Page 9 of The Mystery of Choice

  A MATTER OF INTEREST.

  He that knows not, and knows not that he knows not, is a fool. Shun him. He that knows not, and knows that he knows not, is simple. Teach him. He that knows, and knows not that he knows, is asleep. Wake him. He that knows, and knows that he knows, is wise. Follow him.

  _Arabian Proverb._

  I.

  Much as I dislike it, I am obliged to include this story in a volumedevoted to fiction: I have attempted to tell it as an absolutely truestory, but until three months ago, when the indisputable proofs wereplaced before the British Association by Professor James Holroyd,I was regarded as an impostor. Now that the Smithsonian Institutein Washington, the Philadelphia Zooelogical Society, and the NaturalHistory Museum of New York city, are convinced that the story istruthful and accurate in every particular, I prefer to tell it my ownway. Professor Holroyd urges me to do this, although Professor BruceStoddard, of Columbia College, is now at work upon a pamphlet, to bepublished the latter part of next month, describing scientifically theextraordinary discovery which, to the shame of the United States, wasfirst accepted and recognised in England.

  Now, having no technical ability concerning the affair in question,and having no knowledge of either comparative anatomy or zooelogy, Iam perhaps unfitted to tell this story. But the story is true; theepisode occurred under my own eyes--here, within a few hours' sail ofthe Battery. And as I was one of the first persons to verify what haslong been a theory among scientists, and, moreover, as the result ofProfessor Holroyd's discovery is to be placed on exhibition in MadisonSquare Garden on the twentieth of next month, I have decided to tell,as simply as I am able, exactly what occurred.

  I first wrote out the story on April 1, 1896. The North AmericanReview, the Popular Science Monthly, the Scientific American, Nature,Forest and Stream, and the Fossiliferous Magazine in turn 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 ofthese periodicals either maintained a contemptuous silence, or bluntlynotified me that my literary services and opinions were not desired.But finally, when several publishers offered to take the story asfiction, 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 writerof fiction. This makes it impossible for me to receive a hearing from ascientific audience. I regret it bitterly, because now, when it is toolate, I am prepared to prove certain scientific matters of interest,and to produce the proofs. In this case, however, I am fortunate, fornobody can dispute the existence of a thing when the bodily proof isexhibited as evidence.

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

  I was walking along the beach below Pine Inlet, on the south shoreof Long Island. The railroad and telegraph station is at West OysterBay. 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, drives duckshooters there in winter. It lies five miles southeast from West OysterBay.

  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 the loneliestplaces on the Atlantic coast; it is out of sight of everything exceptleagues of gray ocean. Rarely one might make out fishing smacksdrifting across the horizon. Summer squatters never visited it;sportsmen shunned it, except in winter. Therefore, as I was about to doa 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 ofthe surf, 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 summer girl stood directly in my path.

  If I jumped, I think the young lady has pardoned me by this time. Sheought to, because she also started, and said something in a very faintvoice. What she said was "Oh!"

  She stared at me as though I had just crawled up out of the sea to biteher. I don't know what my own expression resembled, but I have beengiven 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 any mosquitoes here?"

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

  I looked foolish; the conversation seemed so futile, and the younglady 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 aplunge into the breakers. What I did say was: "I did not know anybodywas 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 seemedto ring in my ears like, "I come from Table Mountain, and my name isTruthful James."

  I glanced timidly at her.

  "She's thinking of the same thing," said I to myself. "What an ass Imust appear!"

  However, the young lady seemed to be a trifle reassured. I noticed shedrew a sigh of relief and looked at my shoes. She looked so long thatit made me suspicious, and I also examined my shoes. They seemed to befairly respectable.

  "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.

  "I was about to withdraw, madam," said I, bowing stiffly; "I beg youwill pardon any inconvenience----"

  "Dear me!" she cried, "you don't understand. I do not--I wouldnot think 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--if I may be permitted?"

  "I don't know," she said, smiling a little at my awkward pose. "If youstep this way in a straight line you can do no damage."

  I did as she bade me. I suppose my movements resembled the gait ofa wet 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 footprints stretchingaway in prospective across the sand. They were my own. How large theylooked! 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 to me.Perhaps," she continued, in sudden alarm, "perhaps this beach belongsto 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 write manypoems 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.

  "I? Why, no--I mean that you may do as you please--except please do notwalk on the _beach_."

  "Then I do not alarm you by my presence?" I inquired. My clotheswere a bit ancient. I wore them shooting, sometimes. "My family isrespectable," I added; and I told her my name.

  "Oh! Then you wrote 'Culled Cowslips' and 'Faded Fig-Leaves,' andyou imitate Maeterlinck, and you---- Oh, I know lots of people thatyou know;" 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 recognise, and Ishould be grateful to you if you would be kind enough to deny that Iever imitated Maeterlinck. Possibly," I added, "he imitates me."

  "Now, do you know," she said, "I was afraid of you at first? Papa isdigging in the salt meadows nearly a mile away."

  It was hard to bear.

  "Can you not see," said I, "that I am wearing a shooting coat?"

  "I do see--now; but it is so--so old," she pleaded.

  "It is a shooting coat all the same," I said bitterly.

  She was very quiet, and I saw she was sorry.

  "Never mind," I said magnanimously, "you probably are not familiar withsporting goods. If I knew your name I should ask permission to presentmyself."

  "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, as wespoke.

  "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 notapprove 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 thelittle tip-up snipe ran along the beach and teetered and whistled andspread their white-barred wings for a low, straight flight across theshingle, only to tip and skeep 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, through thereeds, aggressive, protesting.

  "Like millions of pigmy 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 honour 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 billiards."

  "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. Papahas engaged him to come down here for two weeks, and I dread it," saidthe girl.

  What Professor Holroyd might want of Frisby I had not the faintestnotion. I suppose Miss Holroyd noticed the bewilderment in my face, forshe 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-bootsof rubber. 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 sunburnt 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.

  When he said this he looked at his spade. It was clear that heconsidered 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 hadrivaled 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 should readit--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 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 nothingin 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 and trying,would be an honour 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, whenhe remembered 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 edges 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 enthus
iastically.

  "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 fixedher 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 a trifle flushed. I longed tosay, "Well, what the devil are you digging for?" but I only stared intothe hole as though hypnotized.

  "Captain McPeek and Frisby ought to be here," he said, looking first atDaisy 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 speckon 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 is 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 they cantell exactly what kind of a duck is flying before most people could seeanything 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 inspiration inhis eyes. He turned toward the ocean. For a long time he stared at thetossing waves on the beach, then he looked far out to where the horizonmet 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--scoters and widgeon. There is one bufflehead amongthem--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 novicemight recognise; the widgeon and buffleheads I should not have beenable to name unless they had risen from the water. It is easy to tellany duck when it is flying, even though it looks no bigger than a blackpin-point."

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

  I looked at his daughter, but she turned her back--not exactly indisdain either. 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 campout."

  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 toward sundown."

  At that moment, over a near dune, two horses' heads appeared, followedby 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 defiant littlesmile.

  "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.

  II.

  The sun was dipping into the sea as we trudged across the meadowstoward a high dome-shaped dune covered with cedars and thickets ofsweet bay. I saw no sign of habitation among the sand hills. Far as theeye could reach, nothing broke the gray line of sea and sky save thesquat dunes crowned with stunted cedars.

  Then, as we rounded the base of the dune, we almost walked into thedoor of a house. My amazement amused Miss Holroyd, and I noticed alsoa touch of malice in her pretty eyes. But she said nothing, followingher 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 waterproofstuff that looked like a mixture of rubber and tar. Over this--infact, over the whole roof--was pitched an awning of heavy sail-cloth.I noticed that the house was anchored to the sand by chains, alreadyrusted red. But this one-storied house was not the only buildingnestling in the south shelter of the big dune. A hundred feet awaystood another structure--long, low, also built of wood. It had rows onrows of round portholes on every side. The ports were fitted with heavyglass, hinged to swing open if necessary. A single big double dooroccupied the front.

  Behind this long, low building was still another, a mere shed. Smokerose from the sheet-iron chimney. There was somebody moving aboutinside the open door.

  As I stood gaping at this mushroom hamlet the professor appeared at thedoor and asked me to enter. I stepped in at once.

  The house was much larger than I had imagined. A straight hallway ranthrough the centre from east to west. On either side of this hallwaywere rooms, the doors swinging wide open. I counted three doors on eachside; the three on the south appeared to be bedrooms.

  The professor ushered me into a room on the north side, where I foundCaptain McPeek and Frisby sitting at a table, upon which were drawingsand 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 stayhere?"

  "Your bedroom is the third on the south side; everything is ready.McPeek, you can bring his trunk to-morrow, can't you?" demanded theprofessor.

  The red-faced captain nodded, and shifted a quid.

  "Then it's all settled," said the professor, and he drew a sigh ofsatisfaction. "You see," he said, turning to me, "I was at my wit's endto know whom to trust. I never thought of you. Jack's out in China, andI didn't dare trust anybody in my own profession. All you care about iswriting 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 seeno reason why we should not progress rapidly. McPeek, you and Frisbymust get those boxes up here before dark. Dinner will be ready beforeyou have finished unloading. Dick, you will wish to go to your roomfirst."

  My name isn't Dick, but he spoke so kindly, and beamed upon me in sucha fatherly manner, that I let it go. I had occasion to correct himafterward, several times, but he always forgot the next minute. Hecalls me Dick to this day.

  It was dark when Professor Holroyd, his daughter, and I sat down todinner. The room was the same in which I had noticed the drawings ofbeast and bird, but the round table had been extended into an oval, andneatly spread with dainty linen and silver.

  A fresh-cheeked Swedish girl appeared from a further room, bearing thesoup. The professor ladled it out, still beaming.

  "Now, this is very delightful!--isn't it, Daisy?" he said.

  "Very," said Miss Holroyd, with the faintest tinge of irony.

  "Very," I repeated heartily; but I looked at my soup when I said it.

  "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 forfossils."

  I looked at my plate. She might have spared me that.

  "Well, well," said her father, smiling to himself, "he shall knoweverything 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 relapsedinto contemplation of my necktie.

  I asked Miss Holroyd a few questions about Jack, and was informed thathe had given up law and entered the diplomatic service--as what, I didnot dare ask, for I know what our diplomatic service is.

  "In China," said Daisy.

  "Choo Choo is the name of the city," added her father proudly; "it'sthe terminus of the new trans-Siberian railway."

  "It's on the Yellow River," 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-cheekedmaid, brought coffee, and the professor lighted a cigar, with a littlebow to his daughter.

  "Of course, you don't smoke," she said to me, with a glimmer of malicein her eyes.

  "He mustn't," interposed the professor hastily; "it will make his handtremble."

  "No, it doesn't," said I, laughing; "but my hand will shake if I don'tsmoke. Are you going to employ me as a draughtsman?"

  "You'll know to-morrow," he chuckled, with a mysterious smile at hisdaughter.--"Daisy, give him my best cigars; put the box here on thetable. 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 shouldsmoke only one every day."

  It was hard to bear. I am not vindictive, but I decided to treasure upa few of Miss Holroyd's gentle taunts. My intimacy with her brother wascertainly a disadvantage to me now. Jack had apparently been talkingtoo much, and his sister appeared to be thoroughly acquainted with mypast. It was a disadvantage. I remembered her vaguely as a girl withlong braids, who used to come on Sundays with her father and take teawith us in our rooms. Then she went to Germany to school, and Jack andI employed our Sunday evenings otherwise. It is true that I regardedher weekly visits as a species of infliction, but I did not think Iever showed it.

  "It is strange," said I, "that you did not recognise me at once, MissHolroyd. Have I changed so greatly in five years?"

  "You wore a pointed French beard in Paris," she said--"a very downyone. And you never stayed to tea but twice, and then you only spokeonce."

  "Oh!" said I blankly. "What did I say?"

  "You asked me if I liked plums," said Daisy, bursting into anirresistible ripple of laughter.

  I saw that I must have made the same sort of an ass of myself that mostboys of eighteen do.

  It was too bad. I never thought about the future in those days. Whocould have imagined that little Daisy Holroyd would have grown upinto this bewildering young lady? It was really too bad. Presently theprofessor 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 Holroydturned to me.

  "Papa will work over those drawings until midnight," she said, with adespairing smile.

  "It isn't good for him," I said. "What are the drawings?"

  "You may know to-morrow," she answered, leaning forward on the tableand shading her face with one hand. "Tell me about yourself and Jack inParis."

  I looked at her suspiciously.

  "What! There isn't much to tell. We studied. Jack went to the lawschool, 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 ama 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 sawthat 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 conditionsand changes instantly. I picked up a chessboard, opened it, set up thepieces with elaborate care, and began to move, first the white, thenthe black. Miss Holroyd watched me coldly at first, but after a dozenmoves she became interested and leaned a shade nearer. I moved a blackpawn 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 pawnalone, the pawn will let the queen alone."

  Miss Holroyd rested her chin on her wrist and gazed steadily at theboard. She was flushing furiously, but she held her ground.

  "If the white queen doesn't block that pawn, the pawn may becomedangerous," 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'ssilence 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! Ishould 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 thechance--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 completelyrecovered her self-control. Still I saw that she now had a certainrespect 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. Iam afraid that when I was a young cub in France I was not an attractivepersonality."

  "On the contrary," said Daisy, smiling, "I thought you were very bigand very perfect. I had illusions. I wept often when I went home andremembered 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 understandschoolgirls. I never had any sisters, and I didn't know what to say tovery young girls. If I had imagined that you felt hurt----"

  "Oh, I did--five years ago. Afterward 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 Ihave 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 soago."

  There was something that had a ring not entirely genuine in thisspeech. I noticed it, but forgot it the next moment.

  "Tiger cubs have stripes," said I. "Selfishness blossoms in the cradle,and prophecy is not difficult. I hope I am not more selfish than mybrothers."

  "I hope not," she said, smiling.

  Presently she rose, touched her hair with the tip of one finger, andwalked to the door.

  "Good-night," she said, courtesying very low.


  "Good-night," said I, opening the door for her to pass.

  III.

  The sea was a sheet of silver, tinged with pink. The tremendous arch ofthe sky was all shimmering and glimmering with the promise of the sun.Already the mist above, flecked with clustered clouds, flushed withrose colour and dull gold. I heard the low splash of the waves breakingand curling across the beach. A wandering breeze, fresh and fragrant,blew the curtains of my window. There was the scent of sweet bay in theroom, and everywhere the subtile, nameless perfume of the sea.

  When at last I stood upon the shore, the air and sea were all aglimmerin a rosy light, deepening to crimson in the zenith. Along the beach Isaw a little cove, shelving and all ashine, where shallow waves washedwith a mellow sound. Fine as dusted gold the shingle glowed, and thethin film of water rose, receded, crept up again a little higher, andagain flowed back, with the low hiss of snowy foam and gilded bubblesbreaking.

  I stood a little while quiet, my eyes upon the water, the invitation ofthe ocean in my ears, vague and sweet as the murmur of a shell. Then Ilooked 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 togold. The sun had risen.

  There is a fragrance in the sea at dawn that none can name. Whitethornabloom in May, sedges asway, and scented rushes rustling in an inlandwind recall the sea to me--I can't say why.

  Far out at sea I raised myself, swung around, dived, and set out againfor shore, striking strong strokes until the flecked foam flew. Andwhen at last I shot through the breakers, I laughed aloud and sprangupon the beach, breathless and happy. Then from the ocean came anothercry, clear, joyous, and a white arm rose in the air.

  She came drifting in with the waves like a white sea-sprite, laughingat me from her tangled hair, and I plunged into the breakers again tojoin her.

  Side by side we swam along the coast, just outside the breakers, untilin 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 herglide 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 pearlin it."

  The professor hurried in before she could reply. He greeted me verycordially, but there was an abstracted air about him, and he called meDick until I recognised that remonstrance was useless. He was not longover his coffee and rolls.

  "McPeek and Frisby will return with the last load, including yourtrunk, by early afternoon," he said, rising and picking up his bundleof 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 giveyou the rifle standing in my room--it's a good Winchester. I havesent for an 'Express' for you, big enough to knock over any elephantin 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 herefor it. Freda can take you what you want. Is your hand unsteady aftereating?"

  "Why, papa!" said Daisy. "Do you intend to starve him?"

  We all laughed.

  The professor tucked his drawings into a capacious pocket, pulled hissea boots up to his hips, seized a spade, and left, nodding to us asthough he were thinking of something else.

  We went to the door and watched him across the salt meadows until adistant 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 prettycombination of filmy cool stuffs, and led the way to the long lowstructure that I had noticed the evening before.

  The interior was lighted by the numberless little portholes, and Icould see everything plainly. I acknowledge I was nonplussed by what Idid see.

  In the centre of the shed, which must have been at least a hundred feetlong, stood what I thought at first was the skeleton of an enormouswhale. After a moment's silent contemplation of the thing I saw thatit could not be a whale, for the frames of two gigantic bat-like wingsrose from each shoulder. Also I noticed that the animal possessedlegs--four of them--with most unpleasant-looking webbed claws fullyeight feet long. The bony framework of the head, too, resembledsomething between a crocodile and a monstrous snapping turtle.The walls of the shanty were hung with drawings and blue prints. Aman dressed in white linen was tinkering with the vertebrae of thelizardlike 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-mache."

  "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, orPeffer, or----"

  "If my father heard you say such things he would dislike you," saidDaisy. She looked grieved, and moved toward the door. I apologized--forwhat, I knew not--and we became reconciled. She ran into her father'sroom and brought me the rifle, a very good Winchester. She also gave mea cartridge belt, full.

  "Now," she smiled, "I shall take you to your observatory, and when wearrive 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 wholeaffair--but you mustn't look at me while I speak; you must watch thesea."

  "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 foralmost three seconds.

  We passed through acres of sweet bay and spear grass, sometimesskirting thickets of twisted cedars, sometimes walking in the fullglare of the morning sun, sinking into shifting sand where sun-scorchedshells crackled under our feet, and sun-browned seaweed glistened,bronzed and iridescent. Then, as we climbed a little hill, the sea windfreshened in our faces, and lo! the ocean lay below us, far-stretchingas the eye could reach, glittering, magnificent.

  Daisy sat down flat on the sand. It takes a clever girl to do that andretain the respectful deference due her from men. It takes a gracefulgirl to accomplish it triumphantly when a man is looking.

  "You must sit beside me," she said--as though it would prove irksome tome.

  "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 toward the ocean, although I felt sureit would swing gradually round again in spite of me.

  "To begin with," said Daisy Holroyd, "there's a thing in that oceanthat 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 ofmermaids rose before me.

  "The thing," said Daisy, "is a Thermosaurus!"

  I nodded vaguely, as though anticipating a delightful introduction toa nautical friend.

  "You don't seem astonished," she said reproachfully.

  "Why should I be?" I asked.

  "Please turn your eyes toward the water. Suppose a Thermosaurus shouldlook 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 jellyfish."

  "It's that big, ugly, horrible creature that I showed you in the shed!"cried Daisy impatiently.

  "Eh!" I stammered.

  "Not papier-mache either," she continue
d excitedly; "it's a real one."

  This was pleasant news. I glanced instinctively at my rifle and then atthe ocean.

  "Well," said I at last, "it strikes me that you and I resemble a pairof 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, acylindrical attachment that was strange to me.

  "Now, if you will watch the sea very carefully, and will promise not tolook at me," said Daisy, "I will try to explain."

  She did not wait for me to promise, but went on eagerly, a sparkle ofexcitement in her blue eyes:

  "You know, of all the fossil remains of the great bat-like andlizard-like creatures that inhabited the earth ages and ages ago,the bones of the gigantic saurians are the most interesting. I thinkthey used to splash about the water and fly over the land during theCarboniferous period; anyway, it doesn't matter. Of course, you haveseen pictures of reconstructed creatures such as the Ichthyosaurus, thePlesiosaurus, the Anthracosaurus, and the Thermosaurus?"

  I nodded, trying to keep my eyes from hers.

  "And you know that the remains of the Thermosaurus were firstdiscovered 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 livedentirely in the Gulf Stream, emerging for occasional flights across anocean 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 shellsfound among the ribs of the Thermosaurus. These shells contained littlecreatures that live only in the warm waters of the Gulf Stream. Theywere the food of the Thermosaurus."

  "It was rather slender rations for a thing like that, wasn't it? Did heever swallow bigger food--er--men?"

  "Oh, yes. Tons of fossil bones from prehistoric men are also found inthe interior of the Thermosaurus."

  "Then," said I, "you, at least, had better go back to CaptainMcPeek'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 lookedsuspiciously out to sea.

  "What's the Winchester for?" I asked.

  "Listen, and I will explain. Papa has found out--how, I do not exactlyunderstand--that there is in the waters of the Gulf Stream the body ofa Thermosaurus. The creature must have been alive within a year or so.The impenetrable scale armour that covers its body has, as far as papaknows, prevented its disintegration. We know that it is there still, orwas there within a few months. Papa has reports and sworn depositionsfrom steamer captains and seamen from a dozen different vessels,all corroborating each other in essential details. These stories, ofcourse, get into the newspapers--sea-serpent stories--but papa knowsthat they confirm his theory that the huge body of this reptile isswinging along somewhere on the Gulf Stream."

  She opened her sunshade and held it over her. I noticed that shedeigned to give me the benefit of about one eighth of it.

  "Your duty with that rifle is this: If we are fortunate enough to seethe body of the Thermosaurus come floating by, you are to take goodaim and fire--fire rapidly every bullet in the magazine; then reloadand fire again, and reload and fire as long as you have any cartridgesleft."

  "A self-feeding Maxim is what I should have," I said with gentlesarcasm. "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 allaround us, and to the tops of these piles were attached steel rings,half buried under the spear grass. We sat almost exactly in the centreof a circle of these rings.

  "The reason is this," said Daisy: "every bullet in your cartridgesis steel-tipped and armour-piercing. To the base of each bullet isattached a thin wire of pallium. Pallium is that new metal, a thread ofwhich, drawn out into finest wire, will hold a ton of iron suspended.Every bullet is fitted with minute coils of miles of this wire. Whenthe bullet leaves the rifle it spins out this wire as a shot from alife-saver's mortar spins out and carries the life line to a wreckedship. The end of each coil of wire is attached to that cylinder underthe magazine of your rifle. As soon as the shell is automaticallyejected this wire flies out also. A bit of scarlet tape is fixed tothe end, so that it will be easy to pick up. There is also a snap claspon 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 wireends and attach them to the rings. Then, you see, we have the body ofthe Thermosaurus full of bullets, every bullet anchored to the shore bytiny 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 labour overthis 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. Wouldyou believe that he has found a loop in the Gulf Stream--a genuineloop--that swings in here just outside of the breakers below? It istrue! Everybody on Long Island knows that there is a warm current offthe coast, but nobody imagined it was merely a sort of backwater fromthe Gulf Stream that formed a great circular mill-race around thecone of a subterranean volcano, and rejoined the Gulf Stream off CapeAlbatross. But it is! That is why papa bought a yacht three years agoand sailed about for two years so mysteriously. Oh, I did want to gowith him so much!"

  "This," said I, "is most astonishing."

  She leaned enthusiastically toward me, her lovely face aglow.

  "Isn't it?" she said; "and to think that you and papa and I are theonly 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 alsohas in preparation sixteen volumes on the Thermosaurus. He said thismorning that he was going to ask you to write the story first for somescientific magazine. He is certain that Professor Bruce Stoddard, ofColumbia, will write the pamphlets necessary. This will give papa timeto attend to the sixteen-volume work, which he expects to finish inthree 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 hillas 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 notlooking at the ocean. Her eyes were bluer, anyway.

  "I suppose," she said, bending her head and absently pouring sandbetween her fingers--"I suppose you think me a blue-stocking, orsomething odious?"

  "Not exactly," I said. There was an emphasis in my voice that made hercolour. 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, thatheralded a scorching afternoon. The wind died away; the odour of cedarand sweet bay hung heavy in the air.

  In the sand at our feet an iridescent flower beetle crawled, itsmetallic green and blue wings burning like a spark. Great gnats, withfilmy, glittering wings, danced aimlessly above the young golden-rod;burnished crickets, inquisitive, timid, ran from under chips ofdriftwood, waved their antennae at us, and ran back again. One by onethe marbled tiger beetles tumbled at our feet,
dazed from the exertionof an aerial flight, then scrambled and ran a little way, or dartedinto the wire grass, where great brilliant spiders eyed them askancefrom their gossamer hammocks.

  Far out at sea the white gulls floated and drifted on the water, orsailed up into the air to flap lazily for a moment and settle backamong the waves. Strings of black surf ducks passed, their strong wingstipping the surface of the water; single wandering coots whirled fromthe breakers into lonely flight toward the horizon.

  We lay and watched the little ring-necks running along the water'sedge, now backing away from the incoming tide, now boldly wadingafter the undertow. The harmony of silence, the deep perfume, themystery of waiting for that something that all await--what is it?love? death? or only the miracle of another morrow?--troubled me withvague restfulness. As sunlight casts shadows, happiness, too, throws ashadow, and the shadow is sadness.

  And so the morning wore away until Freda came with a cool-lookinghamper. Then delicious cold fowl and lettuce sandwiches and champagnecup set our tongues wagging as only very young tongues can wag. Daisywent back with Freda after luncheon, leaving me a case of cigars, witha bantering smile. I dozed, half awake, keeping a partly closed eyeon the ocean, where a faint gray streak showed plainly amid the azurewater all around. That was the Gulf Stream loop.

  About four o'clock Frisby appeared with a bamboo shelter tent, forwhich I was unaffectedly grateful.

  After he had erected it over me he stopped to chat a bit, but theconversation 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 aplace to stick a bill."

  "The snipe stick bills--in the sand," I said flippantly.

  There was no humour about Frisby. "Do they?" he asked.

  I moved with a certain impatience.

  "Bills," said Frisby, "give spice an' variety to Nature. They break themonotony 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 guessI've stuck more bills in New York State than ennybody."

  "Have you?" I said angrily.

  "Yes, siree! I always pick out the purtiest spots--kinder filled chuckfull of woods and brooks and things; then I h'ist my paste-pot onto arock, 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 forthe edges and a back-handed swipe for the finish--except when a bill isfolded 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 sighedsentimentally.

  "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 soconvenient--if his mean yellow dog had not waddled up at this juncture.

  "Hi, Davy, sic 'em!" said Frisby, expectorating upon a clamshelland hurling it seaward. The cur watched the flight of the shellapathetically, then squatted in the sand and looked at his master.

  "Kinder lost his spirit," said Frisby, "ain't he? I once stuck a billonto Davy, an' it come off, an' the paste sorter sickened him. He washell on rats--once!"

  After a moment or two Frisby took himself off, whistling cheerfullyto Davy, who followed him when he was ready. The rifle burned in myfingers.

  It was nearly six o'clock when the professor appeared, spade onshoulder, 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 bedue any day now. This theory I base upon the result of the report fromthe last sea captain I saw. I can not understand why some of thesecaptains 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. Thetruth is, probably, that they did not stir a foot from their course toexamine 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 aship falls in with it. One captain reports it a thousand miles fromwhere the last skipper spoke it, and always in the Gulf Stream. Theythink it is a different specimen every time, and the papers are teemingwith sea-serpent fol-de-rol."

  "Are you sure," I asked, "that it will swing in to the coast on thisGulf Stream loop?"

  "I think I may say that it is certain to do so. I experimented witha dead right whale. You may have heard of its coming ashore here lastsummer."

  "I think I did," said I with a faint smile. The thing had poisoned theair 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 porpoisewould strand for at least twelve hours. Longer than that I have notexperimented with, but I know that the shore trend of the loop runsacross a long spur of the submerged volcanic mountain, and thatanything heavier than a porpoise would scrape the bottom and be carriedso slowly that at least twelve hours must elapse before the carcasscould float again into deep water. There are chances of its strandingindefinitely, too, but I don't care to take those chances. That is whyI have stationed you here, Dick, my boy."

  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 myselfwith my sedentary habits, so I decided to dig. I don't know a betterexercise. Do you?"

  "I suppose not," I murmured, rather red in the face. I wondered whetherhe'd mention fossils.

  "Did Daisy tell you why we are making our papier-mache Thermosaurus?"he asked.

  I shook my head.

  "We constructed that from measurements I took from the fossil remainsof the Thermosaurus in the Metropolitan Museum. Professor BruceStoddard made the drawings. We set it up here, all ready to receive theskin of the carcass that I am expecting."

  We had started toward 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 towalk on the beach. It's much less fatiguing."

  "That," said the professor, "is a matter that I intend to discuss withyou to-night." He spoke gravely, almost sadly. I felt that something ofunparalleled importance was soon to be revealed. So I kept very quiet,watching the ocean out of the corners of my eyes.

  IV.

  Dinner was ended. Daisy Holroyd lighted her father's pipe for him, andinsisted on my smoking as much as I pleased. Then she sat down, andfolded her hands like a good little girl, waiting for her father tomake the revelation which I felt in my bones must be something out ofthe 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 awaythe flesh with its hooked beak until a vital part is reached. Youknow that? Well, it has been discovered that the kree had prehistoricprototypes. These birds were enormous creatures, who preyed uponmammoths and masto
dons, and even upon the great saurians. It hasbeen conclusively proved that a few saurians have been killed bythe ancestors of the kree, but the favourite food of these birds wasundoubtedly the Thermosaurus. It is believed that the birds attackedthe eyes of the Thermosaurus, and when, as was its habit, the mammothcreature turned on its back to claw them, they fell upon the thinnerscales of its stomach armour 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 andthe ool-yllik. The names are Australian, in which country most oftheir remains have been unearthed. They lived during the Carboniferousperiod. Now it is not generally known, but the fact is, that in1801 Captain Ransom, of the British exploring vessel Gull, purchasedfrom the natives of Tasmania the skin of an ekaf-bird that could nothave been killed more than twenty-four hours previous to its sale. Isaw this skin in the British Museum. It was labelled "unknown bird,probably extinct." It took me exactly a week to satisfy myself that itwas actually the skin of an ekaf-bird. But that is not all, Dick, myboy," continued the professor excitedly. "In 1854, Admiral Stuart, ofour own navy, saw the carcass of a strange gigantic bird floating alongthe southern coast of Australia. Sharks were after it, and, before aboat could be lowered, these miserable fish got it. But the good oldadmiral secured a few feathers and sent them to the Smithsonian. I sawthem. They were not even labelled, but I knew that they were feathersfrom 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 amoment that I noticed how close together our heads were--Daisy's andmine. I don't think she realized it. She did not move.

  "Now comes the important part of this long discourse," said theprofessor, smiling at our eagerness. "Ever since the carcass of ourderelict Thermosaurus was first noticed, every captain who has seenit has also reported the presence of one or more gigantic birds inthe neighbourhood. These birds, at a great distance, appeared tobe hovering over the carcass, but on the approach of a vessel theydisappeared. Even in midocean they were observed. When I heard about itI was puzzled. A month later I was satisfied that neither the ekaf-birdnor the ool-yllik was extinct. Last Monday I knew that I was right.I found forty-eight distinct impressions of the huge seven-toed clawof the ekaf-bird on the beach here at Pine Inlet. You may imagine myexcitement. I succeeded in digging up enough wet sand around one ofthese impressions to preserve its form. I managed to get it into a soapbox, and now it is there in my shop. The tide rose too rapidly for meto save the other footprints."

  I shuddered at the possibility of a clumsy misstep on my partobliterating the impression of an ool-yllik.

  "That is the reason that my daughter warned you off the beach," he saidmildly.

  "Hanging would have been too good for the vandal who destroyed suchpriceless prizes!" I cried out in self-reproach.

  Daisy Holroyd turned a flushed face to mine, and impulsively laid herhand on my sleeve.

  "How could you know?" she said.

  "It's all right now," said her father, emphasizing each word witha gentle tap of his pipe-bowl on the table edge; "don't be hard onyourself, Dick, my boy. 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 ofthe great reptile's carcass being in the vicinity. That alone seemed toexplain 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 runningabout out of doors! Dear me! it takes a scientist to be an unnaturalparent!"

  His alarm was half real, half assumed; but all the same, he glancedgravely at us both, shaking his handsome head, absorbed in thought.Daisy herself looked a little doubtful. As for me, my sensations weredistinctly queer.

  "It is true," said the professor, frowning at the wall, "that humanremains have been found associated with the bones of the ekaf-bird--Idon't know how intimately. It is a matter to be taken into most seriousconsideration."

  "The problem can be solved," said I, "in several ways. One is, to keepMiss Holroyd in the house----"

  "I shall not stay in!" cried Daisy indignantly.

  We all laughed, and her father assured her that she should not beabused.

  "Even if I did stay in," she said, "one of these birds might alight onMaster Dick."

  She looked saucily at me as she spoke, but turned crimson when herfather observed quietly, "You don't seem to think of me, Daisy."

  "Of course I do," she said, getting up and putting both arms aroundher father's neck; "but Dick--as--as you call him--is so helpless andtimid."

  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, my boy?" asked theprofessor.--"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 seemdisposed 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 perfectlypractical. McPeek and Frisby shall go for a dozen loads of boilersto-morrow."

  "It will spoil the beauty of the landscape," said Daisy, with ataunting nod to me.

  "And Frisby will probably attempt to cover them with bill-posters," Iadded, laughing.

  "That," said Daisy, "I shall prevent, even at the cost of my life." Andshe stood up, looking very determined.

  "Children, children," protested the professor, "go to bed--you botherme."

  Then I turned deliberately to Miss Holroyd.

  "Good-night, Daisy," I said.

  "Good-night, Dick," she said, very gently.

  V.

  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 burningin the fierce sunlight, the endless meadows, with the glimmer ofwater in the distance, the dunes, the twisted cedars, the leagues ofscintillating ocean, rocking, rocking, always rocking. In the starlitnights the curlew came in from the sand-bars by twos and threes; Icould hear their faint call as I lay in bed thinking. All day long thelittle ring-necks whistled from the shore. The plover answered themfrom distant lonely inland pools. The great white gulls drifted likefeathers upon the sea.

  One morning, toward 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, consideringfirst me, then the bill that he had pasted on one of our big boilers.

  "Don't like the colour?" he asked. "It goes well on them boilers."

  "Colour! No, I don't like the colour either. Can't you understand thatthere are some people in the world who object to seeing patent-medicineadvertisements 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 whenI perceived that, as far as the eye could reach, our boilers, lyingfrom three to four hundred feet apart, were ablaze with yellow and redposters, extolling the "Eureka Liver Pill Company."

  "It don't cost 'em nothin'," said Frisby cheerfully; "I done it fur thefun of it. Purty, ain't it?"

  "They are Professor Holroyd's boilers," I said, subduing a desireto beat Frisby with my telescope. "Wait until Miss Holroyd sees thiswork."

  "Don't she like yeller and red?" he demanded anxio
usly.

  "You'll find out," said I.

  Frisby gaped at his handiwork and then at his yellow dog. After amoment he mechanically spat on a clamshell and requested Davy to "sic"it.

  "Can't you comprehend that you have ruined our pleasure in thelandscape?" I asked more mildly.

  "I've got some green bills," said Frisby; "I kin stick 'em over theyeller ones----"

  "Confound it!" said I, "it isn't the colour!"

  "Then," observed Frisby, "you don't like them pills. I've got somebills of the 'Cropper Bicycle,' and a few of 'Bagley, the Gents'Tailor----'"

  "Frisby," said I, "use them all--paste the whole collection over yourdog 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 wholebill down with a thwack of his brush. As I walked away I heard himmuttering.

  Next day Daisy was so horrified that I promised to give Frisby anultimatum. 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 sametime that she could spend her leisure in providing Mr. Frisby withsand, soap, and a scrubbing brush. Then I walked on to my post ofobservation.

  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 thehouse.

  In the evenings the professor worked on his volumes, the click of histype-writer sounding faintly behind his closed door. Daisy and I playedchess sometimes; sometimes we played hearts. I don't remember that weever finished a game of either--we talked too much.

  Our discussions covered every topic of interest: we arguedupon politics; we skimmed over literature and music; we settledinternational differences; we spoke vaguely of human brotherhood. I saywe 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 wasthat it did not appear to interest us is as interesting a questionas love itself. We were young, alert, enthusiastic, inquiring. Weeagerly absorbed theories concerning any curious phenomena in Nature,as intellectual cocktails to stimulate discussion. And yet we did notdiscuss love. I do not say that we avoided it. No; the subject was toocompletely ignored for even that. And yet we found it very difficult topass 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 littlein her prayer-book, and the professor threw a cloth over his typewriterand strolled up and down the sands. He may have been lost in devoutabstraction; he may have been looking for footprints. As for me, mymind was very serene, and I was more than happy. Daisy read to me alittle for my soul's sake, and the professor came up and said somethingcheerful. He also examined the magazine of my Winchester.

  That night, too, Daisy took her guitar to the sands and sang one or twoArmenian hymns. Unlike us, the Armenians do not take their pleasuressadly. One of their pleasures is evidently religion.

  The big moon came up over the dunes and stared at the sea until thesurface of every wave trembled with radiance. A sudden stillness fellacross the world; the wind died out; the foam ran noiselessly acrossthe beach; the cricket's rune was stilled.

  I leaned back, dropping one hand upon the sand. It touched anotherhand, soft and cool.

  After a while the other hand moved slightly, and I found that my ownhad closed above it. Presently one finger stirred a little--only alittle--for our fingers were interlocked.

  On the shore the foam-froth bubbled and winked and glimmered in themoonlight. A star fell from the zenith, showering the night withincandescent dust.

  If our fingers lay interlaced beside us, her eyes were calm and sereneas always, wide open, fixed upon the depths of a dark sky. And when herfather 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, atthe door, I said good-night, she turned and looked at me for a littlewhile in silence, then passed into her room slowly, with head stillturned toward me.

  All night long I dreamed of her; and when the east whitened, I sprangup, the thunder of the ocean in my ears, the strong sea wind blowinginto the open window.

  "She is asleep," I thought, and I leaned from the window and peered outinto the east.

  The sea called to me, tossing its thousand arms; the soaring gulls,dipping, rising, wheeling above the sand-bar, screamed and clamouredfor a playmate. I slipped into my bathing suit, dropped from the windowupon the soft sand, and in a moment had plunged head foremost into thesurf, swimming beneath the waves toward 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 seaweed,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, handsraised, and the clamour of the gulls filled my ears.

  As I lay, breathing fast, drifting on the sea, far out beyond the gullsI 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 atthe same instant we raised our hands and moved toward each other.

  How we laughed as we met in the sea! The white dawn came up out of thedepths, 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 sheetedspray above our heads. Every wave, crowned with mist, caught us in acool embrace, cradled us, and slipped away, only to leave us to anotherwave, higher, stronger, crested with opalescent glory, breathingincense.

  We turned together up the coast, swimming lightly side by side, but ourwords were caught up by the winds and whirled into the sky.

  We looked up at the driving clouds; we looked out upon the pallid wasteof waters; but it was into each other's eyes we looked, wondering,wistful, questioning the reason of sky and sea. And there in eachother's eyes we read the mystery, and we knew that earth and sky andsea were created for us alone.

  Drifting on by distant sands and dunes, her white fingers touchingmine, we spoke, keying our tones to the wind's vast harmony. And wespoke of love.

  Gray and wide as the limitless span of the sky and the sea, thewinds gathered from the world's ends to bear us on; but they werenot familiar winds; for now, along the coast, the breakers curled andshowed 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 sunkenreefs, we heard the harsh challenges of gulls; where the pallid surftwisted in yellow coils of spume above the bar, the singing sandsmurmured of treachery and secrets of lost souls agasp in the throes ofsilent undertows.

  But there was a little stretch of beach glimmering through themountains of water, and toward this we turned, side by side. Around usthe water grew warmer; the breath of the following waves moistened ourcheeks; 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 odour filledour 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, unutterablyhorrible--and a great bird flapped from the beach, splashing andbeating its pinions across the water with a thundering noise.

  Out across the waves it blundered, rising little by little from thewater, and now, to my horror, I saw another monstrous bird swinging inthe air above it, squealing as it turned on its vast wings. Before Icould speak we touched the beach, and I half lifted her to the shore.

&nbsp
; "Quick!" I repeated. "We must not wait."

  Her eyes were dark with fear, but she rested a hand on my shoulder, andwe crept up among the dune grasses and sank down by the point of sandwhere the rough shelter stood, surrounded by the iron-ringed piles.

  She lay there, breathing fast and deep, dripping with spray. I had nopower of speech left, but when I rose wearily to my knees and lookedout upon the water my blood ran cold. Above the ocean, on the breastof the roaring wind, three enormous birds sailed, turning and wheelingamong each other; and below, drifting with the gray stream of the Gulfloop, a colossal bulk lay half submerged--a gigantic lizard, floatingbelly upward.

  Then Daisy crept kneeling to my side and touched me, trembling fromhead 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 grassto 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-by."

  "Good-by," she answered, but her voice was very small and still.

  "Good-by," I said again. I was kneeling at the mouth of the big irontunnel; it was dark inside and I could not see her, but, before I wasconscious of it, her arms were around my neck and we had kissed eachother.

  I don't remember how I went away. When I came to my proper senses I wasswimming along the coast at full speed, and over my head wheeled one ofthe birds, screaming at every turn.

  The intoxication of that innocent embrace, the close impress of herarms around my neck, gave me a strength and recklessness that neitherfear nor fatigue could subdue. The bird above me did not even frightenme; I watched it over my shoulder, swimming strongly, with the tide nowaiding me, now stemming my course; but I saw the shore passing quicklyand my strength increased, and I shouted when I came in sight of thehouse, and scrambled up on the sand, dripping and excited. There wasnobody in sight, and I gave a last glance up into the air where thebird wheeled, still screeching, and hastened into the house. Fredastared at me in amazement as I seized the rifle and shouted for theprofessor.

  "He has just gone to town, with Captain McPeek in his wagon," stammeredFreda.

  "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 manin the shop?"

  "He also iss gone," said Freda, shedding tears, "to buy papier-mache.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 thebeach. The bird was not in sight.

  I had been running for perhaps a minute when, far up on the dunes, Isaw a yellow dog rush madly through a clump of sweet bay, and at thesame moment a bird soared past, rose, and hung hovering just abovethe thicket. Suddenly the bird swooped; there was a shriek and a yelpfrom the cur, but the bird gripped it in one claw and beat its wingsupon the sand, striving to rise. Then I saw Frisby--paste, bucket, andbrush raised--fall upon the bird, yelling lustily. The fierce creaturerelaxed its talons, and the dog rushed on, squeaking with terror. Thebird turned on Frisby and sent him sprawling on his face, a stickymass of paste and sand. But this did not end the struggle. The bird,croaking wildly, flew at the prostrate billposter, and the sand whirledinto a pillar above its terrible wings. Scarcely knowing what I wasabout, I raised my rifle and fired twice. A horrid scream echoed eachshot, and the bird rose heavily in a shower of sand; but two bulletswere embedded in that mass of foul feathers, and I saw the wires andscarlet tape uncoiling on the sand at my feet. In an instant I seizedthem 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 acrossthe dunes, the shells cutting my feet, and the bushes tearing my wetswimming suit, until I dripped with blood from shoulder to ankle. Outin the ocean the carcass of the Thermosaurus floated, claws outspread,belly glistening in the gray light, and over him circled two birds. AsI reached the shelter I knelt and fired into the mass of scales, and atmy first shot a horrible thing occurred: the lizardlike head writhed,the slitted yellow eyes sliding open from the film that covered them.A shudder passed across the undulating body, the great scaled bellyheaved, and one leg feebly clawed at the air.

  The thing was still alive!

  Crushing back the horror that almost paralyzed my hands, I planted shotafter shot into the quivering reptile, while it writhed and clawed,striving to turn over and dive; and at each shot the black bloodspurted in long, slim jets across the water. And now Daisy was at myside, pale and determined, swiftly clasping each tape-marked wire tothe iron rings in the circle around us. Twice I filled the magazinefrom my belt, and twice I poured streams of steel-tipped bullets intothe scaled mass, twisting and shuddering on the sea. Suddenly the birdssteered toward us. I felt the wind from their vast wings. I saw thefeathers erect, vibrating. I saw the spread claws outstretched, and Istruck furiously at them, crying to Daisy to run into the iron shelter.Backing, swinging my clubbed rifle, I retreated, but I tripped acrossone of the taut pallium wires, and in an instant the hideous birds wereon me, and the bone in my forearm snapped like a pipestem at a blowfrom their wings. Twice I struggled to my knees, blinded with blood,confused, almost fainting; then I fell again, rolling into the mouth ofthe 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 speakand could not. At last they got me to my feet and into the wagon, andDaisy came, too, and crouched beside me, wrapped in oilskins to hereyes. Fatigue, lack of food, and excitement had combined with woundsand broken bones to extinguish the last atom of strength in my body;but my mind was clear enough to understand that the trouble was overand the Thermosaurus safe.

  I heard McPeek say that one of the birds that I had anchored to a cedartree had torn loose from the bullets and winged its way heavily outto sea. The professor answered: "Yes, the ekaf-bird; the others wereool-ylliks. I'd have given my right arm to have secured them." Thenfor a time I heard no more; but the jolting of the wagon over the dunesroused me to keenest pain, and I held out my right hand to Daisy. Sheclasped it in both of hers, and kissed it again and again.

  * * * * *

  There is little more to add, I think. Professor Bruce Stoddard hasedited this story carefully. His own scientific pamphlet will bepublished soon, to be followed by Professor Holroyd's sixteen volumes.In a few days the stuffed and mounted Thermosaurus will be placed onfree public exhibition in the arena of Madison Square Garden, the onlybuilding in the city large enough to contain the body of this immensewinged reptile.

  When my arm came out of splints, Daisy and I---- But really thathas nothing to do with a detailed scientific description of theThermosaurus, which, I think, I shall add as an appendix to the book.If you do not find it there it will be because Daisy and I have verylittle time to write about Thermosaurians.

  But what I really want to tell you about is the extraordinaryadventures of Captain McPeek and Frisby--how they produced a specimenof Samia Cynthia that dwarfed a hundred of Attacus Atlas, and how theAmerican line steamer St. Louis fouled the thing with her screw.

  The more I think of it the more determined I am to tell it to you. Itwill be difficult to prevent me. And that is not fict
ion either.

  ENVOI.