In Search of the Unknown

  XV

  It was on Sunday when I awoke to the realization that I had quittedcivilization and was afloat on an unfamiliar body of water in an openboat 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 prettystenographer made the inventory, while I resumed the oars, and the dogpunctured the primeval silence with staccato yelps.

  A few minutes later everything and everybody was accounted for; thesky was blue and the palms waved, and several species of dicky-birdstuned up as I pulled with powerful strokes out into the sunny watersof Little Sprite Lake, now within a few miles of my journey's end.

  From ponds hidden in the marshes herons rose in lazily laboriousflight, flapping low across the water; high in the cypress yellow-eyedospreys bent crested heads to watch our progress; sun-bakedalligators, lying heavily in the shoreward sedge, slid open, glassyeyes 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 meNorth?" she inquired.

  "Speaking of tears," I observed, "somebody is likely to shed a numberwhen Professor Farrago is picked up."

  "Pooh!" she said, and snapped her pretty, sun-tanned fingers; and Iresumed the oars in time to avoid shipwreck on a large mud-bar.

  She reclined in the stern, serenely occupied with the view, now andthen caressing the discouraged dog, now and then patting her hairwhere 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 ofwoman'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 knowwhat 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 clothingwas expensive. Wasn't it enough? I told the boy to order thebest;--Professor Farrago always requires the very best scientificinstruments, and--I listed the clothes as scientific accessories--thatbeing the object of this expedition--_What_ are you laughing at?"

  When it pleased her to recover her gravity she announced her desire toinspect and repack the clothing; but I refused.

  "They're for Professor Farrago," I said. "I don't know what he wantsof them. I don't suppose he intends to wear 'em and caper about thejungle, but they're his. I got them because he told me to. I bought acage, too, to fit myself, but I don't suppose he means to put me init. Perhaps," I added, "he may invite you into it."

  "Let me refold the gowns," she pleaded, persuasively. "What does aclumsy 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 mudand water!"

  So we made a landing, and lifted out and unlocked the boxes. All Icould see inside were mounds of lace and ribbons, and with a vagueidea that Miss Barrison needed no assistance I returned to the boatand 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 exceptthe 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 hedoesn't intend to open a department store in the Everglades. And ifany lady is to wear garments in his vicinity, I assume that thosegarments are to be anything except diaphanous!... Please take yourseat 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 inthe afternoon, Miss Barrison directed my attention to a point of palmsjutting out into the water about a mile to the southward.

  "That's Farrago!" I exclaimed, catching sight of a United States flagfloating majestically from a bamboo-pole. "Give me the megaphone, ifyou please."

  She handed me the instrument; I hailed the shore; and presently a manappeared under the palms at the water's edge.

  "Hello!" I roared, trying to inject cheerfulness into the hollowbellow. "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 onlyproduced a ghastly, chuckling sound.

  "Of course you expect to tell the truth," observed the prettystenographer, quietly.

  I removed my lips from the megaphone and looked around at her. Shereturned 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, Iset it to my lips and roared, "My fiancee!"

  "Good gracious!" exclaimed Miss Barrison, in consternation, "I thoughtyou 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 upthe oars and digging them deep in the blue water.

  She assented uncertainly.

  A few minutes more of vigorous rowing brought us to a muddy landingunder a cluster of tall palmettos, where a gasoline launch lay.Professor Farrago came down to the shore as I landed, and I walkedahead to meet him. He was the maddest man I ever saw. But I was hismatch, for I was desperate.

  "What the devil--" he began, under his breath.

  "Nonsense!" I said, deliberately. "An engaged woman is practicallymarried already, because marriages are made in heaven."

  "Good Lord!" he gasped, "are you mad, Gilland? I sent for astenographer--"

  "Miss Barrison is a stenographer," I said, calmly; and before he couldrecover I had presented him, and left them face to face, washing myhands of the whole affair.

  Unloading the boat and carrying the luggage up under the palms, Iheard her saying:

  "No, I am not in the least afraid of snakes, and I am quite ready tobegin my duties."

  And he: "Mr. Gilland is a young man who--er--lacks practicalexperience."

  And she: "Mr. Gilland has been most thoughtful for my comfort. Thejourney has been perfectly heavenly."

  And he, clumsily: "Ahem!--the--er--celestial aspect of your journeyhas--er--doubtless been colored by--er--the prospect ofyour--er--approaching nuptials--"

  She, hastily: "Oh, I do not think so, professor."

  "Idiot!" I muttered, dragging the dog to the shore, where his yelpsbrought 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 asmell of some sort.

  "See," I said, with enthusiasm, "he's found a scent; he's trailing italready! Now he's rolling on it!"

  "He's rolling on one of our concentrated food lozenges," said theprofessor, dryly. "Tie him up, Mr. Gilland, and ask Mrs. Gilland tocome up to camp. Your room is ready."

  "Rooms," I corrected; "she isn't Mrs. Gilland yet," I added, with aforced smile.

  "But you're practically married," observed the p
rofessor, "as youpointed out to me. And if she's practically Mrs. Gilland, why not sayso?"

  "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 ofme. I never had supposed him humorously vindictive; he was, and hisapparently innocent mistakes almost turned my hair gray.

  But to Miss Barrison he was kind and courteous, and for a timeover-serious. Observing him, I could never detect the slightestsymptom of dislike for her sex--a failing which common rumor hadalways 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 formalityand the deferential attitude of a gentleman.

  We were seated, just before sunset, outside of the hut built ofpalmetto logs, when Professor Farrago, addressing us both, began theexplanation 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 toreport every scrap of conversation she heard while in the Everglades.And she nodded intelligently as he finished, and drew pad and pencilfrom the pocket of her walking-skirt, jotting down his instructions asa beginning. I could see that he was pleased.

  "The reason I do this," he said, "is because I do not wish to hideanything that transpires while we are on this expedition. Only themost scrupulously minute record can satisfy me; no details are toosmall to merit record; I demand and I court from my fellow-scientistsand from the public the fullest investigation."

  He smiled slightly, turning towards me.

  "You know, Mr. Gilland, how dangerous to the reputation of ascientific man is any line of investigation into the unusual. If a manonce is even suspected of charlatanism, of sensationalism, of turninghis attention to any phenomena not strictly within the proper pale ofscientific investigation, that man is doomed to ridicule; hisprofession disowns him; he becomes a man without honor, withoutauthority. Is it not so?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "Therefore," he resumed, thoughtfully, "as I do most firmly believe inthe course I am now pursuing, whether I succeed or fail I desire atrue and minute record made, hiding nothing of what may be said ordone. A stenographer alone can give this to the world, while I canonly supplement it with a description of events--if I live totranscribe them."

  Sunk in profound reverie he sat there silent under the great, smoothpalm-tree--a venerable figure in his yellow dressing-gown and carpetslippers. Seated side by side, we waited, a trifle awed. I could hearthe soft breathing of the pretty stenographer beside me.

  "First of all," said Professor Farrago, looking up, "I must be able totrust 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 Iam 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 letterfrom the Holland House in New York--a letter so strange that, onreading it, I immediately repaired to his hotel, where for hours wetalked 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 oflife which are solid and palpable, but transparent and practicallyinvisible. Second, these living creatures belong to the animalkingdom, are warm-blooded vertebrates, possess powers of locomotion,but whether that of flight I am not certain. Third, they appear topossess such senses as we enjoy--smell, touch, sight, hearing, and nodoubt the sense of taste. Fourth, their skin is smooth to the touch,and the temperature of the epidermis appears to approximate that of anormal human being. Fifth and last, whether bipeds or quadrupeds I donot know, though all evidence appears to confirm my theory that theywalk erect. One pair of their limbs appear to terminate in a sort offoot--like a delicately shaped human foot, except that there appear tobe no toes. The other pair of limbs terminate in something that, fromthe single instance I experienced, seemed to resemble soft but firmantennae or, perhaps, digitated palpi--"

  "Feelers!" I blurted out.

  "I don't know, but I think so. Once, when I was standing in theforest, perfectly aware that creatures I could not see had stealthilysurrounded me, the tension was brought to a crisis when over my face,from cheek to chin, stole a soft something, brushing the skin asdelicately 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 congratulateyou 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 youpropose to attempt the capture of one of these animals?"

  "That is what the cage is for," he said. "I supposed you had guessedthat."

  "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 dumpedinto 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 hoseattachment, can't I?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, I tried it on a transparent jelly-fish and it became perfectlyvisible 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 adelicate pink glow, which lasted for hours or minutes according to thesubstance.... 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 turnedhalf humorously towards the stenographer: "I fancy you understood longbefore Mr. Gilland did."

  "I don't think so," she said, with a sidelong lifting of the heavylashes; and I caught the color of her eyes for a second.

  "You see how Miss Barrison spares your feelings," observed ProfessorFarrago, 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 tomake 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-freelaugh; I had never suspected him of harboring even an embryo of thesocial graces. Dry as dust, sapless as steel, precise as the magneticneedle, he had hitherto been to me the mummified embodiment of sciencemilitant. Now, in the guise of a perfectly human and genial oldgentleman, I scarcely recognized my superior of the Bronx Parksociety. And as a woman-hater he was a miserable failure.

  "Heavens," I thought to myself, "am I becoming jealous of my reveredprofessor's social success with a stray stenographer?" I felt mean,and I probably looked it, and I was glad that telepathy did not permitMiss Barrison to record my secret and unworthy ruminations.

  The professor was saying: "These transparent creatures break offberries and fruits and branches; I have seen a flower, too, pluckedfrom its stem by
invisible digits and borne swiftly through theforest--only the flower visible, apparently speeding through the airand out of sight among the thickets.

  "I have found the footprints that I described to you, usually on theedge of a stream or in the soft loam along some forest lake or lostlagoon.

  "Again and again I have been conscious in the forest that unseen eyeswere fixed on me, that unseen shapes were following me. Never but thatone time did these invisible creatures close in around me and ventureto touch me.

  "They may be weak; their structure may be frail, and they may beincapable of violence or harm, but the depth of the footprintsindicates a weight of at least one hundred and thirty pounds, and itcertainly requires some muscular strength to break off a branch ofwild guavas."

  He bent his noble head, thoughtfully regarding the design on hisslippers.

  "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, herpretty 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 downeverything, 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 tothe 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 ofeverything 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 strikingand inspiring figure in his yellow flannel dressing-gown andslippers.

  "I shall tell you some day--perhaps," he said, mildly. "Good-night,Miss Barrison; good-night, Mr. Gilland. You will find extra blanketson your bunk--"

  "What!" I cried.

  "Bunks," he said, and shut the door.