In Search of the Unknown

by Robert W. Chambers

  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 upwardfrom 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 itsoon ceased with dropping notes from the crimson cardinals repeated inlengthening minor intervals; and then the spell of silence returned,broken only by the faint splash of mullet, mocking the sun withsinuous, silver flashes.

  "Good-morning," said a low voice from the door as I stood encouragingthe camp-fire with splinter wood and dead palmetto fans.

  Fresh and sweet from her toilet as a dew-drenched rose, Miss Barrisonstood there sniffing the morning air daintily, thoroughly.

  "Too much perfume," she said--"too much like ylang-ylang in adepartment-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 thetropics?"

  Fishing out a cedar log from the lumber-stack, I fell to chopping itvigorously. 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 seemedto be feeling all over the glass. To tell you the truth, I was sillyenough 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 areabout 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 thegreater part of the night. You are looking upon a poltroon, MissBarrison."

  "Then there was something at your window, too?"

  "Something? A dozen! They were monkeying with the sashes and panes allnight long, and I imagined that I could hear them breathing--as thoughfrom effort of intense eagerness. Ouch! I came as near losing my nerveas I care to. I came within an ace of hurling those cursed piesthrough the window at them. I'd bolt to-day if I wasn't afraid to playthe coward."

  "Most people are brave for that reason," she said.

  The dog, who had slept under my bunk, and who had contributed to myentertainment by sighing and moaning all night, now appeared ready forbusiness--business in his case being the operation of feeding. Ipresented him with a concentrated tablet, which he cautiouslyinvestigated and then rolled on.

  "Nice testimonial for the people who concocted it," I said, indisgust. "I wish I had an egg."

  "There are some concentrated egg tablets in the shanty," said MissBarrison; but the idea was not attractive.

  "I refuse to fry a pill for breakfast," I said, sullenly, and set thecoffee-pot on the coals.

  In spite of the dewy beauty of the morning, breakfast was not acheerful function. Professor Farrago appeared, clad in sun-helmet andkhaki. I had seldom seen him depressed; but he was now, and his veryefforts to disguise it only emphasized his visible anxiety.

  His preparations for the day, too, had an ominous aspect to me. Hegave his orders and we obeyed, instinctively suppressing questions.First, he and I transported all personal luggage of the company to thebig electric launch--Miss Barrison's effects, his, and my own. Hisprivate papers, the stenographic reports, and all memoranda were tiedup together and carried aboard.

  Then, to my surprise, two weeks' concentrated rations for two andmineral water sufficient for the same period were stowed away aboardthe launch. Several times he asked me whether I knew how to run theboat, and I assured him that I did.

  In a short time nothing was left ashore except the bare furnishings ofthe cabin, the female wearing-apparel, the steel cage and chemicalswhich I had brought, and the twelve apple-pies--the latter under lockand key in my room.

  As the preparations came to an end, the professor's gentle melancholyseemed to deepen. Once I ventured to ask him if he was indisposed, andhe replied that he had never felt in better physical condition.

  Presently he bade me fetch the pies; and I brought them, and, at asign from him, placed them inside the steel cage, closing and lockingthe door.

  "I believe," he said, glancing from Miss Barrison to me, and from meto the dog--"I believe that we are ready to start."

  He went to the cabin and locked the door on the outside, pocketing thekey.

  Then he backed up to the steel cage, stooped and lifted his end as Ilifted mine, and together we started off through the forest, bearingthe cage between us as porters carry a heavy piece of luggage.

  Miss Barrison came next, carrying the trousseau, the tank, hose, andchemicals; and the dog followed her--probably not from affection forus, but because he was afraid to be left alone.

  We walked in silence, the professor and I keeping an instinctivelookout for snakes; but we encountered nothing of that sort. On everyside, touching our shoulders, crowded the closely woven andimpenetrable tangle of the jungle; and we threaded it along a narrowpath which he, no doubt, had cut, for the machete marks were stillfresh, and the blazes on hickory, live-oak, and palm were all wet withdripping 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 mythirst; "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 thefresh splendor of color death lurks in brilliant tints. Where paintedfruit hangs temptingly, where great, silky blossoms exhale alluringscent, where the elaps coils inlaid with scarlet, black, and saffron,where in the shadow of a palmetto frond a succession of velvety blackdiamonds mark the rattler's swollen length, there death is; and hisinvisible consort, horror, creeps where the snake whose mouth is linedwith white creeps--where the tarantula squats, hairy, motionless;where a bit of living enamel fringed with orange undulates along amossy log.

  Thinking of these things, and watchful lest, unawares, terror unfoldfrom some blossoming and leafy covert, I scarcely noticed the beautyof the glade we had entered--a long oval, cross-barred with sunshinewhich fell on hedges of scrub-palmetto, chin high, interlaced withgolden blossoms of the jasmine. And all around, like pillarssupporting a high green canopy above a throne, towered the silverystems of palms fretted with pale, rose-tinted lichens and hung withdraperies of grape-vine.

  "This is the place," said Professor Farrago.

  His quiet, passionless voice sounded strange to me; his words seemedstrange, too, each one heavily weighted with hidden meaning.

  We set the cage on the ground; he unlocked and opened the steel-barreddoor, and, kneeling, carefully arranged the pies along the centre ofthe cage.

  "I have a curious presentiment," he said, "that I shall not come outof this experiment unscathed."

  "Don't, for Heaven's sake, say that!" I broke out, my nerves on edgeagain.

  "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 donot expect to come out of this affair unscathed."

  I did not comprehend his meaning, but I understood the reproofconveyed.

  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 theprofessor sat down beside her; then, at a gesture from him, took theplace he indicated on his left.

  "Before we begin," he said, calmly, "there are several things youought to know and which I h
ave not yet told you. The first concernsthe feminine wearing apparel which Mr. Gilland brought me."

  He turned to Miss Barrison and asked her whether she had brought acomplete outfit, and she opened the bundle on her knees and handed itto him.

  "I cannot," he said, "delicately explain in so many words what use Iexpect to make of this apparel. Nor do I yet know whether I shall haveany use at all for it. That can only be a theoretical speculationuntil, within a few more hours, my theory is proven or disproven--and,"he said, suddenly turning on me, "my theory concerning these invisiblecreatures is the most extraordinary and audacious theory everentertained by man since Columbus presumed that there must liesomewhere a hidden continent which nobody had ever seen."

  He passed his hand over his protruding forehead, lost for a moment indeepest reflection. Then, "Have you ever heard of the Sphyx?" heasked.

  "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 wisemen guessing. You recall them:

  "'_And there, alas! within sound of the Fountain of Youth whose waterstint the skin till the whole body glows softly like the petal of arose--there, alas! in the new world already blooming_, THE ETERNALENIGMA _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--theEternal 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 ofthe 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 theSphyx surely lives, as bolder and more curious men than I may, Godwilling, prove to the world hereafter_.'"

  "But what is the Sphyx?" I insisted.

  "For centuries wise men and savants have asked each other thatquestion. I have answered it for myself; I am now to prove it, Itrust."

  His face darkened, and again and again he stroked his heavy brow.

  "If anything occurs," he said, taking my hand in his left and MissBarrison's hand in his right, "promise me to obey my wishes. Willyou?"

  "Yes," we said, together.

  "If I lose my life, or--or disappear, promise me on your honor to getto the electric launch as soon as possible and make all speednorthward, 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 youpromise?"

  "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 thecage door open.

  "The moment a single pie is disturbed," he said to me, "I shall closethe steel door from the inside, and you and Miss Barrison will thendump the rosium oxide and the strontium into the tank, clap on thelid, turn the nozzle of the hose on the cage, and spray itthoroughly. Whatever is invisible in the cage will become visible andof 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 youorders. 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 nearthe 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 Barrisonunwrapped the bottle of rosium oxide and loosened the cork. Weexamined this pearl-and-pink powder and shook it up so that it mightrun out quickly. Then Miss Barrison sat down, and presently becameabsorbed in a stenographic report of the proceedings up to date.

  When Miss Barrison finished her report she handed me the bundle ofpapers. I stowed them away in my wallet, and we sat down togetherbeside the tank.

  Inside the cage Professor Farrago was seated, his spectacled eyesfixed on the row of pies. For a while, although realizing perfectlythat our quarry was transparent and invisible, we unconsciouslystrained our eyes in quest of something stirring in the forest.

  "I should think," said I, in a low voice, "that the odor of the piesmight draw at least one out of the odd dozen that came rubbing upagainst my window last night."

  "Hush! Listen!" she breathed. But we heard nothing save the snoring ofthe overfed dog at our feet.

  "He'll give us ample notice by butting into Miss Barrison's skirts," Iobserved. "No need of our watching, professor."

  The professor nodded. Presently he removed his spectacles and lay backagainst the bars, closing his eyes.

  At first the forest silence seemed cheerful there in the fleckedsunlight. The spotted wood-gnats gyrated merrily, chased bydragon-flies; the shy wood-birds hopped from branch to twig, peeringat us in friendly inquiry; a lithe, gray squirrel, plumy tailundulating, rambled serenely around the cage, sniffing at the pastrywithin.

  Suddenly, without apparent reason, the squirrel sprang to atree-trunk, hung a moment on the bark, quivering all over, then dashedaway into the jungle.

  "Why did he act like that?" whispered Miss Barrison. And, after amoment: "How still it is! Where have the birds gone?"

  In the ominous silence the dog began to whimper in his sleep and hishind legs kicked convulsively.

  "He's dreaming--" I began.

  The words were almost driven down my throat by the dog, who, without ayelp of warning, hurled himself at Miss Barrison and alighted on mychest, fore paws around my neck.

  I cast him scornfully from me, but he scrambled back, digging like amole to get under us.

  "The transparent creatures!" whispered Miss Barrison. "Look! See thatpie 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 andpouring a pearly stream of rosium oxide into the tank. "Quick! It'sfizzing! Screw on the top!"

  In a second I had screwed the top fast, seized the hose, and directeda hissing cloud of vapor through the cage bars.

  For a moment nothing was heard save the whistling rush of the perfumedspray escaping; a delicious odor of roses filled the air. Then,slowly, there in the sunshine, a misty something grew in the cage--aglistening, pearl-tinted phantom, imperceptibly taking shape inspace--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 thathose!"

  As he spoke the treacherous hose burst. A showery pillar ofrose-colored vapor enveloped everything. Through the thickening fogfor one brief instant a human form appeared like magic--a woman'sform, flawless, exquisite as a statue, pure as marble. Then theswimming vapor buried it, cage, pies, and all.

  We ran frantically around, the cage in the obscurity, appealing forinstructions and feeling for the bars. Once the professor's muffledvoice was heard demanding the wearing apparel, and I groped about andfound it and stuffed it through the bars of the cage.

  "Do you need help?" I shouted. There was no response. Staring aroundthrough the thickening vapor of rosium rolling in clouds from theoverturned 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 struckthe door of the cage so hard that the impact almost knocked mesenseless. Clutching it to steady myself, it suddenly flew open. Arush of partl
y visible creatures passed me like a burst of pinkflames, and in the midst, borne swiftly away on the crest of theoutrush, the professor passed like a bolt shot from a catapult; andhis 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 dimlythrough 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 sawhim! 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 hisface. He was actually smiling."

  Overcome at the sublime courage of the man, we wept in each other'sarms.

  * * * * *

  True to our promise to Professor Farrago, we made the best of our waynorthward; and it was not a difficult journey by any means, the voyagein the launch across Okeechobee being perfectly simple and the trailto the nearest railroad station but a few easy miles from thelanding-place.

  Shocking as had been our experience, dreadful as was the calamitywhich had not only robbed me of a life-long friend, but had alsobereaved the entire scientific world, I could not seem to feel thatdesperate and hopeless grief which the natural decease of a closefriend might warrant. No; there remained a vague expectancy which sodominated 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 artlesslypleased, that I was certain no fear of impending dissolution worriedhim as he disappeared into the uncharted depth of the unknownEverglades.

  I think Miss Barrison agreed with me, too. She appeared to be more orless dazed, which was, of course, quite natural; and during our returnvoyage across Okeechobee and through the lagoons and forests beyondshe was very silent.

  When we reached the railroad at Portulacca, a thrifty lemon-growingranch on the Volusia and Chinkapin Railway, the first thing I did wasto present my dog to the station-agent--but I was obliged to give himfive dollars before he consented to accept the dog.

  However, Miss Barrison interviewed the station-master's wife, akindly, pitiful soul, who promised to be a good mistress to thecreature. We both felt better after that was off our minds; we feltbetter still when the north-bound train rolled leisurely into thewhite glare of Portulacca, and presently rolled out again, quite asleisurely, bound, thank Heaven, for that abused aggregation of sinfulboroughs called New York.

  Except for one young man whom I encountered in the smoker, we had thetrain to ourselves, a circumstance which, curiously enough, appearedto increase Miss Barrison's depression, and my own as a naturalsequence. The circumstances of the taking off of Professor Farragoappeared to engross her thoughts so completely that it made me uneasyduring our trip out from Little Sprite--in fact it was growing plainerto me every hour that in her brief acquaintance with thatdistinguished scientist she had become personally attached to him toan extent that began to worry me. Her personal indignation at thecaged Sphyx flared out at unexpected intervals, and there could be nodoubt that her unhappiness and resentment were becoming morbid.

  I spent an hour or two in the smoking compartment, tenanted only by asingle passenger and myself. He was an agreeable young man, although,in the natural acquaintanceship that we struck up, I regretted tolearn that he was a writer of popular fiction, returning from FortWorth, where he had been for the sole purpose of composing a poem onFlorida.

  I have always, in common with other mentally balanced savants,despised writers of fiction. All scientists harbor a natural antipathyto romance in any form, and that antipathy becomes a deep horror iffiction dares to deal flippantly with the exact sciences, or if somedegraded intellect assumes the warrantless liberty of using naturalhistory as the vehicle for silly tales.

  Never but once had I been tempted to romance in any form; never butonce had sentiment interfered with a passionless transfer ofscientific notes to the sanctuary of the unvarnished note-book or thecloister of the juiceless monograph. Nor have I the slightest approachto that superficial and doubtful quality known as literary skill.Once, however, as I sat alone in the middle of the floor, classifyingmy isopods, I was not only astonished but totally unprepared to findmyself repeating aloud a verse that I myself had unconsciouslyfashioned:

  "An isopod Is a work of God."

  Never before in all my life had I made a rhyme; and it worried me forweeks, ringing in my brain day and night, confusing me, interferingwith my thoughts.

  I said as much to the young man, who only laughed good-naturedly andreplied 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 interestto 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 BruceStoddard, of Columbia, hesitated to credit it."

  I looked at the young fellow suspiciously. His bland smile disarmedme, but I did not invite him to relate his experience, although heapparently needed only that encouragement to begin.

  "Now, if I could tell it exactly as it occurred," he observed, "and astenographer could take it down, word for word, exactly as I relateit--"

  "It would give me great pleasure to do so," said a quiet voice at thedoor. We rose at once, removing the cigars from our lips; but MissBarrison bade us continue smoking, and at a gesture from her weresumed our seats after she had installed herself by the window.

  "Really," she said, looking coldly at me, "I couldn't endure thesolitude any longer. Isn't there anything to do on this tiresometrain?"

  "If you had your pad and pencil," I began, maliciously, "you mighttake 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 allegedscientific experience if we thought it might amuse us sufficiently tovary 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 MissBarrison was laughing at a story which the young man had justfinished.

  "But," he ended, gravely, "I have practically decided to renouncefiction 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 mannerwhich 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 abilityconcerning the affair in question, and having no knowledge of eithercomparative anatomy or zoology, I am perhaps unfitted to tell thisstory. But the story is true; the episode occurred under my owneyes--within a few hours' sail of the Battery. And as I was one of thefirst persons to verify what has long been a theory among scientists,and, moreover, as the result of Professor Holroyd's discovery is tobe placed on exhibition in Madison Square Garden on the 20th of nextmonth, I have decided to tell you, as simply as I am able, exactlywhat occurred.

  "I first told the story on April 1, 1903, to the editors of the _NorthAmerican Review_, _The Popular Science Monthly_, the _ScientificAmerican_, _Nature_, _Outing_, and the _Fossiliferous Magazine_. Allthese gentlemen rejected it; some curtly informing me that fiction hadno place in their columns. When I attempted to explain that it was notfiction, the editors of these periodicals either maintained acontemptuous silence, or bluntly notified me that my literary servicesand opinions were not desired. But finally, whe
n several publishersoffered to take the story as fiction, I cut short all negotiations anddecided to publish it myself. Where I am known at all, it is mymisfortune to be known as a writer of fiction. This makes itimpossible for me to receive a hearing from a scientific audience. Iregret it bitterly, because now, when it is too late, I am prepared toprove certain scientific matters of interest, and to produce theproofs. In this case, however, I am fortunate, for nobody can disputethe existence of a thing when the bodily proof is exhibited asevidence.

  "This is the story; and if I tell it as I write fiction, it is becauseI do not know how to tell it otherwise.

  "I was walking along the beach below Pine Inlet, on the south shore ofLong Island. The railroad and telegraph station is at West Oyster Bay.Everybody who has travelled on the Long Island Railroad knows thestation, but few, perhaps, know Pine Inlet. Duck-shooters, of course,are familiar with it; but as there are no hotels there, and nothingto 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 asSand Point, I believe, but anybody at West Oyster Bay can direct youto it. Captain McPeek, who keeps the West Oyster Bay House, drivesduck-shooters there in winter. It lies five miles southeast from WestOyster Bay.

  "I had walked over that afternoon from Captain McPeek's. There was areason 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 outof the question to write it in West Oyster Bay, with the whistle oflocomotives in my ears. I knew that Pine Inlet was one of theloneliest places on the Atlantic coast; it is out of sight ofeverything except leagues of gray ocean. Rarely one might make outfishing-smacks drifting across the horizon. Summer squatters nevervisited it; sportsmen shunned it, except in winter. Therefore, as Iwas about to do a bit of poetry, I thought that Pine Inlet was thespot 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 thesurf, a thought occurred to me--how unpleasant it would be if Isuddenly stumbled on a summer boarder. As this joyless impossibilityflitted 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 tobite her. I don't know what my own expression resembled, but I havebeen given to understand it was idiotic.

  "Now I perceived, after a few moments, that the young lady wasfrightened, and I knew I ought to say something civil. So I said, 'Arethere many mosquitoes here?'

  "'No,' she replied, with a slight quiver in her voice; 'I have onlyseen one, and it was biting somebody else.'

  "The conversation seemed so futile, and the young lady appeared to bemore nervous than before. I had an impulse to say, 'Do not run; I havebreakfasted,' for she seemed to be meditating a flight into thebreakers. What I did say was: 'I did not know anybody was here. I donot intend to intrude. I come from Captain McPeek's, and I am writingan ode to the ocean.' After I had said this it seemed to ring in myears like, 'I come from Table Mountain, and my name is TruthfulJames.'

  "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 noticedshe drew a sigh of relief and looked at my shoes. She looked so longthat it made me suspicious, and I also examined my shoes. They seemedto be in a fair state of repair.

  "'I--I am sorry,' she said, 'but would you mind not walking on thebeach?'

  "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 notthink for a moment of asking you to leave Pine Inlet. I merelyventured to request you to walk on the dunes. I am so afraid that yourfootprints may obliterate the impressions that my father is studying.'

  "'Oh!' said I, looking about me as though I had been caught in themiddle 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. 'Ifyou 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 awet peacock. Possibly they recalled the delicate manoeuvres of thekangaroo. Anyway, she laughed.

  "This seriously annoyed me. I had been at a disadvantage; I walk wellenough when let alone.

  "'You can scarcely expect,' said I, 'that a man absorbed in his ownideas could notice impressions on the sand. I trust I have obliteratednothing.'

  "As I said this I looked back at the long line of footprintsstretching away in prospective across the sand. They were my own. Howlarge they looked! Was that what she was laughing at?

  "'I wish to explain,' she said, gravely, looking at the point of herparasol. 'I am very sorry to be obliged to warn you--to ask you toforego the pleasure of strolling on a beach that does not belong tome. Perhaps,' she continued, in sudden alarm, 'perhaps this beachbelongs 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 haveobserved,' said I, frankly, 'that the people who own nothing writemany 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 isrespectable,' I added; and I told her my name.

  "'Oh! Then you wrote _Culled Cowslips_ and _Faded Fig-Leaves_ and youimitate Maeterlinck, and you--Oh, I know lots of people that youknow;' she cried, with every symptom of relief; 'and you know mybrother.'

  "'I am the author,' said I, coldly, 'of _Culled Cowslips_, but _FadedFig-Leaves_ was an earlier work, which I no longer recognize, and Ishould be grateful to you if you would be kind enough to deny that Iever 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 familiarwith modern literature. If I knew your name I should ask permission topresent 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 weregreat 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 aLatin-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, aswe 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 waswhite, and had spots and posies on it.

  "'Jack sends us every new book you write,' she observed. 'I do notapprove of some things you write.'

  "'Modern school,' I mumbled.

  "'That is no excuse,' she said, severely; 'Anthony Trollope didn't doit.'

  "The foam spume from the breakers was drifting across the dunes, andthe little tip-up snipe ran along the beach and teetered and whistledand spread their white-barred wings for a low, straight flight acrossthe shingle, only to tip and run and sail on again. The salt sea-windwhistled and curled through the crested waves, blowing in perfumedpuffs across thickets of sweet bay and cedar. As we passed through thecrackling juicy-stemmed marsh-weed myriads of fiddler crabs raisedtheir fore-claws in warning and backed away, rustling, thr
ough thereeds, 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,' shesaid.

  "She was a most extraordinary girl.

  "'I suppose,' she observed, after a moment's silence--'I suppose I amtaking you to my father.'

  "'Delighted!' I mumbled. 'H'm! I had the honor of meeting ProfessorHolroyd 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 loudlythan 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 ruinslandscapes whenever he has an opportunity. Do you know that he has apassion for bill-posting? He has; he posts bills for the pure pleasureof it, just as you play golf, or tennis, or squash.'

  "'But he's a hotel clerk now,' I said; 'nobody employs him to postbills.'

  "'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 faintestnotion. 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 hishotel!' 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 cansee papa now. He's digging.'

  "'Where?' I blurted out.

  "I remembered Professor Holroyd as a prim, spectacled gentleman, withclose-cut, snowy beard and a clerical allure. The man I saw diggingwore green goggles, a jersey, a battered sou'wester, and hip-boots ofrubber. He was delving in the muck of the salt meadow, his facestreaming with perspiration, his boots and jersey splashed withunpleasant-looking mud. He glanced up as we approached, shading hiseyes with a sunburned hand.

  "'Papa, dear,' said Miss Holroyd, 'here is Jack's friend, whom youbailed 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 nuisanceand 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 outputhad rivalled that of 'The Duchess'--in quantity, I mean.

  "'I seldom read--fiction,' he said, looking restlessly at the hole inthe ground.

  "Miss Holroyd came to my rescue.

  "'That was a charming story you wrote last,' she said. 'Papa shouldread 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 atDaisy 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 wenton:

  "'I have seldom had the opportunity to study the subject, but, as aboy, 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 seenothing in it. 'He's digging for fossils,' thought I to myself.

  "'Perhaps,' said the professor, cautiously, 'you might wish to aid mein a little research--that is to say, if you have an inclination forfossils.' 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 andtrying, would be an honor and a privilege that I never dared to hopefor.'

  "'That,' thought I to myself, 'will do its own work.'

  "But the professor was still suspicious. How could he help it, when heremembered Jack's escapades, in which my name was always blended!Doubtless he was satisfied that my influence on Jack was evil. Thecontrary was the case, too.

  "'Fossils,' he said, worrying the edge of the excavation with hisspade--'fossils are not things to be lightly considered.'

  "'No, indeed!' I protested.

  "'Fossils are the most interesting as well as puzzling things in theworld,' 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 andfixed her eyes on the sea. Her eyes were wonderful eyes.

  "'Did you think I was digging for fossils in a salt meadow?' queriedthe professor. 'You can have read very little about the subject. I amdigging 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 thehole as though hypnotized.

  "'Captain McPeek and Frisby ought to be here,' he said, looking firstat 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 thespeck 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 arecoming from the north. There's a dog beside the wagon--it's thatmiserable yellow dog of Frisby's.'

  "'Good gracious!' cried the professor, 'you don't mean to tell me thatyou 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, glancingobliquely at me.

  "'Haven't you heard what extraordinary eyesight duck-shooters have?'said his daughter, looking back at her father. 'Jack says that he cantell exactly what kind of a duck is flying before most people couldsee anything at all in the sky.'

  "'It's true,' I said; 'it comes to anybody, I fancy, who has hadpractice.'

  "The professor regarded me with a new interest. There was inspirationin his eyes. He turned towards the ocean. For a long time he stared atthe tossing waves on the beach, then he looked far out to where thehorizon 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, adjustedthem, 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 anynovice might recognize; the widgeon and buffleheads I should not havebeen able to name unless they had risen from the water. It is easy totell any duck when it is flying, even though it looks no bigger than ablack pin-point.'

  "But the professor insisted that it was marvellous, and he said that Imight render him invaluable service if I would consent to come andcamp at Pine Inlet for a few weeks.

  "I looked at his daughter, but she turned her back. Her back wasb
eautifully 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, withoutturning.

  "I had not expected that.

  "'Above all things,' said I, in a clear, pleasant voice, 'I like tocamp out.'

  "She said nothing.

  "'It is not exactly camping,' said the professor. 'Come, you shall seeour 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 veryman.'

  "I looked at Daisy Holroyd. She returned my glance with a defiantlittle 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. Iwalked with Daisy Holroyd. McPeek and Frisby followed. The yellow dogwalked by himself.