It is imperative that now at once, while these stupendous eventsare still clear in my mind, I should set them down with thatexactness of detail which time may blur. But even as I do so, Iam overwhelmed by the wonder of the fact that it should be ourlittle group of the "Lost World"--Professor Challenger,Professor Summerlee, Lord John Roxton, and myself--who havepassed through this amazing experience.

When, some years ago, I chronicled in the Daily Gazette ourepoch-making journey in South America, I little thought that itshould ever fall to my lot to tell an even stranger personalexperience, one which is unique in all human annals and muststand out in the records of history as a great peak among thehumble foothills which surround it. The event itself will alwaysbe marvellous, but the circumstances that we four were togetherat the time of this extraordinary episode came about in a mostnatural and, indeed, inevitable fashion. I will explain theevents which led up to it as shortly and as clearly as I can,though I am well aware that the fuller the detail upon such asubject the more welcome it will be to the reader, for thepublic curiosity has been and still is insatiable.

It was upon Friday, the twenty-seventh of August--a date forevermemorable in the history of the world--that I went down to theoffice of my paper and asked for three days' leave of absencefrom Mr. McArdle, who still presided over our news department.The good old Scotchman shook his head, scratched his dwindlingfringe of ruddy fluff, and finally put his reluctance into words.

"I was thinking, Mr. Malone, that we could employ you toadvantage these days. I was thinking there was a story that youare the only man that could handle as it should be handled."

"I am sorry for that," said I, trying to hide my disappointment."Of course if I am needed, there is an end of the matter. Buttheengagement was important and intimate. If I could be spared----"

"Well, I don't see that you can."

It was bitter, but I had to put the best face I could upon it.After all, it was my own fault, for I should have known by thistime that a journalist has no right to make plans of his own.

"Then I'll think no more of it," said I with as muchcheerfulness as I could assume at so short a notice. "What wasit that you wanted me to do?"

"Well, it was just to interview that deevil of a man down atRotherfield."

"You don't mean Professor Challenger?" I cried.

"Aye, it's just him that I do mean. He ran young Alec Simpson ofthe Courier a mile down the high road last week by the collarof his coat and the slack of his breeches. You'll have read ofit, likely, in the police report. Our boys would as sooninterview a loose alligator in the zoo. But you could do it, I'mthinking--an old friend like you."

"Why," said I, greatly relieved, "this makes it all easy. It sohappens that it was to visit Professor Challenger at Rotherfieldthat I was asking for leave of absence. The fact is, that it isthe anniversary of our main adventure on the plateau three yearsago, and he has asked our whole party down to his house to seehim and celebrate the occasion."

"Capital!" cried McArdle, rubbing his hands and beaming throughhis glasses. "Then you will be able to get his opeenions out ofhim. In any other man I would say it was all moonshine, but thefellow has made good once, and who knows but he may again!"

"Get what out of him?" I asked. "What has he been doing?"

"Haven't you seen his letter on `Scientific Possibeelities' into-day's Times?"

"No."

McArdle dived down and picked a copy from the floor.

"Read it aloud," said he, indicating a column with his finger."I'd be glad to hear it again, for I am not sure now that I havethe man's meaning clear in my head."

This was the letter which I read to the news editor of theGazette:--

"SCIENTIFIC POSSIBILITIES"

"Sir,--I have read with amusement, not wholly unmixed with someless complimentary emotion, the complacent and wholly fatuousletter of James Wilson MacPhail which has lately appeared inyour columns upon the subject of the blurring of Fraunhofer'slines in the spectra both of the planets and of the fixed stars.He dismisses the matter as of no significance. To a widerintelligence it may well seem of very great possibleimportance--so great as to involve the ultimate welfare of everyman, woman, and child upon this planet. I can hardly hope, bythe use of scientific language, to convey any sense of mymeaning to those ineffectual people who gather their ideas fromthe columns of a daily newspaper. I will endeavour, therefore,tocondescend to their limitation and to indicate the situation bythe use of a homely analogy which will be within the limits ofthe intelligence of your readers."

"Man, he's a wonder--a living wonder!" said McArdle, shaking hishead reflectively. "He'd put up the feathers of a sucking-doveand set up a riot in a Quakers' meeting. No wonder he has madeLondon too hot for him. It's a peety, Mr. Malone, for it's agrand brain! We'll let's have the analogy."

"We will suppose," I read, "that a small bundle of connectedcorks was launched in a sluggish current upon a voyage acrossthe Atlantic. The corks drift slowly on from day to day with thesame conditions all round them. If the corks were sentient wecould imagine that they would consider these conditions to bepermanent and assured. But we, with our superior knowledge, knowthat many things might happen to surprise the corks. They mightpossibly float up against a ship, or a sleeping whale, or becomeentangled in seaweed. In any case, their voyage would probablyend by their being thrown up on the rocky coast of Labrador. Butwhat could they know of all this while they drifted so gently dayby day in what they thought was a limitless and homogeneousocean?

Your readers will possibly comprehend that the Atlantic, in thisparable, stands for the mighty ocean of ether through which wedrift and that the bunch of corks represents the little andobscure planetary system to which we belong. A third-rate sun,with its rag tag and bobtail of insignificant satellites, wefloat under the same daily conditions towards some unknown end,some squalid catastrophe which will overwhelm us at the ultimateconfines of space, where we are swept over an etheric Niagara ordashed upon some unthinkable Labrador. I see no room here forthe shallow and ignorant optimism of your correspondent, Mr.James Wilson MacPhail, but many reasons why we should watch witha very close and interested attention every indication of changein those cosmic surroundings upon which our own ultimate fatemay depend."

"Man, he'd have made a grand meenister," said McArdle. "It justbooms like an organ. Let's get doun to what it is that'stroubling him."

The general blurring and shifting of Fraunhofer's lines of thespectrum point, in my opinion, to a widespread cosmic change ofa subtle and singular character. Light from a planet is thereflected light of the sun. Light from a star is a self-producedlight. But the spectra both from planets and stars have, in thisinstance, all undergone the same change. Is it, then, a changein those planets and stars? To me such an idea is inconceivable.What common change could simultaneously come upon them all? Isit a change in our own atmosphere? It is possible, but in thehighest degree improbable, since we see no signs of it aroundus, and chemical analysis has failed to reveal it. What, then,is the third possibility? That it may be a change in theconducting medium, in that infinitely fine ether which extendsfrom star to star and pervades the whole universe. Deep in thatocean we are floating upon a slow current. Might that currentnot drift us into belts of ether which are novel and haveproperties of which we have never conceived? There is a changesomewhere. This cosmic disturbance of the spectrum proves it. It may be a good change. It may be an evil one. It may be aneutral one. We do not know. Shallow observers may treat the matteras one which can be disregarded, but one who like myself ispossessed of the deeper intelligence of the true philosopherwill understand that the possibilities of the universe areincalculable and that the wisest man is he who holds himselfready for the unexpected. To take an obvious example, who wouldundertake to say that the mysterious and universal outbreak ofillness, recorded in your columns this very morning as havingbroken out among the indigenous races of Sumatra, has noconnection with some cosmic change to which they may respondmore quickly than the more complex peoples of Europe? I throwout the idea for what it is worth. To assert it is, in thepresent stage, as unprofitable as to deny it, but it is anunimaginative numskull who is too dense to perceive that it iswell within the bounds of scientific possibility.

"Yours faithfully,"GEORGE EDWARD CHALLENGER.

"THE BRIARS, ROTHERFIELD."

"It's a fine, steemulating letter," said McArdle thoughtfully,fitting a cigarette into the long glass tube which he used as aholder. "What's your opeenion of it, Mr. Malone?"

I had to confess my total and humiliating ignorance of thesubject at issue. What, for example, were Fraunhofer's lines?McArdle had just been studying the matter with the aid of ourtame scientist at the office, and he picked from his desk two ofthose many-coloured spectral bands which bear a generalresemblance to the hat-ribbons of some young and ambitiouscricket club. He pointed out to me that there were certain blacklines which formed crossbars upon the series of brilliant coloursextending from the red at one end through gradations of orange,yellow, green, blue, and indigo to the violet at the other.

"Those dark bands are Fraunhofer's lines," said he. "The coloursare just light itself. Every light, if you can split it up witha prism, gives the same colours. They tell us nothing. It isthe lines that count, because they vary according to what it may bethat produces the light. It is these lines that have been blurredinstead of clear this last week, and all the astronomershave been quarreling over the reason. Here's a photograph of theblurred lines for our issue to-morrow. The public have taken nointerest in the matter up to now, but this letter of Challenger'sin the Times will make them wake up, I'm thinking."

"And this about Sumatra?"

"Well, it's a long cry from a blurred line in a spectrum to asick nigger in Sumatra. And yet the chiel has shown us oncebefore that he knows what he's talking about. There is somequeer illness down yonder, that's beyond all doubt, and to-daythere's a cable just come in from Singapore that the lighthousesare out of action in the Straits of Sundan, and two ships on thebeach in consequence. Anyhow, it's good enough for you tointerview Challenger upon. If you get anything definite, let ushave a column by Monday."

I was coming out from the news editor's room, turning over mynew mission in my mind, when I heard my name called from thewaiting-room below. It was a telegraph-boy with a wire which hadbeen forwarded from my lodgings at Streatham. The message wasfrom the very man we had been discussing, and ran thus:--

Malone, 17, Hill Street, Streatham.--Bring oxygen.--Challenger.

"Bring oxygen!" The Professor, as I remembered him, had anelephantine sense of humour capable of the most clumsy andunwieldly gambollings. Was this one of those jokes which used toreduce him to uproarious laughter, when his eyes would disappearand he was all gaping mouth and wagging beard, supremelyindifferent to the gravity of all around him? I turned the wordsover, but could make nothing even remotely jocose out of them.Then surely it was a concise order--though a very strange one.He was the last man in the world whose deliberate command Ishould care to disobey. Possibly some chemical experiment wasafoot; possibly----Well, it was no business of mine to speculateupon why he wanted it. I must get it. There was nearly an hourbefore I should catch the train at Victoria. I took a taxi, andhaving ascertained the address from the telephone book, I madefor the Oxygen Tube Supply Company in Oxford Street.

As I alighted on the pavement at my destination, two youthsemerged from the door of the establishment carrying an ironcylinder, which, with some trouble, they hoisted into a waitingmotor-car. An elderly man was at their heels scolding anddirecting in a creaky, sardonic voice. He turned towards me.There was no mistaking those austere features and that goateebeard. It was my old cross-grained companion, ProfessorSummerlee.

"What!" he cried. "Don't tell me that YOU have had one of thesepreposterous telegrams for oxygen?"

I exhibited it.

"Well, well! I have had one too, and, as you see, very muchagainst the grain, I have acted upon it. Our good friend is asimpossible as ever. The need for oxygen could not have been sourgent that he must desert the usual means of supply andencroach upon the time of those who are really busier thanhimself. Why could he not order it direct?"

I could only suggest that he probably wanted it at once.

"Or thought he did, which is quite another matter. But it issuperfluous now for you to purchase any, since I have thisconsiderable supply."

"Still, for some reason he seems to wish that I should bringoxygen too. It will be safer to do exactly what he tells me."

Accordingly, in spite of many grumbles and remonstrances fromSummerlee, I ordered an additional tube, which was placed withthe other in his motor-car, for he had offered me a lift toVictoria.

I turned away to pay off my taxi, the driver of which was verycantankerous and abusive over his fare. As I came back toProfessor Summerlee, he was having a furious altercation withthe men who had carried down the oxygen, his little white goat'sbeard jerking with indignation. One of the fellows called him,I remember, "a silly old bleached cockatoo," which so enragedhis chauffeur that he bounded out of his seat to take the partof his insulted master, and it was all we could do to prevent ariot in the street.

These little things may seem trivial to relate, and passed asmere incidents at the time. It is only now, as I look back, thatI see their relation to the whole story which I have to unfold.

The chauffeur must, as it seemed to me, have been a novice orelse have lost his nerve in this disturbance, for he drovevilely on the way to the station. Twice we nearly had collisionswith other equally erratic vehicles, and I remember remarkingto Summerlee that the standard of driving in Londonhad very much declined. Once we brushed the very edge of agreat crowd which was watching a fight at the corner of theMall. The people, who were much excited, raised cries ofanger at the clumsy driving, and one fellow sprang upon thestep and waved a stick above our heads. I pushed him off, butwe were glad when we had got clear of them and safe out ofthe park. These little events, coming one after the other,left me very jangled in my nerves, and I could see from mycompanion's petulant manner that his own patience had got toa low ebb.

But our good humour was restored when we saw Lord John Roxtonwaiting for us upon the platform, his tall, thin figure cladin a yellow tweed shooting-suit. His keen face, with thoseunforgettable eyes, so fierce and yet so humorous, flushedwith pleasure at the sight of us. His ruddy hair was shotwith grey, and the furrows upon his brow had been cut alittle deeper by Time's chisel, but in all else he was theLord John who had been our good comrade in the past.

"Hullo, Herr Professor! Hullo, young fella!" he shouted ashe came toward us.

He roared with amusement when he saw the oxygen cylindersupon the porter's trolly behind us. "So you've got themtoo!" he cried. "Mine is in the van. Whatever can the olddear be after?"

"Have you seen his letter in the Times?" I asked.

"What was it?"

"Stuff and nonsense!" said Summerlee Harshly.

"Well, it's at the bottom of this oxygen business, or I ammistaken," said I.

"Stuff and nonsense!" cried Summerlee again with quiteunnecessary violence. We had all got into a first-classsmoker, and he had already lit the short and charred oldbriar pipe which seemed to singe the end of his long,aggressive nose.

"Friend Challenger is a clever man," said he with greatvehemence. "No one can deny it. It's a fool that denies it.Look at his hat. There's a sixty-ounce brain inside it--a bigengine, running smooth, and turning out clean work. Show methe engine-house and I'll tell you the size of the engine.But he is a born charlatan--you've heard me tell him so tohis face--a born charlatan, with a kind of dramatic trick ofjumping into the limelight. Things are quiet, so friendChallenger sees a chance to set the public talking about him.You don't imagine that he seriously believes all thisnonsense about a change in the ether and a danger to thehuman race? Was ever such a cock-and-bull story in this life?"

He sat like an old white raven, croaking and shaking withsardonic laughter.

A wave of anger passed through me as I listened to Summerlee.It was disgraceful that he should speak thus of the leaderwho had been the source of all our fame and given us such anexperience as no men have ever enjoyed. I had opened my mouthto utter some hot retort, when Lord John got before me.

"You had a scrap once before with old man Challenger," saidhe sternly, "and you were down and out inside ten seconds. Itseems to me, Professor Summerlee, he's beyond your class, andthe best you can do with him is to walk wide and leave himalone."

"Besides," said I, "he has been a good friend to every one ofus. Whatever his faults may be, he is as straight as a line,and I don't believe he ever speaks evil of his comrades behindtheir backs."

"Well said, young fellah-my-lad," said Lord John Roxton. Then,with a kindly smile, he slapped Professor Summerlee upon hisshoulder. "Come, Herr Professor, we're not going to quarrel atthis time of day. We've seen too much together. But keep offthegrass when you get near Challenger, for this young fellah and Ihave a bit of a weakness for the old dear."

But Summerlee was in no humour for compromise. His face wasscrewed up in rigid disapproval, and thick curls of angry smokerolled up from his pipe.

"As to you, Lord John Roxton," he creaked, "your opinion upon amatter of science is of as much value in my eyes as my viewsupon a new type of shot-gun would be in yours. I have my ownjudgment, sir, and I use it in my own way. Because it has misledme once, is that any reason why I should accept withoutcriticism anything, however far-fetched, which this man may careto put forward? Are we to have a Pope of science, withinfallible decrees laid down EX CATHEDRA, and accepted withoutquestion by the poor humble public? I tell you, sir, that I havea brain of my own and that I should feel myself to be a snob anda slave if I did not use it. If it pleases you to believe thisrigmarole about ether and Fraunhofer's lines upon the spectrum,do so by all means, but do not ask one who is older and wiserthan yourself to share in your folly. Is it not evident that ifthe ether were affected to the degree which he maintains, and ifit were obnoxious to human health, the result of it wouldalready be apparent upon ourselves?" Here he laughed withuproarious triumph over his own argument. "Yes, sir, we shouldalready be very far from our normal selves, and instead ofsitting quietly discussing scientific problems in a railwaytrain we should be showing actual symptoms of the poison whichwas working within us. Where do we see any signs of thispoisonous cosmic disturbance? Answer me that, sir! Answer methat! Come, come, no evasion! I pin you to an answer!"

I felt more and more angry. There was something very irritatingand aggressive in Summerlee's demeanour.

"I think that if you knew more about the facts you might be lesspositive in your opinion," said I.

Summerlee took his pipe from his mouth and fixed me with a stonystare.

"Pray what do you mean, sir, by that somewhat impertinentobservation?"

"I mean that when I was leaving the office the news editor toldme that a telegram had come in confirming the general illness ofthe Sumatra natives, and adding that the lights had not been litin the Straits of Sunda."

"Really, there should be some limits to human folly!" criedSummerlee in a positive fury. "Is it possible that you do notrealize that ether, if for a moment we adopt Challenger'spreposterous supposition, is a universal substance which is thesame here as at the other side of the world? Do you for aninstant suppose that there is an English ether and a Sumatranether? Perhaps you imagine that the ether of Kent is in some waysuperior to the ether of Surrey, through which this train is nowbearing us. There really are no bounds to the credulity andignorance of the average layman. Is it conceivable that theether in Sumatra should be so deadly as to cause totalinsensibility at the very time when the ether here has had noappreciable effect upon us whatever? Personally, I can truly saythat I never felt stronger in body or better balanced in mind inmy life."

"That may be. I don't profess to be a scientific man," said I,"though I have heard somewhere that the science of onegeneration is usually the fallacy of the next. But it does nottake much common sense to see that, as we seem to know so littleabout ether, it might be affected by some local conditions invarious parts of the world and might show an effect over therewhich would only develop later with us."

"With `might' and `may' you can prove anything," cried Summerleefuriously. "Pigs may fly. Yes, sir, pigs MAY fly--but theydon't. It is not worth arguing with you. Challenger has filledyou with his nonsense and you are both incapable of reason. Ihad as soon lay arguments before those railway cushions."

"I must say, Professor Summerlee, that your manners do not seemto have improved since I last had the pleasure of meeting you,"said Lord John severely.

"You lordlings are not accustomed to hear the truth," Summerleeanswered with a bitter smile. "It comes as a bit of a shock,does it not, when someone makes you realize that your titleleaves you none the less a very ignorant man?"

"Upon my word, sir," said Lord John, very stern and rigid, "ifyou were a younger man you would not dare to speak to me in sooffensive a fashion."

Summerlee thrust out his chin, with its little wagging tuft ofgoatee beard.

"I would have you know, sir, that, young or old, there has neverbeen a time in my life when I was afraid to speak my mind to anignorant coxcomb--yes, sir, an ignorant coxcomb, if you had asmany titles as slaves could invent and fools could adopt."

For a moment Lord John's eyes blazed, and then, with atremendous effort, he mastered his anger and leaned back in hisseat with arms folded and a bitter smile upon his face. To meall this was dreadful and deplorable. Like a wave, the memory ofthe past swept over me, the good comradeship, the happy,adventurous days--all that we had suffered and worked for andwon. That it should have come to this--to insults and abuse!Suddenly I was sobbing--sobbing in loud, gulping, uncontrollablesobs which refused to be concealed. My companions looked at mein surprise. I covered my face with my hands.

"It's all right," said I. "Only--only it IS such a pity!"

"You're ill, young fellah, that's what's amiss with you," saidLord John. "I thought you were queer from the first."

"Your habits, sir, have not mended in these three years," saidSummerlee, shaking his head. "I also did not fail to observeyour strange manner the moment we met. You need not waste yoursympathy, Lord John. These tears are purely alcoholic. The manhas been drinking. By the way, Lord John, I called you a coxcombjust now, which was perhaps unduly severe. But the word remindsme of a small accomplishment, trivial but amusing, which I usedto possess. You know me as the austere man of science. Can youbelieve that I once had a well-deserved reputation in severalnurseries as a farmyard imitator? Perhaps I can help you to passthe time in a pleasant way. Would it amuse you to hear me crowlike a cock?"

"No, sir," said Lord John, who was still greatly offended, "itwould NOT amuse me."

"My imitation of the clucking hen who had just laid an egg wasalso considered rather above the average. Might I venture?"

"No, sir, no--certainly not."

But in spite of this earnest prohibition, Professor Summerleelaid down his pipe and for the rest of our journey heentertained--or failed to entertain--us by a succession of birdand animal cries which seemed so absurd that my tears weresuddenly changed into boisterous laughter, which must havebecome quite hysterical as I sat opposite this grave Professorand saw him--or rather heard him--in the character of theuproarious rooster or the puppy whose tail had been troddenupon. Once Lord John passed across his newspaper, upon themargin of which he had written in pencil, "Poor devil! Mad as ahatter." No doubt it was very eccentric, and yet the performancestruck me as extraordinarily clever and amusing.

Whilst this was going on, Lord John leaned forward and told mesome interminable story about a buffalo and an Indian rajahwhich seemed to me to have neither beginning nor end. ProfessorSummerlee had just begun to chirrup like a canary, and Lord Johnto get to the climax of his story, when the train drew up atJarvis Brook, which had been given us as the station forRotherfield.

And there was Challenger to meet us. His appearance wasglorious. Not all the turkey-cocks in creation could match theslow, high-stepping dignity with which he paraded his ownrailway station and the benignant smile of condescendingencouragement with which he regarded everybody around him. If hehad changed in anything since the days of old, it was that hispoints had become accentuated. The huge head and broad sweep offorehead, with its plastered lock of black hair, seemed evengreater than before. His black beard poured forward in a moreimpressive cascade, and his clear grey eyes, with their insolentand sardonic eyelids, were even more masterful than of yore.

He gave me the amused hand-shake and encouraging smile which thehead master bestows upon the small boy, and, having greeted theothers and helped to collect their bags and their cylinders ofoxygen, he stowed us and them away in a large motor-car which wasdriven by the same impassive Austin, the man of few words, whomI had seen in the character of butler upon the occasion of myfirst eventful visit to the Professor. Our journey led us up awinding hill through beautiful country. I sat in front with thechauffeur, but behind me my three comrades seemed to me to beall talking together. Lord John was still struggling with hisbuffalo story, so far as I could make out, while once again Iheard, as of old, the deep rumble of Challenger and theinsistent accents of Summerlee as their brains locked in highand fierce scientific debate. Suddenly Austin slanted hismahogany face toward me without taking his eyes from hissteering-wheel.

"I'm under notice," said he.

"Dear me!" said I.

Everything seemed strange to-day. Everyone said queer,unexpectedthings. It was like a dream.

"It's forty-seven times," said Austin reflectively.

"When do you go?" I asked, for want of some better observation."I don't go," said Austin.

The conversation seemed to have ended there, but presently hecame back to it.

"If I was to go, who would look after 'im?" He jerked his headtoward his master. "Who would 'e get to serve 'im?"

"Someone else," I suggested lamely.

"Not 'e. No one would stay a week. If I was to go, that 'ousewould run down like a watch with the mainspring out. I'm tellingyou because you're 'is friend, and you ought to know. If I wasto take 'im at 'is word--but there, I wouldn't have the 'eart.'E and the missus would be like two babes left out in a bundle.I'm just everything. And then 'e goes and gives me notice."

"Why would no one stay?" I asked.

"Well, they wouldn't make allowances, same as I do. 'E's a veryclever man, the master--so clever that 'e's clean balmysometimes. I've seen 'im right off 'is onion, and no error.Well, look what 'e did this morning."

"What did he do?"

Austin bent over to me.

"'E bit the 'ousekeeper," said he in a hoarse whisper.

"Bit her?"

"Yes, sir. Bit 'er on the leg. I saw 'er with my own eyesstartin' a marathon from the 'all-door."

"Good gracious!""So you'd say, sir, if you could see some of the goings on. 'Edon't make friends with the neighbors. There's some of themthinks that when 'e was up among those monsters you wrote about,it was just `'Ome, Sweet 'Ome' for the master, and 'e was neverin fitter company. That's what THEY say. But I've served 'imtenyears, and I'm fond of 'im, and, mind you, 'e's a great man,when all's said an' done, and it's an honor to serve 'im. But 'edoes try one cruel at times. Now look at that, sir. That ain'twhat you might call old-fashioned 'ospitality, is it now? Justyou read it for yourself."

The car on its lowest speed had ground its way up a steep,curving ascent. At the corner a notice-board peered over awell-clipped hedge. As Austin said, it was not difficult toread, for the words were few and arresting:--

---------------------------------------WARNING. ---- Visitors, Pressmen, and Mendicants are not encouraged. G. E. CHALLENGER. _______________________________________

"No, it's not what you might call 'earty," said Austin, shakinghis head and glancing up at the deplorable placard. "It wouldn'tlook well in a Christmas card. I beg your pardon, sir, for Ihaven't spoke as much as this for many a long year, but to-day myfeelings seem to 'ave got the better of me. 'E can sack me till'e's blue in the face, but I ain't going, and that's flat. I'm'is man and 'e's my master, and so it will be, I expect, to theend of the chapter."

We had passed between the white posts of a gate and up a curvingdrive, lined with rhododendron bushes. Beyond stood a low brickhouse, picked out with white woodwork, very comfortable andpretty. Mrs. Challenger, a small, dainty, smiling figure, stoodin the open doorway to welcome us.

"Well, my dear," said Challenger, bustling out of the car, "hereare our visitors. It is something new for us to have visitors,is it not? No love lost between us and our neighbors, is there?If they could get rat poison into our baker's cart, I expect itwould be there."

"It's dreadful--dreadful!" cried the lady, between laughter andtears. "George is always quarreling with everyone. We haven't afriend on the countryside."

"It enables me to concentrate my attention upon my incomparablewife," said Challenger, passing his short, thick arm round herwaist. Picture a gorilla and a gazelle, and you have the pair ofthem. "Come, come, these gentlemen are tired from the journey,and luncheon should be ready. Has Sarah returned?"

The lady shook her head ruefully, and the Professor laughedloudly and stroked his beard in his masterful fashion.

"Austin," he cried, "when you have put up the car you willkindly help your mistress to lay the lunch. Now, gentlemen, willyou please step into my study, for there are one or two veryurgent things which I am anxious to say to you."