'I am afraid you and Jack studied too hard.'

"'That may be,' said I, looking meek.

"'Especially about fossils.'

"I couldn't stand that.

"'Miss Holroyd,' I said, 'I do care for fossils. You may think that I

am a humbug, but I have a perfect mania for fossils--now.'

"'Since when?'

"'About an hour ago,' I said, airily. Out of the corner of my eye I

saw that she had flushed up. It pleased me.

"'You will soon tire of the experiment,' she said, with a dangerous

smile.

"'Oh, I may,' I replied, indifferently.

"She drew back. The movement was scarcely perceptible, but I noticed

it, and she knew I did.

"The atmosphere was vaguely hostile. One feels such mental conditions

and changes instantly. I picked up a chess-board, opened it, set up

the pieces with elaborate care, and began to move, first the white,

then the black. Miss Holroyd watched me coldly at first, but after a

dozen moves she became interested and leaned a shade nearer. I moved a

black pawn forward.

"'Why do you do that?' said Daisy.

"'Because,' said I, 'the white queen threatens the pawn.'

"'It was an aggressive move,' she insisted.

"'Purely defensive,' I said. 'If her white highness will let the pawn

alone, the pawn will let the queen alone.'

"Miss Holroyd rested her chin on her wrist and gazed steadily at the

board. She was flushing furiously, but she held her ground.

"'If the white queen doesn't block that pawn, the pawn may become

dangerous,' she said, coldly.

"I laughed, and closed up the board with a snap.

"'True,' I said, 'it might even take the queen.' After a moment's

silence I asked, 'What would you do in that case, Miss Holroyd?'

"'I should resign,' she said, serenely; then, realizing what she had

said, she lost her self-possession for a second, and cried: 'No,

indeed! I should fight to the bitter end! I mean--'

"'What?' I asked, lingering over my revenge.

"'I mean,' she said, slowly, 'that your black pawn would never have

the chance--never! I should take it immediately.'

"'I believe you would,' said I, smiling; 'so we'll call the game

yours, and--the pawn captured.'

"'I don't want it,' she exclaimed. 'A pawn is worthless.'

"'Except when it's in the king row.'

"'Chess is most interesting,' she observed, sedately. She had

completely recovered her self-possession. Still I saw that she now had

a certain respect for my defensive powers. It was very soothing to me.

"'You know,' said I, gravely, 'that I am fonder of Jack than of

anybody. That's the reason we never write each other, except to borrow

things. I am afraid that when I was a young cub in France I was not an

attractive personality.'

"'On the contrary,' said Daisy, smiling, 'I thought you were very big

and very perfect. I had illusions. I wept often when I went home and

remembered that you never took the trouble to speak to me but once.'

"'I was a cub,' I said--'not selfish and brutal, but I didn't

understand school-girls. I never had any sisters, and I didn't know

what to say to very young girls. If I had imagined that you felt

hurt--'

"'Oh, I did--five years ago. Afterwards I laughed at the whole thing.'

"'Laughed?' I repeated, vaguely disappointed.

"'Why, of course. I was very easily hurt when I was a child. I think I

have outgrown it.'

"The soft curve of her sensitive mouth contradicted her.

"'Will you forgive me now?' I asked.

"'Yes. I had forgotten the whole thing until I met you an hour or so

ago.'

"There was something that had a ring not entirely genuine in this

speech. I noticed it, but forgot it the next moment.

"Presently she rose, touched her hair with the tip of one finger, and

walked to the door.

"'Good-night,' she said.

"'Good-night,' said I, opening the door for her to pass.

XIX

"The sea was a sheet of silver tinged with pink. The tremendous arch

of the sky was all shimmering and glimmering with the promise of the

sun. Already the mist above, flecked with clustered clouds, flushed

with rose color and dull gold. I heard the low splash of the waves

breaking and curling across the beach. A wandering breeze, fresh and

fragrant, blew the curtains of my window. There was the scent of sweet

bay in the room, and everywhere the subtle, nameless perfume of the

sea.

"When at last I stood upon the shore, the air and sea were all

a-glimmer in a rosy light, deepening to crimson in the zenith. Along

the beach I saw a little cove, shelving and all a-shine, where shallow

waves washed with a mellow sound. Fine as dusted gold the shingle

glowed, and the thin film of water rose, receded, crept up again a

little higher, and again flowed back, with the low hiss of snowy foam

and gilded bubbles breaking.

"I stood a little while quiet, my eyes upon the water, the invitation

of the ocean in my ears, vague and sweet as the murmur of a shell.

Then I looked at my bathing-suit and towels.

"'In we go!' said I, aloud. A second later the prophecy was

fulfilled.

"I swam far out to sea, and as I swam the waters all around me turned

to gold. The sun had risen.

"There is a fragrance in the sea at dawn that none can name.

Whitethorn a-bloom in May, sedges a-sway, and scented rushes rustling

in an inland wind recall the sea to me--I can't say why.

"Far out at sea I raised myself, swung around, dived, and set out

again for shore, striking strong strokes until the necked foam flew.

And when at last I shot through the breakers, I laughed aloud and

sprang upon the beach, breathless and happy. Then from the ocean came

another cry, clear, joyous, and a white arm rose in the air.

"She came drifting in with the waves like a white sea-sprite, laughing

at me, and I plunged into the breakers again to join her.

"Side by side we swam along the coast, just outside the breakers,

until in the next cove we saw the flutter of her maid's cap-strings.

"'I will beat you to breakfast!' she cried, as I rested, watching her

glide up along the beach.

"'Done!' said I--'for a sea-shell!'

"'Done!' she called, across the water.

"I made good speed along the shore, and I was not long in dressing,

but when I entered the dining-room she was there, demure, smiling,

exquisite in her cool, white frock.

"'The sea-shell is yours,' said I. 'I hope I can find one with a pearl

in it.'

"The professor hurried in before she could reply. He greeted me very

cordially, but there was an abstracted air about him, and he called me

Dick until I recognized that remonstrance was useless. He was not

long over his coffee and rolls.

"'McPeek and Frisby will return with the last load, including your

trunk, by early afternoon,' he said, rising and picking up his bundle

of drawings. 'I haven't time to explain to you what we are doing,

Dick, but Daisy will take you about and instruct you. She will give

you the rifle standing in my room--it's a good Winchester. I have sent

for an 'Express' for you, big enough to knock over any elephant in

India. Daisy, take him through the sheds and tell him everything.

Luncheon is at noon. Do you usually take luncheon, Dick?'

"'When I am permitted,' I smiled.

"'Well,' said the professor, doubtfully, 'you mustn't come back here

for it. Freda can take you what you want. Is your hand unsteady after

eating?'

"'Why, papa!' said Daisy. 'Do you intend to starve him?'

"We all laughed.

"The professor tucked his drawings into a capacious pocket, pulled his

sea-boots up to his hips, seized a spade, and left, nodding to us as

though he were thinking of something else.

"We went to the door and watched him across the salt meadows until the

distant sand-dune hid him.

"'Come,' said Daisy Holroyd, 'I am going to take you to the shop.'

"She put on a broad-brimmed straw hat, a distractingly pretty

combination of filmy cool stuffs, and led the way to the long, low

structure that I had noticed the evening before.

"The interior was lighted by the numberless little port-holes, and I

could see everything plainly. I acknowledge I was nonplussed by what I

did see.

"In the centre of the shed, which must have been at least a hundred

feet long, stood what I thought at first was the skeleton of an

enormous whale. After a moment's silent contemplation of the thing I

saw that it could not be a whale, for the frames of two gigantic,

batlike wings rose from each shoulder. Also I noticed that the animal

possessed legs--four of them--with most unpleasant-looking webbed

claws fully eight feet long. The bony framework of the head, too,

resembled something between a crocodile and a monstrous

snapping-turtle. The walls of the shanty were hung with drawings and

blue prints. A man dressed in white linen was tinkering with the

vertebrae of the lizard-like tail.

"'Where on earth did such a reptile come from?' I asked at length.

"'Oh, it's not real!' said Daisy, scornfully; 'it's papier-machй.'

"'I see,' said I; 'a stage prop.'

"'A what?' asked Daisy, in hurt astonishment.

"'Why, a--a sort of Siegfried dragon--a what's-his-name--er, Pfafner,

or Peffer, or--'

"'If my father heard you say such things he would dislike you,' said

Daisy. She looked grieved, and moved towards the door. I

apologized--for what, I knew not--and we became reconciled. She ran

into her father's room and brought me the rifle, a very good

Winchester. She also gave me a cartridge-belt, full.

"'Now,' she smiled, 'I shall take you to your observatory, and when we

arrive you are to begin your duty at once.'

"'And that duty?' I ventured, shouldering the rifle.

"'That duty is to watch the ocean. I shall then explain the whole

affair--but you mustn't look at me while I speak; you must watch the

sea.'

"'This,' said I, 'is hardship. I had rather go without the luncheon.'

"I do not think she was offended at my speech; still she frowned for

almost three seconds.

"We passed through acres of sweet bay and spear grass, sometimes

skirting thickets of twisted cedars, sometimes walking in the full

glare of the morning sun, sinking into shifting sand where

sun-scorched shells crackled under our feet, and sun-browned sea-weed

glistened, bronzed and iridescent. Then, as we climbed a little hill,

the sea-wind freshened in our faces, and lo! the ocean lay below us,

far-stretching as the eye could reach, glittering, magnificent.

"Daisy sat down flat on the sand. It takes a clever girl to do that

and retain the respectful deference due her from men. It takes a

graceful girl to accomplish it triumphantly when a man is looking.

"'You must sit beside me,' she said--as though it would prove irksome

to me.

"'Now,' she continued, 'you must watch the water while I am talking.'

"I nodded.

"'Why don't you do it, then?' she asked.

"I succeeded in wrenching my head towards the ocean, although I felt

sure it would swing gradually round again in spite of me.

"'To begin with,' said Daisy Holroyd, 'there's a thing in that ocean

that would astonish you if you saw it. Turn your head!'

"'I am,' I said, meekly.

"'Did you hear what I said?'

"'Yes--er--a thing in the ocean that's going to astonish me.' Visions

of mermaids rose before me.

"'The thing,' said Daisy, 'is a thermosaurus!'

"I nodded vaguely, as though anticipating a delightful introduction to

a nautical friend.

"'You don't seem astonished,' she said, reproachfully.

"'Why should I be?' I asked.

"'Please turn your eyes towards the water. Suppose a thermosaurus

should look out of the waves!'

"'Well,' said I, 'in that case the pleasure would be mutual.'

"She frowned and bit her upper lip.

"'Do you know what a thermosaurus is?' she asked.

"'If I am to guess,' said I, 'I guess it's a jelly-fish.'

"'It's that big, ugly, horrible creature that I showed you in the

shed!' cried Daisy, impatiently.

"'Eh!' I stammered.

"'Not papier-machй, either,' she continued, excitedly; 'it's a real

one.'

"This was pleasant news. I glanced instinctively at my rifle and then

at the ocean.

"'Well,' said I at last, 'it strikes me that you and I resemble a pair

of Andromedas waiting to be swallowed. This rifle won't stop a beast,

a live beast, like that Nibelungen dragon of yours.'

"'Yes, it will,' she said; 'it's not an ordinary rifle.'

"Then, for the first time, I noticed, just below the magazine, a

cylindrical attachment that was strange to me.

"'Now, if you will watch the sea very carefully, and will promise not

to look at me,' said Daisy, 'I will try to explain.'

"She did not wait for me to promise, but went on eagerly, a sparkle of

excitement in her blue eyes:

"'You know, of all the fossil remains of the great batlike and

lizard-like creatures that inhabited the earth ages and ages ago, the

bones of the gigantic saurians are the most interesting. I think they

used to splash about the water and fly over the land during the

carboniferous period; anyway, it doesn't matter. Of course you have

seen pictures of reconstructed creatures such as the ichthyosaurus,

the plesiosaurus, the anthracosaurus, and the thermosaurus?'

"I nodded, trying to keep my eyes from hers.

"'And you know that the remains of the thermosaurus were first

discovered and reconstructed by papa?'

"'Yes,' said I. There was no use in saying no.

"'I am glad you do. Now, papa has proved that this creature lived

entirely in the Gulf Stream, emerging for occasional flights across an

ocean or two. Can you imagine how he proved it?'

"'No,' said I, resolutely pointing my nose at the ocean.

"'He proved it by a minute examination of the microscopical shells

found among the ribs of the thermosaurus. These shells contained

little creatures that live only in the warm waters of the Gulf Stream.

They were the food of the thermosaurus.'

"'It was rather slender rations for a thing like that, wasn't it? Did

he ever swallow bigger food--er--men?'

"'Oh yes. Tons of fossil bones from prehistoric men are also found in

the interior of the thermosaurus.'

"'Then,' said I, 'you, at least, had better go back to Captain

McPeek's--'

"'Please turn around; don't be so foolish. I didn't say there was a

live thermosaurus in the water, did I?'

"'Isn't there?'

"'Why, no!'

"My relief was genuine, but I thought of the rifle and looked

suspiciously out to sea.

"'What's the Winchester for?' I asked.

"'Listen, and I will explain. Papa has found out--how, I do not

exactly understand--that there is in the waters of the Gulf Stream the

body of a thermosaurus. The creature must have been alive within a

year or so. The impenetrable scale-armor that covers its body has, as

far as papa knows, prevented its disintegration. We know that it is

there still, or was there within a few months. Papa has reports and

sworn depositions from steamer captains and seamen from a dozen

different vessels, all corroborating one another in essential details.

These stories, of course, get into the newspapers--sea-serpent

stories--but papa knows that they confirm his theory that the huge

body of this reptile is swinging along somewhere in the Gulf Stream.'

"She opened her sunshade and held it over her. I noticed that she

deigned to give me the benefit of about one-eighth of it.

"'Your duty with that rifle is this: if we are fortunate enough to see

the body of the thermosaurus come floating by, you are to take good

aim and fire--fire rapidly every bullet in the magazine; then reload

and fire again, and reload and fire as long as you have any cartridges

left.'

"'A self-feeding Maxim is what I should have,' I said, with gentle

sarcasm. 'Well, and suppose I make a sieve of this big lizard?'

"'Do you see these rings in the sand?' she asked.

"Sure enough, somebody had driven heavy piles deep into the sand all

around us, and to the tops of these piles were attached steel rings,

half buried under the spear-grass. We sat almost exactly in the centre

of a circle of these rings.

"'The reason is this,' said Daisy; 'every bullet in your cartridges is

steel-tipped and armor-piercing. To the base of each bullet is

attached a thin wire of pallium. Pallium is that new metal, a thread

of which, drawn out into finest wire, will hold a ton of iron

suspended. Every bullet is fitted with minute coils of miles of this

wire. When the bullet leaves the rifle it spins out this wire as a

shot from a life-saver's mortar spins out and carries the life-line to

a wrecked ship. The end of each coil of wire is attached to that

cylinder under the magazine of your rifle. As soon as the shell is

automatically ejected this wire flies out also. A bit of scarlet tape

is fixed to the end, so that it will be easy to pick up. There is also

a snap-clasp on the end, and this clasp fits those rings that you see

in the sand. Now, when you begin firing, it is my duty to run and pick

up the wire ends and attach them to the rings. Then, you see, we have

the body of the thermosaurus full of bullets, every bullet anchored to

the shore by tiny wires, each of which could easily hold a ton's

strain.'

"I looked at her in amazement.

"'Then,' she added, calmly, 'we have captured the thermosaurus.'

"'Your father,' said I, at length, 'must have spent years of labor

over this preparation.'

"'It is the work of a lifetime,' she said, simply.

"My face, I suppose, showed my misgivings.

"'It must not fail,' she added.

"'But--but we are nowhere near the Gulf Stream,' I ventured.

"Her face brightened, and she frankly held the sunshade over us both.

"'Ah, you don't know,' she said, 'what else papa has discovered. Would

you believe that he has found a loop in the Gulf Stream--a genuine

loop--that swings in here just outside of the breakers below? It is

true! Everybody on Long Island knows that there is a warm current off

the coast, but nobody imagined it was merely a sort of backwater from

the Gulf Stream that formed a great circular mill-race around the cone

of a subterranean volcano, and rejoined the Gulf Stream off Cape

Albatross. But it is! That is why papa bought a yacht three years ago

and sailed about for two years so mysteriously. Oh, I did want to go

with him so much!'

"'This,' said I, 'is most astonishing.'

"She leaned enthusiastically towards me, her lovely face aglow.

"'Isn't it?' she said; 'and to think that you and papa and I are the

only people in the whole world who know this!'

"To be included in such a triology was very delightful.

"'Papa is writing the whole thing--I mean about the currents. He also

has in preparation sixteen volumes on the thermosaurus. He said this

morning that he was going to ask you to write the story first for some

scientific magazine. He is certain that Professor Bruce Stoddard, of

Columbia, will write the pamphlets necessary. This will give papa time

to attend to the sixteen-volume work, which he expects to finish in

three years.'

"'Let us first,' said I, laughing, 'catch our thermosaurus.'

"'We must not fail,' she said, wistfully.

"'We shall not fail,' I said, 'for I promise to sit on this sand-hill

as long as I live--until a thermosaurus appears--if that is your wish,

Miss Holroyd.'

"Our eyes met for an instant. She did not chide me, either, for not

looking at the ocean. Her eyes were bluer, anyway.

"'I suppose,' she said, bending her head and absently pouring sand

between her fingers--'I suppose you think me a blue-stocking, or

something odious?'

"'Not exactly,' I said. There was an emphasis in my voice that made

her color. After a moment she laid the sunshade down, still open.

"'May I hold it?' I asked.

"She nodded almost imperceptibly.

"The ocean had turned a deep marine blue, verging on purple, that

heralded a scorching afternoon. The wind died away; the odor of cedar

and sweet-bay hung heavy in the air.

"In the sand at our feet an iridescent flower-beetle crawled, its

metallic green-and-blue wings burning like a spark. Great gnats, with

filmy, glittering wings, danced aimlessly above the young golden-rod;

burnished crickets, inquisitive, timid, ran from under chips of

driftwood, waved their antennж at us, and ran back again. One by one

the marbled tiger-beetles tumbled at our feet, dazed from the exertion

of an aлrial flight, then scrambled and ran a little way, or darted

into the wire grass, where great, brilliant spiders eyed them askance

from their gossamer hammocks.

"Far out at sea the white gulls floated and drifted on the water, or

sailed up into the air to flap lazily for a moment and settle back

among the waves. Strings of black surf-ducks passed, their strong

wings tipping the surface of the water; single wandering coots whirled

from the breakers into lonely flight towards the horizon.

"We lay and watched the little ring-necks running along the water's

edge, now backing away from the incoming tide, now boldly wading after

the undertow. The harmony of silence, the deep perfume, the mystery of

waiting for that something that all await--what is it? love? death? or

only the miracle of another morrow?--troubled me with vague

restlessness. As sunlight casts shadows, happiness, too, throws a

shadow, an the shadow is sadness.

"And so the morning wore away until Freda came with a cool-looking

hamper. Then delicious cold fowl and lettuce sandwiches and champagne

cup set our tongues wagging as only very young tongues can wag. Daisy

went back with Freda after luncheon, leaving me a case of cigars, with

a bantering smile. I dozed, half awake, keeping a partly closed eye on

the ocean, where a faint gray streak showed plainly amid the azure

water all around. That was the Gulf Stream loop.

"About four o'clock Frisby appeared with a bamboo shelter-tent, for

which I was unaffectedly grateful.

"After he had erected it over me he stopped to chat a bit, but the

conversation bored me, for he could talk of nothing but bill-posting.

"'You wouldn't ruin the landscape here, would you?' I asked.

"'Ruin it!' repeated Frisby, nervously. 'It's ruined now; there ain't

a place to stick a bill.'

"'The snipe stick bills--in the sand,' I said, flippantly.

"There was no humor about Frisby. 'Do they?' he asked.

"I moved with a certain impatience.

"'Bills,' said Frisby, 'give spice an' variety to nature. They break

the monotony of the everlastin' green and what-you-may-call-its.'

"I glared at him.

"'Bills,' he continued, 'are not easy to stick, lemme tell you, sir.

Sign-paintin's a soft snap when it comes to bill-stickin'. Now, I

guess I've stuck more bills onto New York State than ennybody.'

"'Have you?' I said, angrily.

"'Yes, siree! I always pick out the purtiest spots--kinder filled

chuck full of woods and brooks and things; then I h'ist my paste-pot

onto a rock, and I slather that rock with gum, and whoop she goes!'

"'Whoop what goes?'

"'The bill. I paste her onto the rock, with one swipe of the brush for

the edges and a back-handed swipe for the finish--except when a bill

is folded in two halves.'

"'And what do you do then?' I asked, disgusted.

"'Swipe twice,' said Frisby, with enthusiasm.

"'And you don't think it injures the landscape?'

"'Injures it!' he exclaimed, convinced that I was attempting to joke.

"I looked wearily out to sea. He also looked at the water and sighed

sentimentally.

"'Floatin' buoys with bills onto 'em is a idea of mine,' he observed.

'That damn ocean is monotonous, ain't it?'

"I don't know what I might have done to Frisby--the rifle was so

convenient--if his mean yellow dog had not waddled up at this

juncture.

"'Hi, Davy, sic 'em!' said Frisby, expectorating upon a clam-shell and

hurling it seaward. The cur watched the flight of the shell

apathetically, then squatted in the sand and looked at his master.

"'Kinder lost his spirit,' said Frisby, 'ain't he? I once stuck a bill

onto Davy, an' it come off, an' the paste sorter sickened him. He was

hell on rats--once!'

"After a moment or two Frisby took himself off, whistling cheerfully

to Davy, who followed him when he was ready. The rifle burned in my

fingers.

"It was nearly six o'clock when the professor appeared, spade on

shoulder, boots smeared with mud.

"'Well,' he said, 'nothing to report, Dick, my boy?'

"'Nothing, professor.'

"He wiped his shining face with his handkerchief and stared at the

water.

"'My calculations lead me to believe,' he said, 'that our prize may be

due any day now. This theory I base upon the result of the report from

the last sea-captain I saw. I cannot understand why some of these

captains did not take the carcass in tow. They all say that they

tried, but that the body sank before they could come within half a

mile. The truth is, probably, that they did not stir a foot from their

course to examine the thing.'

"'Have you ever cruised about for it?' I ventured.

"'For two years,' he said, grimly. 'It's no use; it's accident when a

ship falls in with it. One captain reports it a thousand miles from

where the last skipper spoke it, and always in the Gulf Stream. They

think it is a different specimen every time, and the papers are

teeming with sea-serpent fol-de-rol.'

"'Are you sure,' I asked, 'that it will swing into the coast on this

Gulf Stream loop?'

"'I think I may say that it is certain to do so. I experimented with a

dead right-whale. You may have heard of its coming ashore here last

summer.'

"'I think I did,' said I, with a faint smile. The thing had poisoned

the air for miles around.

"'But,' I continued, 'suppose it comes in the night?'

"He laughed.

"'There I am lucky. Every night this month, and every day, too, the

current of the loop runs inland so far that even a porpoise would

strand for at least twelve hours. Longer than that I have not

experimented with, but I know that the shore trend of the loop runs

across a long spur of the submerged volcanic mountain, and that

anything heavier than a porpoise would scrape the bottom and be

carried so slowly that at least twelve hours must elapse before the

carcass could float again into deep water. There are chances of its

stranding indefinitely, too, but I don't care to take those chances.

That is why I have stationed you here, Dick.'

"He glanced again at the water, smiling to himself.

"'There is another question I want to ask,' I said, 'if you don't

mind.'

"'Of course not!' he said, warmly.

"'What are you digging for?'

"'Why, simply for exercise. The doctor told me I was killing myself

with my sedentary habits, so I decided to dig. I don't know a better

exercise. Do you?'

"'I suppose not,' I murmured, rather red in the face. I wondered

whether he'd mention fossils.

"'Did Daisy tell you why we are making our papier-machй thermosaurus?'

he asked.

"I shook my head.

"'We constructed that from measurements I took from the fossil remains

of the thermosaurus in the Metropolitan Museum. Professor Bruce

Stoddard made the drawings. We set it up here, all ready to receive

the skin of the carcass that I am expecting.'

"We had started towards home, walking slowly across the darkening

dunes, shoulder to shoulder. The sand was deep, and walking was not

easy.

"'I wish,' said I at last, 'that I knew why Miss Holroyd asked me not

to walk on the beach. It's much less fatiguing.'

"'That,' said the professor, 'is a matter that I intend to discuss

with you to-night.' He spoke gravely, almost sadly. I felt that

something of unparalleled importance was soon to be revealed. So I

kept very quiet, watching the ocean out of the corners of my eyes.

XX

"Dinner was ended. Daisy Holroyd lighted her father's pipe for him,

and insisted on my smoking as much as I pleased. Then she sat down,

and folded her hands like a good little girl, waiting for her father

to make the revelation which I felt in my bones must be something out

of the ordinary.

"The professor smoked for a while, gazing meditatively at his

daughter; then, fixing his gray eyes on me, he said:

"'Have you ever heard of the kree--that Australian bird, half parrot,

half hawk, that destroys so many sheep in New South Wales?'

"I nodded.

"'The kree kills a sheep by alighting on its back and tearing away the

flesh with its hooked beak until a vital part is reached. You know

that? Well, it has been discovered that the kree had prehistoric

prototypes. These birds were enormous creatures, who preyed upon

mammoths and mastodons, and even upon the great saurians. It has been

conclusively proved that a few saurians have been killed by the

ancestors of the kree, but the favorite food of these birds was

undoubtedly the thermosaurus. It is believed that the birds attacked

the eyes of the thermosaurus, and when, as was its habit, the mammoth

creature turned on its back to claw them, they fell upon the thinner

scales of its stomach armor and finally killed it. This, of course, is

a theory, but we have almost absolute proofs of its correctness. Now,

these two birds are known among scientists as the ekaf-bird and the

ool-yllik. The names are Australian, in which country most of their

remains have been unearthed. They lived during the Carboniferous

period. Now, it is not generally known, but the fact is, that in 1801

Captain Ransom, of the British exploring vessel _Gull_, purchased from

the natives of Tasmania the skin of an ekaf-bird that could not have

been killed more than twenty-four hours previous to its sale. I saw

this skin in the British Museum. It was labelled, "Unknown bird,

probably extinct." It took me exactly a week to satisfy myself that it

was actually the skin of an ekaf-bird. But that is not all, Dick,'

continued the professor, excitedly. 'In 1854 Admiral Stuart, of our

own navy, saw the carcass of a strange, gigantic bird floating along

the southern coast of Australia. Sharks were after it, and before a

boat could be lowered these miserable fish got it. But the good old

admiral secured a few feathers and sent them to the Smithsonian. I saw

them. They were not even labelled, but I knew that they were feathers

from the ekaf-bird or its near relative, the ool-yllik.'

"I had grown so interested that I had leaned far across the table.

Daisy, too, bent forward. It was only when the professor paused for a

moment that I noticed how close together our heads were--Daisy's and

mine. I don't think she realized it. She did not move.

"'Now comes the important part of this long discourse,' said the

professor, smiling at our eagerness. "'Ever since the carcass of our

derelict thermosaurus was first noticed, every captain who has seen it

has also reported the presence of one or more gigantic birds in the

neighborhood. These birds, at a great distance, appeared to be

hovering over the carcass, but on the approach of a vessel they

disappeared. Even in mid-ocean they were observed. When I heard about

it I was puzzled. A month later I was satisfied that neither the

ekaf-bird nor the ool-yllik was extinct. Last Monday I knew that I was

right. I found forty-eight distinct impressions of the huge,

seven-toed claw of the ekaf-bird on the beach here at Pine Inlet. You

may imagine my excitement. I succeeded in digging up enough wet sand

around one of these impressions to preserve its form. I managed to get

it into a soap-box, and now it is there in my shop. The tide rose too

rapidly for me to save the other footprints.'

"I shuddered at the possibility of a clumsy misstep on my part

obliterating the impression of an ool-yllik.

"'That is the reason that my daughter warned you off the beach,' he

said, mildly.

"'Hanging would have been too good for the vandal who destroyed such

priceless prizes,' I cried out, in self-reproach.

"Daisy Holroyd turned a flushed face to mine and impulsively laid her

hand on my sleeve.

"'How could you know?' she said.

"'It's all right now,' said her father, emphasizing each word with a

gentle tap of his pipe-bowl on the table-edge; 'don't be hard on

yourself, Dick. You'll do yeoman's service yet.'

"It was nearly midnight, and still we chatted on about the

thermosaurus, the ekaf-bird, and the ool-yllik, eagerly discussing the

probability of the great reptile's carcass being in the vicinity. That

alone seemed to explain the presence of these prehistoric birds at

Pine Inlet.

"'Do they ever attack human beings?' I asked.

"The professor looked startled.

"'Gracious!' he exclaimed, 'I never thought of that. And Daisy running

about out-of-doors! Dear me! It takes a scientist to be an unnatural

parent!'

"His alarm was half real, half assumed; but, all the same, he glanced

gravely at us both, shaking his handsome head, absorbed in thought.

Daisy herself looked a little doubtful. As for me, my sensations were

distinctly queer.

"'It is true,' said the professor, frowning at the wall, 'that human

remains have been found associated with the bones of the ekaf-bird--I

don't know how intimately. It is a matter to be taken into most

serious consideration.'

"'The problem can be solved,' said I, 'in several ways. One is, to

keep Miss Holroyd in the house--'

"'I shall not stay in,' cried Daisy, indignantly.

"We all laughed, and her father assured her that she should not be

abused.

"'Even if I did stay in,' she said, 'one of these birds might alight

on Master Dick.'

"She looked saucily at me as she spoke, but turned crimson when her

father observed, quietly, 'You don't seem to think of me, Daisy!'

"'Of course I do,' she said, getting up and putting both arms around

her father's neck; 'but Dick--as--as you call him--is so helpless and

timid.'

"My blissful smile froze on my lips.

"'Timid!' I repeated.

"She came back to the table, making me a mocking reverence.

"'Do you think I am to be laughed at with impunity?' she said.

"'What are your other plans, Dick?' asked the professor. 'Daisy, let

him alone, you little tease!'

"'One is, to haul a lot of cast-iron boilers along the dunes,' I said.

'If these birds come when the carcass floats in, and if they seem

disposed to trouble us, we could crawl into the boilers and be safe.'

"'Why, that is really brilliant!' cried Daisy.

"'Be quiet, my child. Dick, the plan is sound and sensible and

perfectly practical. McPeek and Frisby shall go for a dozen loads of

boilers to-morrow.'

"'It will spoil the beauty of the landscape,' said Daisy, with a

taunting nod to me.

"'And Frisby will probably attempt to cover them with bill-posters,' I

added, laughing.

"'That,' said Daisy, 'I shall prevent, even at the cost of his life.'

And she stood up, looking very determined.

"'Children, children,' protested the professor, 'go to bed--you bother

me.'

"Then I turned deliberately to Miss Holroyd.

"'Good-night, Daisy,' I said.

"'Good-night, Dick,' she said, very gently.

XXI

"The week passed quickly for me, leaving but few definite impressions.

As I look back to it now I can see the long stretch of beach burning

in the fierce sunlight, the endless meadows, with the glimmer of water

in the distance, the dunes, the twisted cedars, the leagues of

scintillating ocean, rocking, rocking, always rocking. In the starlit

nights the curlew came in from the sand-bars by twos and threes; I

could hear their querulous call as I lay in bed thinking. All day long

the little ring-necks whistled from the shore. The plover answered

them from distant, lonely inland pools. The great white gulls drifted

like feathers upon the sea.

"One morning towards the end of the week, I, strolling along the

dunes, came upon Frisby. He was bill-posting. I caught him red-handed.

"'This,' said I, 'must stop. Do you understand, Mr. Frisby?'

"He stepped back from his work, laying his head on one side,

considering first me, then the bill that he had pasted on one of our

big boilers.

"'Don't you like the color?' he asked. 'It goes well on them black

boilers.'

"'Color! No, I don't like the color, either. Can't you understand that

there are some people in the world who object to seeing

patent-medicine advertisements scattered over a landscape?'

"'Hey?' he said, perplexed.

"'Will you kindly remove that advertisement?' I persisted.

"'Too late,' said Frisby; 'it's sot.'

"I was too disgusted to speak, but my disgust turned to anger when I

perceived that, as far as the eye could reach, our boilers, lying from

three to four hundred feet apart, were ablaze with yellow-and-red

posters extolling the 'Eureka Liver Pill Company.'

"'It don't cost 'em nothin',' said Frisby, cheerfully; 'I done it fur

the fun of it. Purty, ain't it?'

"'They are Professor Holroyd's boilers,' I said, subduing a desire to

beat Frisby with my telescope. 'Wait until Miss Holroyd sees this

work.'

"'Don't she like yeller and red?' he demanded, anxiously.

"'You'll find out,' said I.

"Frisby gaped at his handiwork and then at his yellow dog. After a

moment he mechanically spat on a clam-shell and requested Davy to

'sic' it.

"'Can't you comprehend that you have ruined our pleasure in the

landscape?' I asked, more mildly.

"'I've got some green bills,' said Frisby; 'I kin stick 'em over the

yeller ones--'

"'Confound it,' said I, 'it isn't the color!'

"'Then,' observed Frisby, 'you don't like them pills. I've got some

bills of the "Cropper Automobile" and a few of "Bagley, the Gents'

Tailor"--'

"'Frisby,' said I, 'use them all--paste the whole collection over your

dog and yourself--then walk off the cliff.'

"He sullenly unfolded a green poster, swabbed the boiler with paste,

laid the upper section of the bill upon it, and plastered the whole

bill down with a thwack of his brush. As I walked away I heard him

muttering.

"Next day Daisy was so horrified that I promised to give Frisby an

ultimatum. I found him with Freda, gazing sentimentally at his work,

and I sent him back to the shop in a hurry, telling Freda at the same

time that she could spend her leisure in providing Mr. Frisby with

sand, soap, and a scrubbing-brush. Then I walked on to my post of

observation.

"I watched until sunset. Daisy came with her father to hear my report,

but there was nothing to tell, and we three walked slowly back to the

house.

"In the evenings the professor worked on his volumes, the click of his

type-writer sounding faintly behind his closed door. Daisy and I

played chess sometimes; sometimes we played hearts. I don't remember

that we ever finished a game of either--we talked too much.

"Our discussions covered every topic of interest: we argued upon

politics; we skimmed over literature and music; we settled

international differences; we spoke vaguely of human brotherhood. I

say we slighted no subject of interest--I am wrong; we never spoke of

love.

"Now, love is a matter of interest to ten people out of ten. Why it

was that it did not appear to interest us is as interesting a question

as love itself. We were young, alert, enthusiastic, inquiring. We

eagerly absorbed theories concerning any curious phenomena in nature,

as intellectual cocktails to stimulate discussion. And yet we did not

discuss love. I do not say that we avoided it. No; the subject was

too completely ignored for even that. And yet we found it very

difficult to pass an hour separated. The professor noticed this, and

laughed at us. We were not even embarrassed.

"Sunday passed in pious contemplation of the ocean. Daisy read a

little in her prayer-book, and the professor threw a cloth over his

type-writer and strolled up and down the sands. He may have been lost

in devout abstraction; he may have been looking for footprints. As for

me, my mind was very serene, and I was more than happy. Daisy read to

me a little for my soul's sake, and the professor came up and said

something cheerful. He also examined the magazine of my Winchester.

"That night, too, Daisy took her guitar to the sands and sang one or

two Basque hymns. Unlike us, the Basques do not take their pleasures

sadly. One of their pleasures is evidently religion.

"The big moon came up over the dunes and stared at the sea until the

surface of every wave trembled with radiance. A sudden stillness fell

across the world; the wind died out; the foam ran noiselessly across

the beach; the cricket's rune was stilled.

"I leaned back, dropping one hand upon the sand. It touched another

hand, soft and cool.

"After a while the other hand moved slightly, and I found that my own

had closed above it. Presently one finger stirred a little--only a

little--for our fingers were interlocked.

"On the shore the foam-froth bubbled and winked and glimmered in the

moonlight. A star fell from the zenith, showering the night with

incandescent dust.

"If our fingers lay interlaced beside us, her eyes were calm and

serene as always, wide open, fixed upon the depths of a dark sky. And

when her father rose and spoke to us, she did not withdraw her hand.

"'Is it late?' she asked, dreamily.

"'It is midnight, little daughter.'

"I stood up, still holding her hand, and aided her to rise. And when,

at the door, I said good-night, she turned and looked at me for a

little while in silence, then passed into her room slowly, with head

still turned towards me.

"All night long I dreamed of her; and when the east whitened, I sprang

up, the thunder of the ocean in my ears, the strong sea-wind blowing

into the open window.

"'She's asleep,' I thought, and I leaned from the window and peered

out into the east.

"The sea called to me, tossing its thousand arms; the soaring gulls,

dipping, rising, wheeling above the sandbar, screamed and clamored for

a playmate. I slipped into my bathing-suit, dropped from the window

upon the soft sand, and in a moment had plunged head foremost into the

surf, swimming beneath the waves towards the open sea.

"Under the tossing ocean the voice of the waters was in my ears--a

low, sweet voice, intimate, mysterious. Through singing foam and

broad, green, glassy depths, by whispering sandy channels atrail with

sea-weed, and on, on, out into the vague, cool sea, I sped, rising to

the top, sinking, gliding. Then at last I flung myself out of water,

hands raised, and the clamor of the gulls filled my ears.

"As I lay, breathing fast, drifting on the sea, far out beyond the

gulls I saw a flash of white, and an arm was lifted, signalling me.

"'Daisy!' I called.

"A clear hail came across the water, distinct on the sea-wind, and at

the same instant we raised our hands and moved towards each other.

"How we laughed as we met in the sea! The white dawn came up out of

the depths, the zenith turned to rose and ashes.

"And with the dawn came the wind--a great sea-wind, fresh, aromatic,

that hurled our voices back into our throats and lifted the sheeted

spray above our heads. Every wave, crowned with mist, caught us in a

cool embrace, cradled us, and slipped away, only to leave us to

another wave, higher, stronger, crested with opalescent glory,

breathing incense.

"We turned together up the coast, swimming lightly side by side, but

our words were caught up by the winds and whirled into the sky.

"We looked up at the driving clouds; we looked out upon the pallid

waste of waters, but it was into each other's eyes we looked,

wondering, wistful, questioning the reason of sky and sea And there in

each other's eyes we read the mystery, and we knew that earth and sky

and sea were created for us alone.

"Drifting on by distant sands and dunes, her white fingers touching

mine, we spoke, keying our tones to the wind's vast harmony. And we

spoke of love.

"Gray and wide as the limitless span of the sky and the sea, the winds

gathered from the world's ends to bear us on; but they were not

familiar winds; for now, along the coast, the breakers curled and

showed a million fangs, and the ocean stirred to its depths, uneasy,

ominous, and the menace of its murmur drew us closer as we moved.

"Where the dull thunder and the tossing spray warned us from sunken

reefs, we heard the harsh challenges of gulls; where the pallid surf

twisted in yellow coils of spume above the bar, the singing sands

murmured of treachery and secrets of lost souls agasp in the throes of

silent undertows.

"But there was a little stretch of beach glimmering through the

mountains of water, and towards this we turned, side by side. Around

us the water grew warmer; the breath of the following waves moistened

our cheeks; the water itself grew gray and strange about us.

"'We have come too far,' I said; but she only answered:

"'Faster, faster! I am afraid!' The water was almost hot now; its

aromatic odor filled our lungs.

"'The Gulf loop!' I muttered. 'Daisy, shall I help you?'

"'No. Swim--close by me! Oh-h! Dick--'

"Her startled cry was echoed by another--a shrill scream, unutterably

horrible--and a great bird flapped from the beach, splashing and

beating its pinions across the water with a thundering noise.

"Out across the waves it blundered, rising little by little from the

water, and now, to my horror, I saw another monstrous bird swinging in

the air above it, squealing as it turned on its vast wings. Before I

could speak we touched the beach, and I half lifted her to the shore.

"'Quick!' I repeated. 'We must not wait.'

"Her eyes were dark with fear, but she rested a hand on my shoulder,

and we crept up among the dune-grasses and sank down by the point of

sand where the rough shelter stood, surrounded by the iron-ringed

piles.

"She lay there, breathing fast and deep, dripping with spray. I had no

power of speech left, but when I rose wearily to my knees and looked

out upon the water my blood ran cold. Above the ocean, on the breast

of the roaring wind, three enormous birds sailed, turning and wheeling

among one another; and below, drifting with the gray stream of the

Gulf loop, a colossal bulk lay half submerged--a gigantic lizard,

floating belly upward.

"Then Daisy crept kneeling to my side and touched me, trembling from

head to foot.

"'I know,' I muttered. 'I must run back for the rifle.'

"'And--and leave me?'

"I took her by the hand, and we dragged ourselves through the

wire-grass to the open end of a boiler lying in the sand.

"She crept in on her hands and knees, and called to me to follow.

"'You are safe now,' I cried. 'I must go back for the rifle.'

"'The birds may--may attack you.'

"'If they do I can get into one of the other boilers,' I said. 'Daisy,

you must not venture out until I come back. You won't, will you?'

"'No-o,' she whispered, doubtfully.

"'Then--good-bye.'

"'Good-bye,' she answered, but her voice was very small and still.

"'Good-bye,' I said again. I was kneeling at the mouth of the big

iron tunnel; it was dark inside and I could not see her, but, before I

was conscious of it, her arms were around my neck and we had kissed

each other.

"I don't remember how I went away. When I came to my proper senses I

was swimming along the coast at full speed, and over my head wheeled

one of the birds, screaming at every turn.

"The intoxication of that innocent embrace, the close impress of her

arms around my neck, gave me a strength and recklessness that neither

fear nor fatigue could subdue. The bird above me did not even frighten

me. I watched it over my shoulder, swimming strongly, with the tide

now aiding me, now stemming my course; but I saw the shore passing

quickly, and my strength increased, and I shouted when I came in sight

of the house, and scrambled up on the sand, dripping and excited.

There was nobody in sight, and I gave a last glance up into the air

where the bird wheeled, still screeching, and hastened into the house.

Freda stared at me in amazement as I seized the rifle and shouted for

the professor.

"'He has just gone to town, with Captain McPeek in his wagon,'

stammered Freda.

"'What!' I cried. 'Does he know where his daughter is?'

"'Miss Holroyd is asleep--not?' gasped Freda.

"'Where's Frisby?' I cried, impatiently.

"'Yimmie?' quavered Freda.

"'Yes, Jimmie; isn't there anybody here? Good Heavens! where's that

man in the shop?'

"'He also iss gone,' said Freda, shedding tears, 'to buy papier-machй.

Yimmie, he iss gone to post bills.'

"I waited to hear no more, but swung my rifle over my shoulder, and,

hanging the cartridge-belt across my chest, hurried out and up the

beach. The bird was not in sight.

"I had been running for perhaps a minute when, far up on the dunes, I

saw a yellow dog rush madly through a clump of sweet-bay, and at the

same moment a bird soared past, rose, and hung hovering just above the

thicket. Suddenly the bird swooped; there was a shriek and a yelp from

the cur, but the bird gripped it in one claw and beat its wings upon

the sand, striving to rise. Then I saw Frisby--paste, bucket, and

brush raised--fall upon the bird, yelling lustily. The fierce creature

relaxed its talons, and the dog rushed on, squeaking with terror. The

bird turned on Frisby and sent him sprawling on his face, a sticky

mass of paste and sand. But this did not end the struggle. The bird,

croaking horridly, flew at the prostrate bill-poster, and the sand

whirled into a pillar above its terrible wings. Scarcely knowing what

I was about, I raised my rifle and fired twice. A scream echoed each

shot, and the bird rose heavily in a shower of sand; but two bullets

were embedded in that mass of foul feathers, and I saw the wires and

scarlet tape uncoiling on the sand at my feet. In an instant I seized

them and passed the ends around a cedar-tree, hooking the clasps

tight. Then I cast one swift glance upward, where the bird wheeled,

screeching, anchored like a kite to the pallium wires; and I hurried

on across the dunes, the shells cutting my feet and the bushes tearing

my wet swimming-suit, until I dripped with blood from shoulder to

ankle. Out in the ocean the carcass of the thermosaurus floated, claws

outspread, belly glistening in the gray light, and over him circled

two birds. As I reached the shelter I knelt and fired into the mass of

scales, and at my first shot a horrible thing occurred--the

lizard-like head writhed, the slitted yellow eyes sliding open from

the film that covered them. A shudder passed across the undulating

body, the great scaled belly heaved, and one leg feebly clawed at the

air.

"The thing was still alive!

"Crushing back the horror that almost paralyzed my hands, I planted

shot after shot into the quivering reptile, while it writhed and

clawed, striving to turn over and dive; and at each shot the black

blood spurted in long, slim jets across the water. And now Daisy was

at my side, pale and determined, swiftly clasping each tape-marked

wire to the iron rings in the circle around us. Twice I filled the

magazine from my belt, and twice I poured streams of steel-tipped

bullets into the scaled mass, twisting and shuddering on the sea.

Suddenly the birds steered towards us. I felt the wind from their vast

wings. I saw the feathers erect, vibrating. I saw the spread claws

outstretched, and I struck furiously at them, crying to Daisy to run

into the iron shelter. Backing, swinging my clubbed rifle, I

retreated, but I tripped across one of the taut pallium wires, and in

an instant the hideous birds were on me, and the bone in my forearm

snapped like a pipe-stem at a blow from their wings. Twice I struggled

to my knees, blinded with blood, confused, almost fainting; then I

fell again, rolling into the mouth of the iron boiler.

      *       *       *       *       *

"When I struggled back to consciousness Daisy knelt silently beside

me, while Captain McPeek and Professor Holroyd bound up my shattered

arm, talking excitedly. The pain made me faint and dizzy. I tried to

speak and could not. At last they got me to my feet and into the

wagon, and Daisy came, too, and crouched beside me, wrapped in

oilskins to her eyes. Fatigue, lack of food, and excitement had

combined with wounds and broken bones to extinguish the last atom of

strength in my body; but my mind was clear enough to understand that

the trouble was over and the thermosaurus safe.

"I heard McPeek say that one of the birds that I had anchored to a

cedar-tree had torn loose from the bullets and had winged its way

heavily out to sea. The professor answered: 'Yes, the ekaf-bird; the

others were ool-ylliks. I'd have given my right arm to have secured

them.' Then for a time I heard no more; but the jolting of the wagon

over the dunes roused me to keenest pain, and I held out my right hand

to Daisy. She clasped it in both of hers, and kissed it again and

again.

      *       *       *       *       *

"There is little more to add, I think. Professor Bruce Stoddard's

scientific pamphlet will be published soon, to be followed by

Professor Holroyd's sixteen volumes. In a few days the stuffed and

mounted thermosaurus will be placed on free public exhibition in the

arena of Madison Square Garden, the only building in the city large

enough to contain the body of this immense winged reptile."

      *       *       *       *       *

The young man hesitated, looking long and earnestly at Miss Barrison.

"Did you marry her?" she asked, softly.

"You wouldn't believe it," said the young man, earnestly--"you

wouldn't believe it, after all that happened, if I should tell you

that she married Professor Bruce Stoddard, of Columbia--would you?"

"Yes, I would," said Miss Barrison. "You never can tell what a girl

will do."

"That story of yours," I said, "is to me the most wonderful and

valuable contribution to nature study that it has ever been my fortune

to listen to. You are fitted to write; it is your sacred mission to

produce. Are you going to?"

"I am writing," said the young man, quietly, "a nature book. Sir Peter

Grebe's magnificent monograph on the speckled titmouse inspired me.

But nature study is not what I have chosen as my life's mission."

He looked dreamily across at Miss Barrison. "No, not natural

phenomena," he repeated, "but unnatural phenomena. What Professor

Hyssop has done for Columbia, I shall attempt to do for Harvard. In

fact, I have already accepted the chair of Psychical Phenomena at

Cambridge."

I gazed upon him with intense respect.

"A personal experience revealed to me my life's work," he, went on,

thoughtfully stroking his blond mustache. "If Miss Barrison would care

to hear it--"

"Please tell it," she said, sweetly.

"I shall have to relate it clothed in that artificial garb known as

literary style," he explained, deprecatingly.

"It doesn't matter," I said, "I never noticed any style at all in your

story of the thermosaurus."

He smiled gratefully, and passed his hand over his face; a far-away

expression came into his eyes, and he slowly began, hesitating, as

though talking to himself:

XXII

"It was high noon in the city of Antwerp. From slender steeples

floated the mellow music of the Flemish bells, and in the spire of the

great cathedral across the square the cracked chimes clashed discords

until my ears ached.

"When the fiend in the cathedral had jerked the last tuneless clang

from the chimes, I removed my fingers from my ears and sat down at one

of the iron tables in the court. A waiter, with his face shaved blue,

brought me a bottle of Rhine wine, a tumbler of cracked ice, and a

siphon.

"'Does monsieur desire anything else?' he inquired.

"'Yes--the head of the cathedral bell-ringer; bring it with vinegar

and potatoes,' I said, bitterly. Then I began to ponder on my

great-aunt and the Crimson Diamond.

"The white walls of the Hфtel St. Antoine rose in a rectangle around

the sunny court, casting long shadows across the basin of the

fountain. The strip of blue overhead was cloudless. Sparrows twittered

under the eaves the yellow awnings fluttered, the flowers swayed in

the summer breeze, and the jet of the fountain splashed among the

water-plants. On the sunny side of the piazza the tables were vacant;

on the shady side I was lazily aware that the tables behind me were

occupied, but I was indifferent as to their occupants, partly because

I shunned all tourists, partly because I was thinking of my

great-aunt.

"Most old ladies are eccentric, but there is a limit, and my

great-aunt had overstepped it. I had believed her to be wealthy--she

died bankrupt. Still, I knew there was one thing she did possess, and

that was the famous Crimson Diamond. Now, of course, you know who my

great-aunt was.

"Excepting the Koh-i-noor and the Regent, this enormous and unique

stone was, as everybody knows, the most valuable gem in existence. Any

ordinary person would have placed that diamond in a safe-deposit. My

great-aunt did nothing of the kind. She kept it in a small velvet bag,

which she carried about her neck. She never took it off, but wore it

dangling openly on her heavy silk gown.

"In this same bag she also carried dried catnip-leaves, of which she

was inordinately fond. Nobody but myself, her only living relative,

knew that the Crimson Diamond lay among the sprigs of catnip in the

little velvet bag.

"'Harold,' she would say, 'do you think I'm a fool? If I place the

Crimson Diamond in any safe-deposit vault in New York, somebody will

steal it, sooner or later.' Then she would nibble a sprig of catnip

and peer cunningly at me. I loathed the odor of catnip and she knew

it. I also loathed cats. This also she knew, and of course surrounded

herself with a dozen. Poor old lady! One day she was found dead in her

bed in her apartments at the Waldorf. The doctor said she died from

natural causes. The only other occupant of her sleeping-room was a

cat. The cat fled when we broke open the door, and I heard that she

was received and cherished by some eccentric people in a neighboring

apartment.

"Now, although my great-aunt's death was due to purely natural causes,

there was one very startling and disagreeable feature of the case. The

velvet bag containing the Crimson Diamond had disappeared. Every inch

of the apartment was searched, the floors torn up, the walls

dismantled, but the Crimson Diamond had vanished. Chief of Police

Conlon detailed four of his best men on the case, and, as I had

nothing better to do, I enrolled myself as a volunteer. I also offered

$25,000 reward for the recovery of the gem. All New York was agog.

"The case seemed hopeless enough, although there were five of us after

the thief. McFarlane was in London, and had been for a month, but

Scotland Yard could give him no help, and the last I heard of him he

was roaming through Surrey after a man with a white spot in his hair.

Harrison had gone to Paris. He kept writing me that clews were plenty

and the scent hot, but as Dennet, in Berlin, and Clancy, in Vienna,

wrote me the same thing, I began to doubt these gentlemen's ability.

"'You say,' I answered Harrison, 'that the fellow is a Frenchman, and

that he is now concealed in Paris; but Dennet writes me by the same

mail that the thief is undoubtedly a German, and was seen yesterday in

Berlin. To-day I received a letter from Clancy, assuring me that

Vienna holds the culprit, and that he is an Austrian from Trieste.

Now, for Heaven's sake,' I ended, 'let me alone and stop writing me

letters until you have something to write about.'

"The night-clerk at the Waldorf had furnished us with our first clew.

On the night of my aunt's death he had seen a tall, grave-faced man

hurriedly leave the hotel. As the man passed the desk he removed his

hat and mopped his forehead, and the night-clerk noticed that in the

middle of his head there was a patch of hair as white as snow.

"We worked this clew for all it was worth, and, a month later, I

received a cable despatch from Paris, saying that a man answering to

the description of the Waldorf suspect had offered an enormous crimson

diamond for sale to a jeweller in the Palais Royal. Unfortunately the

fellow took fright and disappeared before the jeweller could send for

the police, and since that time McFarlane in London, Harrison in

Paris, Dennet in Berlin, and Clancy in Vienna had been chasing men

with white patches on their hair until no gray-headed patriarch in

Europe was free from suspicion. I myself had sleuthed it through

England, France, Holland, and Belgium, and now I found myself in

Antwerp at the Hфtel St. Antoine, without a clew that promised

anything except another outrage on some respectable white-haired

citizen. The case seemed hopeless enough, unless the thief tried again

to sell the gem. Here was our only hope, for, unless he cut the stone

into smaller ones, he had no more chance of selling it than he would

have had if he had stolen the Venus of Milo and peddled her about the

Rue de Seine. Even were he to cut up the stone, no respectable gem

collector or jeweller would buy a crimson diamond without first

notifying me; for although a few red stones are known to collectors,

the color of the Crimson Diamond was absolutely unique, and there was

little probability of an honest mistake.

"Thinking of all these things, I sat sipping my Rhine wine in the

shadow of the yellow awnings. A large white cat came sauntering by and

stopped in front of me to perform her toilet, until I wished she would

go away. After a while she sat up, licked her whiskers, yawned once or

twice, and was about to stroll on, when, catching sight of me, she

stopped short and looked me squarely in the face. I returned the

attention with a scowl, because I wished to discourage any advances

towards social intercourse which she might contemplate; but after a

while her steady gaze disconcerted me, and I turned to my Rhine wine.

A few minutes later I looked up again. The cat was still eying me.

"'Now what the devil is the matter with the animal,' I muttered; 'does

she recognize in me a relative?'

"'Perhaps,' observed a man at the next table.

"'What do you mean by that?' I demanded.

"'What I say,' replied the man at the next table.

"I looked him full in the face. He was old and bald and appeared

weak-minded. His age protected his impudence. I turned my back on him.

Then my eyes fell on the cat again. She was still gazing earnestly at

me.

"Disgusted that she should take such pointed public notice of me, I

wondered whether other people saw it; I wondered whether there was

anything peculiar in my own personal appearance. How hard the creature

stared! It was most embarrassing.

"'What has got into that cat?' I thought. 'It's sheer impudence. It's

an intrusion, and I won't stand it!' The cat did not move. I tried to

stare her out of countenance. It was useless. There was aggressive

inquiry in her yellow eyes. A sensation of uneasiness began to steal

over me--a sensation of embarrassment not unmixed with awe. All cats

looked alike to me, and yet there was something about this one that

bothered me--something that I could not explain to myself, but which

began to occupy me.

"She looked familiar--this Antwerp cat. An odd sense of having seen

her before, of having been well acquainted with her in former years,

slowly settled in my mind, and, although I could never remember the

time when I had not detested cats, I was almost convinced that my

relations with this Antwerp tabby had once been intimate if not

cordial. I looked more closely at the animal. Then an idea struck

me--an idea which persisted and took definite shape in spite of me. I

strove to escape from it, to evade it, to stifle and smother it; an

inward struggle ensued which brought the perspiration in beads upon my

cheeks--a struggle short, sharp, decisive. It was useless--useless to

try to put it from me--this idea so wretchedly bizarre, so grotesque

and fantastic, so utterly inane--it was useless to deny that the cat

bore a distinct resemblance to my great-aunt!

"I gazed at her in horror. What enormous eyes the creature had!

"'Blood is thicker than water,' said the man at the next table.

"'What does he mean by that?' I muttered, angrily, swallowing a

tumbler of Rhine wine and seltzer. But I did not turn. What was the

use?

"'Chattering old imbecile,' I added to myself, and struck a match, for

my cigar was out; but, as I raised the match to relight it, I

encountered the cat's eyes again. I could not enjoy my cigar with the

animal staring at me, but I was justly indignant, and I did not intend

to be routed. 'The idea! Forced to leave for a cat!' I sneered. 'We

will see who will be the one to go!' I tried to give her a jet of

seltzer from the siphon, but the bottle was too nearly empty to carry

far. Then I attempted to lure her nearer, calling her in French,

German, and English, but she did not stir. I did not know the Flemish

for 'cat.'

"'She's got a name, and won't come,' I thought. 'Now, what under the

sun can I call her?'

"'Aunty,' suggested the man at the next table.

"I sat perfectly still. Could that man have answered my thoughts?--for

I had not spoken aloud. Of course not--it was a coincidence--but a

very disgusting one.

"'Aunty,' I repeated, mechanically, 'aunty, aunty--good gracious, how

horribly human that cat looks!' Then, somehow or other, Shakespeare's

words crept into my head and I found myself repeating: 'The soul of my

grandam might haply inhabit a bird; the soul of--nonsense!' I

growled--'it isn't printed correctly! One might possibly say, speaking

in poetical metaphor, that the soul of a bird might haply inhabit

one's grandam--' I stopped short, flushing painfully. 'What awful

rot!' I murmured, and lighted another cigar. The cat was still

staring; the cigar went out. I grew more and more nervous. 'What rot!'

I repeated. 'Pythagoras must have been an ass, but I do believe there

are plenty of asses alive to-day who swallow that sort of thing.'

"'Who knows?' sighed the man at the next table, and I sprang to my

feet and wheeled about. But I only caught a glimpse of a pair of

frayed coat-tails and a bald head vanishing into the dining-room. I

sat down again, thoroughly indignant. A moment later the cat got up

and went away.

XXIII

"Daylight was fading in the city of Antwerp. Down into the sea sank

the sun, tinting the vast horizon with flakes of crimson, and touching

with rich deep undertones the tossing waters of the Scheldt. Its glow

fell like a rosy mantle over red-tiled roofs and meadows; and through

the haze the spires of twenty churches pierced the air like sharp,

gilded flames. To the west and south the green plains, over which the

Spanish armies tramped so long ago, stretched away until they met the

sky; the enchantment of the after-glow had turned old Antwerp into

fairy-land; and sea and sky and plain were beautiful and vague as the

night-mists floating in the moats below.

"Along the sea-wall from the Rubens Gate all Antwerp strolled, and

chattered, and flirted, and sipped their Flemish wines from slender

Flemish glasses, or gossiped over krugs of foaming beer.

"From the Scheldt came the cries of sailors, the creaking of cordage,

and the puff! puff! of the ferry-boats. On the bastions of the

fortress opposite, a bugler was standing. Twice the mellow notes of

the bugle came faintly over the water, then a great gun thundered from

the ramparts, and the Belgian flag fluttered along the lanyards to the

ground.

"I leaned listlessly on the sea-wall and looked down at the Scheldt

below. A battery of artillery was embarking for the fortress. The

tublike transport lay hissing and whistling in the slip, and the

stamping of horses, the rumbling of gun and caisson, and the sharp

cries of the officers came plainly to the ear.

"When the last caisson was aboard and stowed, and the last trooper had

sprung jingling to the deck, the transport puffed out into the

Scheldt, and I turned away through the throng of promenaders; and

found a little table on the terrace, just outside of the pretty cafй.

And as I sat down I became aware of a girl at the next table--a girl

all in white--the most ravishingly and distractingly pretty girl that

I had ever seen. In the agitation of the moment I forgot my name, my

fortune, my aunt, and the Crimson Diamond--all these I forgot in a

purely human impulse to see clearly; and to that end I removed my

monocle from my left eye. Some moments later I came to myself and

feebly replaced it. It was too late; the mischief was done. I was not

aware at first of the exact state of my feelings--for I had never been

in love more than three or four times in all my life--but I did know

that at her request I would have been proud to stand on my head, or

turn a flip-flap into the Scheldt.

"I did not stare at her, but I managed to see her most of the time

when her eyes were in another direction. I found myself drinking

something which a waiter brought, presumably upon an order which I did

not remember having given. Later I noticed that it was a loathsome

drink which the Belgians call 'American grog,' but I swallowed it and

lighted a cigarette. As the fragrant cloud rose in the air, a voice,

which I recognized with a chill, broke, into my dream of enchantment.

Could _he_ have been there all the while--there sitting beside that

vision in white? His hat was off, and the ocean-breezes whispered

about his bald head. His frayed coat-tails were folded carefully over

his knees, and between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand he

balanced a bad cigar. He looked at me in a mildly cheerful way, and

said, 'I know now.'

"'Know what?' I asked, thinking it better to humor him, for I was

convinced that he was mad.

"'I know why cats bite.'

"This was startling. I hadn't an idea what to say.

"'I know why,' he repeated; 'can you guess why?' There was a covert

tone of triumph in his voice and he smiled encouragement. 'Come, try

and guess,' he urged.

"I told him that I was unequal to problems.

"'Listen, young man,' he continued, folding his coat-tails closely

about his legs--'try to reason it out: why should cats bite? Don't you

know? I do.'

"He looked at me anxiously.

"'You take no interest in this problem?' he demanded.

"'Oh yes.'

"'Then why do you not ask me why?' he said, looking vaguely

disappointed.

"'Well,' I said, in desperation, 'why do cats bite?--hang it all!' I

thought, 'it's like a burned-cork show, and I'm Mr. Bones and he's

Tambo!'

"Then he smiled gently. 'Young man,' he said, 'cats bite because they

feed on catnip. I have reasoned it out.'

"I stared at him in blank astonishment. Was this benevolent-looking

old party poking fun at me? Was he paying me up for the morning's

snub? Was he a malignant and revengeful old party, or was he merely

feeble-minded? Who might he be? What was he doing here in

Antwerp--what was he doing now?--for the bald one had turned

familiarly to the beautiful girl in white.

"'Wilhelmina,' he said, 'do you feel chilly?' The girl shook her head.

"'Not in the least, papa.'

"'Her father!' I thought--'her father!' Thank God she did not say

'popper'!

"'I have been to the Zoo to-day,' announced the bald one, turning

towards me.

"'Ah, indeed,' I observed; 'er--I trust you enjoyed it.'

"'I have been contemplating the apes,' he continued, dreamily. 'Yes,

contemplating the apes.'

"I tried to look interested.

"'Yes, the apes,' he murmured, fixing his mild eyes on me. Then he

leaned towards me confidentially and whispered, 'Can you tell me what

a monkey thinks?'

"'I cannot,' I replied, sharply.

"'Ah,' he sighed, sinking back in his chair, and patting the slender

hand of the girl beside him--'ah, who can tell what a monkey thinks?'

His gentle face lulled my suspicions, and I replied, very gravely:

"'Who can tell whether they think at all?'

"'True, true! Who can tell whether they think at all; and if they do

think, ah! who can tell what they think?'

"'But,' I began, 'if you can't tell whether they think at all, what's

the use of trying to conjecture what they _would_ think if they _did_

think?'

"He raised his hand in deprecation. 'Ah, it is exactly that which is

of such absorbing interest--exactly that! It is the abstruseness of

the proposition which stimulates research--which stirs profoundly the

brain of the thinking world. The question is of vital and instant

importance. Possibly you have already formed an opinion.'

"I admitted that I had thought but little on the subject.

"'I doubt,' he continued, swathing his knees in his coat-tails--'I

doubt whether you have given much attention to the subject lately

discussed by the Boston Dodo Society of Pythagorean Research.'

"'I am not sure,' I said, politely, 'that I recall that particular

discussion. May I ask what was the question brought up?'

"'The Felis domestica question.'

"'Ah, that must indeed be interesting! And--er--what may be the Felis

do--do--'

"'Domestica--not dodo. Felis domestica, the common or garden cat.'

"'Indeed,' I murmured.

"'You are not listening,' he said.

"I only half heard him. I could not turn my eyes from his daughter's

face.

"'Cat!' shouted the bald one, and I almost leaped from my chair. 'Are

you deaf?' he inquired, sympathetically.

"'No--oh no!' I replied, coloring with confusion; 'you were--pardon

me--you were--er--speaking of the dodo. Extraordinary bird that--'

"'I was not discussing the dodo,' he sighed. 'I was speaking of cats.'

"'Of course,' I said.

"'The question is,' he continued, twisting his frayed coat-tails into

a sort of rope--'the question is, how are we to ameliorate the present

condition and social status of our domestic cats?'

"'Feed 'em,' I suggested.

"He raised both hands. They were eloquent with patient expostulation.

'I mean their spiritual condition,' he said.

"I nodded, but my eyes reverted to that exquisite face. She sat

silent, her eyes fixed on the waning flecks of color in the western

sky.

"'Yes,' repeated the bald one, 'the spiritual welfare of our domestic

cats.'

"'Toms and tabbies?' I murmured.

"'Exactly,' he said, tying a large knot in his coat-tails.

"'You will ruin your coat,' I observed.

"'Papa!' exclaimed the girl, turning in dismay, as that gentleman gave

a guilty start, 'stop it at once!'

"He smiled apologetically and made a feeble attempt to conceal his

coat-tails.

"'My dear,' he said, with gentle deprecation, 'I am so

absent-minded--I always do it in the heat of argument.'

"The girl rose, and, bending over her untidy parent, deftly untied the

knot in his flapping coat. When he was disentangled, she sat down and

said, with a ghost of a smile, 'He is so very absent-minded.'

"'Your father is evidently a great student,' I ventured, pleasantly.

How I pitied her, tied to this old lunatic!

"'Yes, he is a great student,' she said, quietly.

"'I am,' he murmured; 'that's what makes me so absent-minded. I often

go to bed and forget to sleep.' Then, looking at me, he asked me my

name, adding, with a bow, that his name was P. Royal Wyeth, Professor

of Pythagorean Research and Abstruse Paradox.

"'My first name is Penny--named after Professor Penny, of Harvard,' he

said; 'but I seldom use my first name in connection with my second, as

the combination suggests a household remedy of penetrating odor.'

"'My name is Kensett,' I said, 'Harold Kensett, of New York.'

"'Student?'

"'Er--a little.'

"'Student of diamonds?'

"I smiled. 'Oh, I see you know who my great-aunt was,' I said.

"'I know her,' he said.

"'Ah--perhaps you are unaware that my great-aunt is not now living.'

"'I know her,' he repeated, obstinately.

"I bowed. What a crank he was!

"'What do you study? You don't fiddle away all your time, do you?' he

asked.

"Now that was just what I did, but I was not pleased to have Miss

Wyeth know it. Although my time was chiefly spent in killing time, I

had once, in a fit of energy, succeeded in writing some verses 'To a

Tomtit,' so I evaded a humiliating confession by saying that I had

done a little work in ornithology.

"'Good!' cried the professor, beaming all over. 'I knew you were a

fellow-scientist. Possibly you are a brother-member of the Boston

Dodo Society of Pythagorean Research. Are you a dodo?'

"I shook my head. 'No, I am not a dodo.'

"'Only a jay?'

"'A--what?' I said, angrily.

"'A jay. We call the members of the Junior Ornithological Jay Society

of New York, jays, just as we refer to ourselves as dodos. Are you not

even a jay?'

"'I am not,' I said, watching him suspiciously.

"'I must convert you, I see,' said the professor, smiling.

"'I'm afraid I do not approve of Pythagorean research,' I began, but

the beautiful Miss Wyeth turned to me very seriously, and, looking me

frankly in the eyes, said:

"'I trust you will be open to conviction.'

"'Good Lord!' I thought. 'Can she be another lunatic?' I looked at her

steadily. What a little beauty she was! She also, then, belonged to

the Pythagoreans--a sect I despised. Everybody knows all about the

Pythagorean craze, its rise in Boston, its rapid spread, and its

subsequent consolidation with mental and Christian science, theosophy,

hypnotism, the Salvation Army, the Shakers, the Dunkards, and the

mind-cure cult, upon a business basis. I had hitherto regarded all

Pythagoreans with the same scornful indifference which I accorded to

the faith-curists; being a member of no particular church, I was

scarcely prepared to take any of them seriously. Least of all did I

approve of the 'business basis,' and I looked very much askance indeed

at the 'Scientific and Religious Trust Company,' duly incorporated and

generally known as the Pythagorean Trust, which, consolidating with

mind-curists, faith-curists, and other flourishing salvation

syndicates, actually claimed a place among ordinary trusts, and at the

same time pretended to a control over man's future life. No, I could

never listen--I was ashamed of even entertaining the notion, and I

shook my head.

"'No, Miss Wyeth, I am afraid I do not care to listen to any reasoning

on this subject.'

"'Don't you believe in Pythagoras?' demanded the professor, subduing

his excitement with difficulty, and adding another knot to his

coat-tails.

"'No,' I said, 'I do not.'

"'How do you know you don't?' inquired the professor.

"'Because,' I said, firmly, 'it is nonsense to say that the soul of a

human being can inhabit a hen!'

"'Put it in a more simplified form!' insisted the professor. 'Do you

believe that the soul of a hen can inhabit a human being?'

"'No, I don't!'

"'Did you ever hear of a hen-pecked man?' cried the professor, his

voice ending in a shout.

"I nodded, intensely annoyed.

"'Will you listen to reason, then?' he continued, eagerly.

"'No,' I began, but I caught Miss Wyeth's blue eyes fixed on mine with

an expression so sad, so sweetly appealing, that I faltered.

"'Yes, I will listen,' I said, faintly.

"'Will you become my pupil?' insisted the professor.

"I was shocked to find myself wavering, but my eyes were looking into

hers, and I could not disobey what I read there. The longer I looked

the greater inclination I felt to waver. I saw that I was going to

give in, and, strangest of all, my conscience did not trouble me. I

felt it coming--a sort of mild exhilaration took possession of me. For

the first time in my life I became reckless--I even gloried in my

recklessness.

"'Yes, yes,' I cried, leaning eagerly across the table, 'I shall be

glad--delighted! Will you take me as your pupil?' My single eye-glass

fell from its position unheeded. 'Take me! Oh, will you take me?' I

cried. Instead of answering, the professor blinked rapidly at me for a

moment. I imagined his eyes had grown bigger, and were assuming a

greenish tinge. The corners of his mouth began to quiver, emitting

queer, caressing little noises, and he rapidly added knot after knot

to his twitching coat-tails. Suddenly he bent forward across the table

until his nose almost touched mine. The pupils of his eyes expanded,

the iris assuming a beautiful, changing, golden-green tinge, and his

coat-tails switched violently. Then he began to mew.

"I strove to rouse myself from my paralysis--I tried to shrink back,

for I felt the end of his cold nose touch mine. I could not move. The

cry of terror died in my straining throat, my hands tightened

convulsively; I was incapable of speech or motion. At the same time my

brain became wonderfully clear. I began to remember everything that

had ever happened to me--everything that I had ever done or said. I

even remembered things that I had neither done nor said; I recalled

distinctly much that had never happened. How fresh and strong my

memory! The past was like a mirror, crystal clear, and there, in

glorious tints and hues, the scenes of my childhood grew and glowed

and faded, and gave place to newer and more splendid scenes. For a

moment the episode of the cat at the Hфtel St. Antoine flashed across

my mind. When it vanished a chilly stupor slowly clouded my brain; the

scenes, the memories, the brilliant colors, faded, leaving me

enveloped in a gray vapor, through which the two great eyes of the

professor twinkled with a murky light. A peculiar longing stirred

me--a strange yearning for something, I knew not what--but, oh! how I

longed and yearned for it! Slowly this indefinite, incomprehensible

longing became a living pain. Ah, how I suffered, and how the vapors

seemed to crowd around me! Then, as at a great distance, I heard her

voice, sweet, imperative:

"'Mew!' she said.

"For a moment I seemed to see the interior of my own skull, lighted as

by a flash of fire; the rolling eyeballs, veined in scarlet, the

glistening muscles quivering along the jaw, the humid masses of the

convoluted brain; then awful darkness--a darkness almost tangible--an

utter blackness, through which now seemed to creep a thin, silver

thread, like a river crawling across a world--like a thought gliding

to the brain--like a song, a thin, sharp song which some distant voice

was singing--which I was singing.

"And I knew that I was mewing!

"I threw myself back in my chair and mewed with all my heart. Oh, that

heavy load which was lifted from my breast! How good, how satisfying

it was to mew! And how I did miaul and yowl!

"I gave myself up to it, heart and soul; my whole being thrilled with

the passionate outpourings of a spirit freed. My voice trembled in the

upper bars of a feline love-song, quavered, descended, swelling again

into an intimation that I brooked no rival, and ended with a

magnificent crescendo.

"I finished, somewhat abashed, and glanced askance at the professor

and his daughter, but the one sat nonchalantly disentangling his

coat-tails, and the other was apparently absorbed in the distant

landscape. Evidently they did not consider me ridiculous. Flushing

painfully, I turned in my chair to see how my grewsome solo had

affected the people on the terrace. Nobody even looked at me. This,

however, gave me little comfort, for, as I began to realize what I had

done, my mortification and rage knew no bounds. I was ready to die of

shame. What on earth had induced me to mew? I looked wildly about for

escape--I would leap up--rush home to bury my burning face in my

pillows, and, later, in the friendly cabin of a homeward-bound

steamer. I would fly--fly at once! Woe to the man who blocked my way!

I started to my feet, but at that moment I caught Miss Wyeth's eyes

fixed on mine.

"'Don't go,' she said.

"What in Heaven's name lay in those blue eyes? I slowly sank back into

my chair.

"Then the professor spoke: 'Wilhelmina, I have just received a

despatch.'

"'Where from, papa?'

"'From India. I'm going at once.'

"She nodded her head, without turning her eyes from the sea. 'Is it

important, papa?'

"'I should say so. The cashier of the local trust has compromised an

astral body, and has squandered on her all our funds, including a lot

of first mortgages on Nirvana. I suppose he's been dabbling in futures

and is short in his accounts. I sha'n't be gone long.'

"'Then, good-night, papa,' she said, kissing him; 'try to be back by

eleven.' I sat stupidly staring at them.

"'Oh, it's only to Bombay--I sha'n't go to Thibet

to-night--good-night, my dear,' said the professor.

"Then a singular thing occurred. The professor had at last succeeded

in disentangling his coat-tails, and now, jamming his hat over his

ears, and waving his arms with a batlike motion, he climbed upon the

seat of his chair and ejaculated the word 'Presto!' Then I found my

voice.

"'Stop him!' I cried, in terror.

"'Presto! Presto!' shouted the professor, balancing himself on the

edge of his chair and waving his arms majestically, as if preparing

for a sudden flight across the Scheldt; and, firmly convinced that he

not only meditated it, but was perfectly capable of attempting it, I

covered my eyes with my hands.

"'Are you ill, Mr. Kensett?' asked the girl, quietly.

"I raised my head indignantly. 'Not at all, Miss Wyeth, only I'll bid

you good-evening, for this is the nineteenth century, and I'm a

Christian.'

"'So am I,' she said. 'So is my father.'

"'The devil he is,' I thought.

"Her next words made me jump.

"'Please do not be profane, Mr. Kensett.'

"How did she know I was profane? I had not spoken a word! Could it be

possible she was able to read my thoughts? This was too much, and I

rose.

"'I have the honor to bid you good-evening,' I began, and reluctantly

turned to include the professor, expecting to see that gentleman

balancing himself on his chair. The professor's chair was empty.

"'Oh,' said the girl, smiling, 'my father has gone.'

"'Gone! Where?'

"'To--to India, I believe.'

"I sank helplessly into my own chair.

"'I do not think he will stay very long--he promised to return by

eleven,' she said, timidly.

"I tried to realize the purport of it all. 'Gone to India? Gone! How?

On a broomstick? Good Heavens,' I murmured, 'am I insane?'

"'Perfectly,' she said, 'and I am tired; you may take me back to the

hotel.'

"I scarcely heard her; I was feebly attempting to gather up my numbed

wits. Slowly I began to comprehend the situation, to review the

startling and humiliating events of the day. At noon, in the court of

the Hфtel St. Antoine, I had been annoyed by a man and a cat. I had

retired to my own room and had slept until dinner. In the evening I

met two tourists on the sea-wall promenade. I had been beguiled into

conversation--yes, into intimacy with these two tourists! I had had

the intention of embracing the faith of Pythagoras! Then I had mewed

like a cat with all the strength of my lungs. Now the male tourist

vanishes--and leaves me in charge of the female tourist, alone and at

night in a strange city! And now the female tourist proposes that I

take her home!

"With a remnant of self-possession I groped for my eye-glass, seized

it, screwed it firmly into my eye, and looked long and earnestly at

the girl. As I looked, my eyes softened, my monacle dropped, and I

forgot everything in the beauty and purity of the face before me. My

heart began to beat against my stiff, white waistcoat. Had I

dared--yes, dared to think of this wondrous little beauty as a female

tourist? Her pale, sweet face, turned towards the sea, seemed to cast

a spell upon the night. How loud my heart was beating! The yellow moon

floated, half dipping in the sea, flooding land and water with

enchanted lights. Wind and wave seemed to feel the spell of her eyes,

for the breeze died away, the heaving Scheldt tossed noiselessly, and

the dark Dutch luggers swung idly on the tide with every sail adroop.

"A sudden hush fell over land and water, the voices on the promenade

were stilled; little by little the shadowy throng, the terrace, the

sea itself vanished, and I only saw her face, shadowed against the

moon.

"It seemed as if I had drifted miles above the earth, through all

space and eternity, and there was naught between me and high heaven

but that white face. Ah, how I loved her! I knew it--I never doubted

it. Could years of passionate adoration touch her heart--her little

heart, now beating so calmly with no thought of love to startle it

from its quiet and send it fluttering against the gentle breast? In

her lap her clasped hands tightened--her eyelids drooped as though

some pleasant thought was passing. I saw the color dye her temples, I

saw the blue eyes turn, half frightened, to my own, I saw--and I knew

she had read my thoughts. Then we both rose, side by side, and she was

weeping softly, yet for my life I dared not speak. She turned away,

touching her eyes with a bit of lace, and I sprang to her side and

offered her my arm.

"'You cannot go back alone,' I said.

"She did not take my arm.

"'Do you hate me, Miss Wyeth?'

"'I am very tired,' she said; 'I must go home.'

"'You cannot go alone.'

"'I do not care to accept your escort.'

"'Then--you send me away?'

"'No,' she said, in a hard voice. 'You can come if you like.' So I

humbly attended her to the Hфtel St. Antoine.

XXIV

"As we reached the Place Verte and turned into the court of the hotel,

the sound of the midnight bells swept over the city, and a horse-car

jingled slowly by on its last trip to the railroad station.

"We passed the fountain, bubbling and splashing in the moonlit court,

and, crossing the square, entered the southern wing of the hotel. At

the foot of the stairway she leaned for an instant against the

banisters.

"'I am afraid we have walked too fast,' I said.

"She turned to me coldly. 'No--conventionalities must be observed. You

were quite right in escaping as soon as possible.'

"'But,' I protested, 'I assure you--'

"She gave a little movement of impatience. 'Don't,' she said, 'you

tire me--conventionalities tire me. Be satisfied--nobody has seen

you.'

"'You are cruel,' I said, in a low voice--'what do you think I care

for conventionalities?'

"'You care everything--you care what people think, and you try to do

what they say is good form. You never did such an original thing in

your life as you have just done.'

"'You read my thoughts,' I exclaimed, bitterly. 'It is not fair--'

"'Fair or not, I know what you consider me--ill-bred, common, pleased

with any sort of attention. Oh! why should I waste one word--one

thought on you?'

"'Miss Wyeth--' I began, but she interrupted me.

"'Would you dare tell me what you think of me?--Would you dare tell me

what you think of my father?'

"I was silent. She turned and mounted two steps of the stairway, then

faced me again.

"'Do you think it was for my own pleasure that I permitted myself to

be left alone with you? Do you imagine that I am flattered by your

attention?--do you venture to think I ever could be? How dared you

think what you did think there on the sea-wall?'

"'I cannot help my thoughts!' I replied.

"'You turned on me like a tiger when you awoke from your trance. Do

you really suppose that you mewed? Are you not aware that my father

hypnotized you?'

"'No--I did not know it,' I said. The hot blood tingled in my

finger-tips, and I looked angrily at her.

"'Why do you imagine that I waste my time on you?' she said. 'Your

vanity has answered that question--now let your intelligence answer

it. I am a Pythagorean; I have been chosen to bring in a convert, and

you were the convert selected for me by the Mahatmas of the

Consolidated Trust Company. I have followed you from New York to

Antwerp, as I was bidden, but now my courage fails, and I shrink from

fulfilling my mission, knowing you to be the type of man you are. If I

could give it up--if I could only go away--never, never again to see

you! Ah, I fear they will not permit it!--until my mission is

accomplished. Why was I chosen--I, with a woman's heart and a woman's

pride. I--I hate you!'

"'I love you,' I said, slowly.

"She paled and looked away.

"'Answer me,' I said.

"Her wide, blue eyes turned back again, and I held them with mine. At

last she slowly drew a long-stemmed rose from the bunch at her belt,

turned, and mounted the shadowy staircase. For a moment I thought I

saw her pause on the landing above, but the moonlight was uncertain.

After waiting for a long time in vain, I moved away, and in going

raised my hand to my face, but I stopped short, and my heart stopped

too, for a moment. In my hand I held a long-stemmed rose.

"With my brain in a whirl I crept across the court and mounted the

stairs to my room. Hour after hour I walked the floor, slowly at

first, then more rapidly, but it brought no calm to the fierce tumult

of my thoughts, and at last I dropped into a chair before the empty

fireplace, burying my head in my hands.

"Uncertain, shocked, and deadly weary, I tried to think--I strove to

bring order out of the chaos in my brain, but I only sat staring at

the long-stemmed rose. Slowly I began to take a vague pleasure in its

heavy perfume, and once I crushed a leaf between my palms, and,

bending over, drank in the fragrance.

"Twice my lamp flickered and went out, and twice, treading softly, I

crossed the room to relight it. Twice I threw open the door, thinking

that I heard some sound without. How close the air was!--how heavy and

hot! And what was that strange, subtle odor which had insensibly

filled the room? It grew stronger and more penetrating, and I began

to dislike it, and to escape it I buried my nose in the half-opened

rose. Horror! The odor came from the rose--and the rose itself was no

longer a rose--not even a flower now--it was only a bunch of catnip;

and I dashed it to the floor and ground it under my heel.

"'Mountebank!' I cried, in a rage. My anger grew cold--and I shivered,

drawn perforce to the curtained window. Something was there, outside.

I could not hear it, for it made no sound, but I knew it was there,

watching me. What was it? The damp hair stirred on my head. I touched

the heavy curtains. Whatever was outside them sprang up, tore at the

window, and then rushed away.

"Feeling very shaky, I crept to the window, opened it, and leaned out.

The night was calm. I heard the fountain splashing in the moonlight

and the sea-winds soughing through the palms. Then I closed the window

and turned back into the room; and as I stood there a sudden breeze,

which could not have come from without, blew sharply in my face,

extinguishing the candle and sending the long curtains bellying out

into the room. The lamp on the table flashed and smoked and sputtered;

the room was littered with flying papers and catnip leaves. Then the

strange wind died away, and somewhere in the night a cat snarled.

"I turned desperately to my trunk and flung it open. Into it I threw

everything I owned, pell-mell, closed the lid, locked it, and, seizing

my mackintosh and travelling-bag, ran down the stairs, crossed the

court, and entered the night-office of the hotel. There I called up

the sleepy clerk, settled my reckoning, and sent a porter for a cab.

"'Now,' I said, 'what time does the next train leave?'

"'The next train for where?'

"'Anywhere!'

"The clerk locked the safe, and, carefully keeping the desk between

himself and me, motioned the office-boy to look at the time-tables.

"'Next train, 2.10. Brussels--Paris,' read the boy.

"At that moment the cab rattled up by the curbstone, and I sprang in

while the porter tossed my traps on top. Away we bumped over the stony

pavement, past street after street lighted dimly by tall gas-lamps,

and alley after alley brilliant with the glare of villanous all-night

cafй-concerts, and then, turning, we rumbled past the Circus and the

Eldorado, and at last stopped with a jolt before the Brussels station.

"I had not a moment to lose. 'Paris!' I cried--'first-class!' and,

pocketing the book of coupons, hurried across the platform to where

the Brussels train lay. A guard came running up, flung open the door

of a first-class carriage, slammed and locked it after I had jumped

in, and the long train glided from the arched station out into the

starlit morning.

"I was all alone in the compartment. The wretched lamp in the roof

flickered dimly, scarcely lighting the stuffy box. I could not see to

read my time-table, so I wrapped my legs in the travelling-rug and lay

back, staring out into the misty morning. Trees, walls,

telegraph-poles flashed past, and the cinders drove in showers against

the rattling windows. I slept at times, fitfully, and once, springing

up, peered sharply at the opposite seat, possessed with the idea that

somebody was there.

"When the train reached Brussels I was sound asleep, and the guard

awoke me with difficulty.

"'Breakfast, sir?' he asked.

"'Anything,' I sighed, and stepped out to the platform, rubbing my

legs and shivering. The other passengers were already breakfasting in

the station cafй, and I joined them and managed to swallow a cup of

coffee and a roll.

"The morning broke gray and cloudy, and I bundled myself into my

mackintosh for a tramp along the platform. Up and down I stamped,

puffing a cigar, and digging my hands deep in my pockets, while the

other passengers huddled into the warmer compartments of the train or

stood watching the luggage being lifted into the forward

mail-carriage. The wait was very long; the hands of the great clock

pointed to six, and still the train lay motionless along the platform.

I approached a guard and asked him whether anything was wrong.

"'Accident on the line,' he replied; 'monsieur had better go to his

compartment and try to sleep, for we may be delayed until noon.'

"I followed the guard's advice, and, crawling into my corner, wrapped

myself in the rug and lay back watching the rain-drops spattering

along the window-sill. At noon the train had not moved, and I lunched

in the compartment. At four o'clock in the afternoon the

station-master came hurrying along the platform, crying, 'Montez!

montez! messieurs, s'il vous plaоt'--and the train steamed out of the

station and whirled away through the flat, treeless Belgian plains. At

times I dozed, but the shaking of the car always awoke me, and I would

sit blinking out at the endless stretch of plain, until a sudden

flurry of rain blotted the landscape from my eyes. At last a long,

shrill whistle from the engine, a jolt, a series of bumps, and an

apparition of red trousers and bayonets warned me that we had arrived

at the French frontier. I turned out with the others, and opened my

valise for inspection, but the customs officials merely chalked it,

without examination, and I hurried back to my compartment amid the

shouting of guards and the clanging of station bells. Again I found

that I was alone in the compartment, so I smoked a cigarette, thanked

Heaven, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

"How long I slept I do not know, but when I awoke the train was

roaring through a tunnel. When again it flashed out into the open

country I peered through the grimy, rain-stained window and saw that

the storm had ceased and stars were twinkling in the sky. I stretched

my legs, yawned, pushed my travelling-cap back from my forehead, and,

stumbling to my feet, walked up and down the compartment until my

cramped muscles were relieved. Then I sat down again, and, lighting a

cigar, puffed great rings and clouds of fragrant smoke across the

aisle.

"The train was flying; the cars lurched and shook, and the windows

rattled accompaniment to the creaking panels. The smoke from my cigar

dimmed the lamp in the ceiling and hid the opposite seat from view.

How it curled and writhed in the corners, now eddying upward, now

floating across the aisle like a veil! I lounged back in my cushioned

seat, watching it with interest. What queer shapes it took! How thick

it was becoming!--how strangely luminous! Now it had filled the whole

compartment, puff after puff crowding upward, waving, wavering,

clouding the windows, and blotting the lamp from sight. It was most

interesting. I had never before smoked such a cigar. What an

extraordinary brand! I examined the end, flicking the ashes away. The

cigar was out. Fumbling for a match to relight it, my eyes fell on the

drifting smoke-curtain which swayed across the corner opposite. It

seemed almost tangible. How like a real curtain it hung, gray,

impenetrable! A man might hide behind it. Then an idea came into my

head, and it persisted until my uneasiness amounted to a vague terror.

I tried to fight it off--I strove to resist--but the conviction slowly

settled upon me that something was behind that smoke-veil--something

which had entered the compartment while I slept.

"'It can't be,' I muttered, my eyes fixed on the misty drapery; 'the

train has not stopped.'

"The car creaked and trembled. I sprang to my feet and swept my arm

through the veil of smoke. Then my hair rose on my head. For my hand

touched another hand, and my eyes had met two other eyes.

"I heard a voice in the gloom, low and sweet, calling me by name; I

saw the eyes again, tender and blue; soft fingers touched my own.

"'Are you afraid?' she said.

"My heart began to beat again, and my face warmed with returning

blood.

"'It is only I,' she said, gently.

"I seemed to hear my own voice speaking as if at a great distance,

'You here--alone?'

"'How cruel of you!' she faltered; 'I am not alone.' At the same

instant my eyes fell upon the professor, calmly seated by the farther

window. His hands were thrust into the folds of a corded and tasselled

dressing-gown, from beneath which peeped two enormous feet encased in

carpet slippers. Upon his head towered a yellow night-cap. He did not

pay the slightest attention to either me or his daughter, and, except

for the lighted cigar which he kept shifting between his lips, he

might have been taken for a wax dummy.

"Then I began to speak, feebly, hesitating like a child.

"'How did you come into this compartment? You--you do not possess

wings, I suppose? You could not have been here all the time. Will you

explain--explain to me? See, I ask you very humbly, for I do not

understand. This is the nineteenth century, and these things don't fit

in. I'm wearing a Dunlap hat--I've got a copy of the New York _Herald_

in my bag--President Roosevelt is alive, and everything is so very

unromantic in the world! Is this real magic? Perhaps I'm filled with

hallucinations. Perhaps I'm asleep and dreaming. Perhaps you are not

really here--nor I--nor anybody, nor anything!'

"The train plunged into a tunnel, and when again it dashed out from

the other end the cold wind blew furiously in my face from the farther

window. It was wide open; the professor was gone.

"'Papa has changed to another compartment,' she said, quietly. 'I

think perhaps you were beginning to bore him.'

"Her eyes met mine and she smiled.

"'Are you very much bewildered?'

"I looked at her in silence. She sat very quietly, her hands clasped

above her knee, her curly hair glittering to her girdle. A long robe,

almost silvery in the twilight, clung to her young figure; her bare

feet were thrust deep into a pair of shimmering Eastern slippers.

"'When you fled,' she sighed, 'I was asleep and there was no time to

lose. I barely had a moment to go to Bombay, to find papa, and return

in time to join you. This is an East-Indian costume.'

"Still I was silent.

"'Are you shocked?' she asked, simply.

"'No,' I replied, in a dull voice, 'I'm past that.'

"'You are very rude,' she said, with the tears starting to her eyes.

"'I do not mean to be. I only wish to go away--away somewhere and find

out what my name is.'

"'Your name is Harold Kensett.'

"'Are you sure?' I asked, eagerly.

"'Yes--what troubles you?'

"'Is everything plain to you? Are you a sort of prophet and

second-sight medium? Is nothing hidden from you?' I asked.

"'Nothing,' she faltered. My head ached and I clasped it in my hand.

"A sudden change came over her. 'I am human--believe me!' she said,

with piteous eagerness. 'Indeed, I do not seem strange to those who

understand. You wonder, because you left me at midnight in Antwerp and

you wake to find me here. If, because I find myself reincarnated,

endowed with senses and capabilities which few at present possess--if

I am so made, why should it seem strange? It is all so natural to me.

If I appear to you--'

"'Appear?'

"'Yes--'

"'Wilhelmina!' I cried; 'can you vanish?'

"'Yes,' she murmured; 'does it seem to you unmaidenly?'

"'Great Heaven!' I groaned.

"'Don't!' she cried, with tears in her voice--'oh, please don't! Help

me to bear it! If you only knew how awful it is to be different from

other girls--how mortifying it is to me to be able to vanish--oh, how

I hate and detest it all!'

"'Don't cry,' I said, looking at her pityingly.

"'Oh, dear me!' she sobbed. 'You shudder at the sight of me because I

can vanish.'

"'I don't!' I cried.

"'Yes, you do! You abhor me--you shrink away! Oh, why did I ever see

you?--why did you ever come into my life?--what have I done in ages

past, that now, reborn, I suffer cruelly--cruelly?'

"'What do you mean?' I whispered. My voice trembled with happiness.

"'I?--nothing; but you think me a fabled monster.'

"'Wilhelmina--my sweet Wilhelmina,' I said, 'I don't think you a

fabled monster. I love you; see--see--I am at your feet; listen to me,

my darling--'

"She turned her blue eyes to mine. I saw tears sparkling on the curved

lashes.

"'Wilhelmina, I love you,' I said again.

"Slowly she raised her hands to my head and held it a moment, looking

at me strangely. Then her face grew nearer to my own, her glittering

hair fell over my shoulders, her lips rested on mine.

"In that long, sweet kiss the beating of her heart answered mine, and

I learned a thousand truths, wonderful, mysterious, splendid; but when

our lips fell apart, the memory of what I learned departed also.

"'It was so very simple and beautiful,' she sighed, 'and I--I never

saw it. But the Mahatmas knew--ah, they knew that my mission could

only be accomplished through love.'

"'And it is,' I whispered, 'for you shall teach me--me, your husband.'

"'And--and you will not be impatient? You will try to believe?'

"'I will believe what you tell me, my sweetheart.'

"'Even about--cats?'

"Before I could reply the farther window opened and a yellow

night-cap, followed by the professor, entered from somewhere without.

Wilhelmina sank back on her sofa, but the professor needed not to be

told, and we both knew he was already busily reading our thoughts.

"For a moment there was dead silence--long enough for the professor to

grasp the full significance of what had passed. Then he uttered a

single exclamation, 'Oh!'

"After a while, however, he looked at me for the first time that

evening, saying, 'Congratulate you, Mr. Kensett, I'm sure,' tied

several knots in the cord of his dressing-gown, lighted a cigar, and

paid no further attention to either of us. Some moments later he

opened the window again and disappeared. I looked across the aisle at

Wilhelmina.

"'You may come over beside me,' she said, shyly.

XXV

"It was nearly ten o'clock and our train was rapidly approaching

Paris. We passed village after village wrapped in mist, station after

station hung with twinkling red and blue and yellow lanterns, then

sped on again with the echo of the switch-bells ringing in our ears.

"When at length the train slowed up and stopped, I opened the window

and looked out upon a long, wet platform, shining under the electric

lights.

"A guard came running by, throwing open the doors of each compartment,

and crying, 'Paris next! Tickets, if you please.'

"I handed him my book of coupons, from which he tore several and

handed it back. Then he lifted his lantern and peered into the

compartment, saying, 'Is monsieur alone?'

"I turned to Wilhelmina.

"'He wants your ticket--give it to me.'

"'What's that?' demanded the guard.

"I looked anxiously at Wilhelmina.

"'If your father has the tickets--' I began, but was interrupted by

the guard, who snapped:

"'Monsieur will give himself the trouble to remember that I do not

understand English.'

"'Keep quiet!' I said, sharply, in French. 'I am not speaking to

you.'

"The guard stared stupidly at me, then, at my luggage, and finally,

entering the car, knelt down and peered under the seats. Presently he

got up, very red in the face, and went out slamming the door. He had

not paid the slightest attention to Wilhelmina, but I distinctly heard

him say, 'Only Englishmen and idiots talk to themselves!'

"'Wilhelmina,' I faltered, 'do you mean to say that that guard could

not see you?'

"She began to look so serious again that I merely added, 'Never mind,

I don't care whether you are invisible or not, dearest.'

"'I am not invisible to you,' she said; 'why should you care?'

"A great noise of bells and whistles drowned our voices, and, amid the

whirring of switch-bells, the hissing of steam, and the cries of

'Paris! All out!' our train glided into the station.

"It was the professor who opened the door of our carriage. There he

stood, calmly adjusting his yellow night-cap and drawing his

dressing-gown closer with the corded tassels.

"'Where have you been?' I asked.

"'On the engine.'

"'_In_ the engine, I suppose you mean,' I said.

"'No, I don't; I mean _on_ the engine--on the pilot. It was very

refreshing. Where are we going now?'

"'Do you know Paris?' asked Wilhelmina, turning to me.

"'Yes. I think your father had better take you to the Hфtel Normandie

on the Rue de l'Йchelle--'

"'But you must stay there, too!'

"'Of course--if you wish--'

"She laughed nervously.

"'Don't you see that my father and I could not take rooms--now? You

must engage three rooms for yourself.'

"'Why?' I asked, stupidly.

"'Oh, dear--why, because we are invisible.'

"I tried to repress a shudder. The professor gave Wilhelmina his arm,

and, as I studied his ensemble, I thanked Heaven that he was

invisible.

"At the gate of the station I hailed a four-seated cab, and we rattled

away through the stony streets, brilliant with gas-jets, and in a few

moments rolled smoothly across the Avenue de l'Opйra, turned into the

Rue de l'Йchelle, and stopped. A bright little page, all over buttons,

came out, took my luggage, and preceded us into the hallway.

"I, with Wilhelmina on my arm and the professor shuffling along beside

me, walked over to the desk.

"'Room?' said the clerk. 'We have a very desirable room on the second,

fronting the Rue St. Honorй--'

"'But we--that is, I want three rooms--three separate rooms!' I said.

"The clerk scratched his chin. 'Monsieur is expecting friends?'

"'Say yes,' whispered Wilhelmina, with a suspicion of laughter in her

voice.

"'Yes,' I repeated, feebly.

"'Gentlemen, of course?' said the clerk, looking at me narrowly.

"'One lady.'

"'Married, of course?'

"'What's that to you?' I said, sharply. 'What do you mean by speaking

to us--'

"'Us!'

"'I mean to me,' I said, badly rattled; 'give me the rooms and let me

get to bed, will you?'

"'Monsieur will remember,' said the clerk, coldly, 'that this is an

old and respectable hotel.'

"'I know it,' I said, smothering my rage.

"The clerk eyed me suspiciously.

"'Front!' he called, with irritating deliberation. 'Show this

gentleman to apartment ten.'

"'How many rooms are there!' I demanded.

"'Three sleeping-rooms and a parlor.'

"'I will take it,' I said, with composure.

"'On probation,' muttered the clerk, insolently.

"Swallowing the insult, I followed the bell-boy up the stairs, keeping

between him and Wilhelmina, for I dreaded to see him walk through her

as if she were thin air. A trim maid rose to meet us and conducted us

through a hallway into a large apartment. She threw open all the

bedroom-doors and said, 'Will monsieur have the goodness to choose?'

"'Which will you take,' I began, turning to Wilhelmina.

"'I? Monsieur!' cried the startled maid.

"That completely upset me. 'Here,' I muttered, slipping some silver

into her hand; 'now, for the love of Heaven, run away!'

"When she had vanished with a doubtful 'Merci, monsieur!' I handed the

professor the keys and asked him to settle the thing with Wilhelmina.

"Wilhelmina took the corner room, the professor rambled into the next

one, and I said good-night and crept wearily into my own chamber. I

sat down and tried to think. A great feeling of fatigue weighted my

spirits.

"'I can think better with my clothes off,' I said, and slipped the

coat from my shoulders. How tired I was! 'I can think better in bed,'

I muttered, flinging my cravat on the dresser and tossing my

shirt-studs after it. I was certainly very tired. 'Now,' I yawned,

grasping the pillow and drawing it under my head--'now I can think a

bit.' But before my head fell on the pillow sleep closed my eyes.

"I began to dream at once. It seemed as though my eyes were wide open

and the professor was standing beside my bed.

"'Young man,' he said, 'you've won my daughter and you must pay the

piper!'

"'What piper?' I said.

"'The Pied Piper of Hamelin, I don't think,' replied the professor,

vulgarly, and before I could realize what he was doing he had drawn a

reed pipe from his dressing-gown and was playing a strangely annoying

air. Then an awful thing occurred. Cats began to troop into the room,

cats by the hundred--toms and tabbies, gray, yellow, Maltese, Persian,

Manx--all purring and all marching round and round, rubbing against

the furniture, the professor, and even against me. I struggled with

the nightmare.

"'Take them away!' I tried to gasp.

"'Nonsense!' he said; 'here is an old friend.'

"I saw the white tabby cat of the Hфtel St. Antoine.

"'An old friend,' he repeated, and played a dismal melody on his

reed.

"I saw Wilhelmina enter the room, lift the white tabby in her arms,

and bring her to my side.

"'Shake hands with him,' she commanded.

"To my horror the tabby deliberately extended a paw and tapped me on

the knuckles.

"'Oh!' I cried, in agony; 'this is a horrible dream! Why, oh, why

can't I wake!'

"'Yes,' she said, dropping the cat, 'it is partly a dream, but some of

it is real. Remember what I say, my darling; you are to go to-morrow

morning and meet the twelve-o'clock train from Antwerp at the Gare du

Nord. Papa and I are coming to Paris on that train. Don't you know

that we are not really here now, you silly boy? Good-night, then. I

shall be very glad to see you.'

"I saw her glide from the room, followed by the professor, playing a

gay quick-step, to which the cats danced two and two.

"'Good-night, sir,' said each cat as it passed my bed; and I dreamed

no more.

"When I awoke, the room, the bed had vanished; I was in the street,

walking rapidly; the sun shone down on the broad, white pavements of

Paris, and the streams of busy life flowed past me on either side. How

swiftly I was walking! Where the devil was I going? Surely I had

business somewhere that needed immediate attention. I tried to

remember when I had awakened, but I could not. I wondered where I had

dressed myself; I had apparently taken great pains with my toilet, for

I was immaculate, monocle and all, even down to a long-stemmed rose

nestling in my button-hole. I knew Paris and recognized the streets

through which I was hurrying. Where could I be going? What was my

hurry? I glanced at my watch and found I had not a moment to lose.

Then, as the bells of the city rang out mid-day, I hastened into the

railroad station on the Rue Lafayette and walked out to the platform.

And as I looked down the glittering track, around the distant curve

shot a locomotive followed by a long line of cars. Nearer and nearer

it came, while the station-gongs sounded and the switch-bells began

ringing all along the track.

"'Antwerp express!' cried the sous-chef de gare, and as the train

slipped along the tiled platform I sprang upon the steps of a

first-class carriage and threw open the door.

"'How do you do, Mr. Kensett?' said Wilhelmina Wyeth, springing

lightly to the platform. 'Really it is very nice of you to come to the

train.' At the same moment a bald, mild-eyed gentleman emerged from

the depths of the same compartment, carrying a large, covered basket.

"'How are you, Kensett?' he said. 'Glad to see you again. Rather warm

in that compartment--no, I will not trust this basket to an

expressman; give Wilhelmina your arm and I'll follow. We go to the

Normandie, I believe?'

"All the morning I had Wilhelmina to myself, and at dinner I sat

beside her, with the professor opposite. The latter was cheerful

enough, but he nearly ruined my appetite, for he smelled strongly of

catnip. After dinner he became restless and fidgeted about in his

chair until coffee was brought, and we went up to the parlor of our

apartment. Here his restlessness increased to such an extent that I

ventured to ask him if he was in good health.

"'It's that basket--the covered basket which I have in the next room,'

he said.

"'What's the trouble with the basket?' I asked.

"'The basket's all right--but the contents worry me.'

"'May I inquire what the contents are?' I ventured.

"The professor rose.

"'Yes,' he said, 'you may inquire of my daughter.' He left the room,

but reappeared shortly, carrying a saucer of milk.

"I watched him enter the next room, which was mine.

"'What on earth is he taking that into my room for?' I asked

Wilhelmina. 'I don't keep cats.'

"'But you will,' she said.

"'I? Never!'

"'You will if I ask you to.'

"'But--but you won't ask me.'

"'But I do.'

"'Wilhelmina!'

"'Harold!'

"'I detest cats.'

"'You must not.'

"'I can't help it.'

"'You will when I ask it. Have I not given myself to you? Will you not

make a little sacrifice for me?'

"'I don't understand--'

"'Would you refuse my first request?'

"'No,' I said, miserably, 'I will keep dozens of cats--'

"'I do not ask that; I only wish you to keep one.'

"'Was that what your father had in that basket?' I asked,

suspiciously.

"'Yes, the basket came from Antwerp.'

"'What! The white Antwerp cat!' I cried.

"'Yes.'

"'And you ask me to keep that cat? Oh, Wilhelmina!'

"'Listen!' she said. 'I have a long story to tell you; come nearer,

close to me. You say you love me?'

"I bent and kissed her.

"'Then I shall put you to the proof,' she murmured.

"'Prove me!'

"'Listen. That cat is the same cat that ran out of the apartment in

the Waldorf when your great-aunt ceased to exist--in human shape. My

father and myself, having received word from the Mahatmas of the Trust

Company, sheltered and cherished the cat. We were ordered by the

Mahatmas to convert you. The task was appalling--but there is no such

thing as refusing a command, and we laid our plans. That man with a

white spot in his hair was my father--'

"'What! Your father is bald.'

"'He wore a wig then. The white spot came from dropping chemicals on

the wig while experimenting with a substance which you could not

comprehend.'

"'Then--then that clew was useless; but who could have taken the

Crimson Diamond? And who was the man with the white spot on his head

who tried to sell the stone in Paris?'

"'That was my father.'

"'He--he--st--took the Crimson Diamond!' I cried, aghast.

"'Yes and no. That was only a paste stone that he had in Paris. It

was to draw you over here. He had the real Crimson Diamond also.'

"'Your father?'

"'Yes. He has it in the next room now. Can you not see how it

disappeared, Harold? Why, the cat swallowed it!'

"'Do you mean to say that the white tabby swallowed the Crimson

Diamond?'

"'By mistake. She tried to get it out of the velvet bag, and, as the

bag was also full of catnip, she could not resist a mouthful, and

unfortunately just then you broke in the door and so startled the cat

that she swallowed the Crimson Diamond.'

"There was a painful pause. At last I said:

"'Wilhelmina, as you are able to vanish, I suppose you also are able

to converse with cats.'

"'I am,' she replied, trying to keep back the tears of mortification.

"'And that cat told you this?'

"'She did.'

"'And my Crimson Diamond is inside that cat?'

"'It is.'

"'Then,' said I, firmly, 'I am going to chloroform the cat.'

"'Harold!' she cried, in terror, 'that cat is your great-aunt!'

"I don't know to this day how I stood the shock of that announcement,

or how I managed to listen while Wilhelmina tried to explain the

transmigration theory, but it was all Chinese to me. I only knew that

I was a blood relation of a cat, and the thought nearly drove me mad.

"'Try, my darling, try to love her,' whispered Wilhelmina; 'she must

be very precious to you--'

"'Yes, with my diamond inside her,' I replied, faintly.

"'You must not neglect her,' said Wilhelmina.

"'Oh no, I'll always have my eye on her--I mean I will surround her

with luxury--er, milk and bones and catnip and books--er--does she

read?'

"'Not the books that human beings read. Now, go and speak to your

aunt, Harold.'

"'Eh! How the deuce--'

"'Go; for my sake try to be cordial.'

"She rose and led me unresistingly to the door of my room.

"'Good Heavens!' I groaned; 'this is awful.'

"'Courage, my darling!' she whispered. 'Be brave for love of me.'

"I drew her to me and kissed her. Beads of cold perspiration started

in the roots of my hair, but I clenched my teeth and entered the room

alone. The room was dark and I stood silent, not knowing where to

turn, fearful lest I step on my aunt! Then, through the dreary

silence, I called, 'Aunty!'

"A faint noise broke upon my ear, and my heart grew sick, but I strode

into the darkness, calling, hoarsely:

"'Aunt Tabby! It is your nephew!'

"Again the faint sound. Something was stirring there among the

shadows--a shape moving softly along the wall, a shade which glided by

me, paused, wavered, and darted under the bed. Then I threw myself on

the floor, profoundly moved, begging, imploring my aunt to come to

me.

"'Aunty! Aunty!' I murmured. 'Your nephew is waiting to take you to

his heart!'

"At last I saw my great-aunt's eyes shining in the dark."

The young man's voice grew hushed and solemn, and he lifted his hand

in silence:

"Close the door. That meeting is not for the eyes of the world! Close

the door upon that sacred scene where great-aunt and nephew are united

at last."

      *       *       *       *       *

A long pause followed; deep emotion was visible in Miss Barrison's

sensitive face. She said:

"Then--you are married?"

"No," replied Mr. Kensett, in a mortified voice.

"Why not?" I asked, amazed.

"Because," he said, "although my fiancйe was prepared to accept a cat

as her great-aunt, she could not endure the complications that

followed."

"What complications?" inquired Miss Barrison.

The young man sighed profoundly, shaking his head.

"My great-aunt had kittens," he said, softly.

      *       *       *       *       *

The tremendous scientific importance of these experiences excited me

beyond measure. The simplicity of the narrative, the elaborate

attention to corroborative detail, all bore irresistible testimony to

the truth of these accounts of phenomena vitally important to the

entire world of science.

We all dined together that night--a little earnest company of

knowledge-seekers in the vast wilderness of the unexplored; and we

lingered long in the dining-car, propounding questions, advancing

theories, speculating upon possibilities of most intense interest.

Never before had I known a man whose relatives were cats and kittens,

but he did not appear to share my enthusiasm in the matter.

"You see," he said, looking at Miss Barrison, "it may be interesting

from a purely scientific point of view, but it has already proved a

bar to my marrying."

"Were the kittens black?" I inquired.

"No," he said, "my aunt drew the color-line, I am proud to say."

"I don't see," said Miss Barrison, "why the fact that your great-aunt

is a cat should prevent you from marrying."

"It wouldn't prevent _me_!" said the young man, quickly.

"Nor me," mused Miss Barrison--"if I were really in love."

Meanwhile I had been very busy thinking about Professor Farrago, and,

coming to an interesting theory, advanced it.

"If," I began, "he marries one of those transparent ladies, what about

the children?"

"Some would be, no doubt, transparent," said Kensett.

"They might be only translucent," suggested Miss Barrison.

"Or partially opaque," I ventured. "But it's a risky marriage--not to

be able to see what one's wife is about--"

"That is a silly reflection on women," said Miss Barrison, quietly.

"Besides, a girl need not be transparent to conceal what she's

doing."

This observation seemed to end our postprandial and tripartite

conference; Miss Barrison retired to her stateroom presently; after a

last cigar, smoked almost in silence, the young man and I bade each

other a civil good-night and retired to our respective berths.

I think it was at Richmond, Virginia, that I was awakened by the negro

porter shaking me very gently and repeating, in a pleasant, monotonous

voice: "Teleg'am foh you, suh! Teleg'am foh Mistuh Gilland, suh. 'Done

call you 'lev'm times sense breakfass, suh! Las' call foh luncheon,

suh. Teleg'am foh--"

"Heavens!" I muttered, sitting up in my bunk, "is it as late as that!

Where are we?" I slid up the window-shade and sat blinking at a flood

of sunshine.

"Telegram?" I said, yawning and rubbing my eyes. "Let me have it. All

right, I'll be out presently. Shut that curtain! I don't want the

entire car to criticise my pink pajamas!"

"Ain' nobody in de cyar, 'scusin yo'se'f, suh," grinned the porter,

retiring.

I heard him, but did not comprehend, sitting there sleepily unfolding

the scrawled telegram. Suddenly my eyes flew wide open; I scanned the

despatch with stunned incredulity:

             "ATLANTA, GEORGIA.

   "We couldn't help it. Love at first sight. Married this

   morning in Atlanta. Wildly happy. Forgive. Wire blessing.

         "(Signed) HAROLD KENSETT,

         "HELEN BARRISON KENSETT."

"Porter!" I shouted. "Porter! Help!"

There was no response.

"Oh, Lord!" I groaned, and rolled over, burying my head in the

blankets; for I understood at last that Science, the most jealous,

most exacting of mistresses, could never brook a rival.

THE END




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