Chapter 5

"Question!"

19 min

What with the physical shocks incidental to my first interview with Professor Challenger and the mental ones which accompanied the second, I was a somewhat demoralized journalist by the time I found myself in Enmore Park once more. In my aching head the one thought was throbbing that there really was truth in this man's story, that it was of tremendous consequence, and that it would work up into inconceivable copy for the Gazette when I could obtain permission to use it. A taxicab was waiting at the end of the road, so I sprang into it and drove down to the office. McArdle was at his post as usual.

Between the physical shocks of my first meeting with Professor Challenger and the mental shocks of my second, I was a shaken journalist by the time I found myself back in Enmore Park. One thought throbbed in my aching head: the man's story really was true. It was enormously important and would make an unbelievably good story for the Gazette once I could get permission to use it. A taxi was waiting at the end of the road, so I jumped in and rode to the office. McArdle was at his post as usual.

"Well," he cried, expectantly, "what may it run to? I'm thinking, young man, you have been in the wars. Don't tell me that he assaulted you."

"Well," he cried eagerly, "how much might it come to? Young man, you look like you've been through a battle. Don't tell me he attacked you."

"We had a little difference at first."

"We had a small disagreement at first."

"What a man it is! What did you do?"

"What a man! What did you do?"

"Well, he became more reasonable and we had a chat. But I got nothing out of him—nothing for publication."

"Well, he became more reasonable, and we had a chat. But I got nothing out of him. Nothing I could publish."

"I'm not so sure about that. You got a black eye out of him, and that's for publication. We can't have this reign of terror, Mr. Malone. We must bring the man to his bearings. I'll have a leaderette on him to-morrow that will raise a blister. Just give me the material and I will engage to brand the fellow for ever. Professor Munchausen—how's that for an inset headline? Sir John Mandeville redivivus—Cagliostro—all the imposters and bullies in history. I'll show him up for the fraud he is."

"I'm not so sure about that. He gave you a black eye, and we're going to publish that. We can't have this reign of terror, Mr. Malone. We must put the man in his place. I'll write a short editorial about him tomorrow that will sting. Just give me the material, and I promise to brand the fellow forever. Professor Munchausen. How's that for a subheading? Sir John Mandeville back from the dead. Cagliostro. All the frauds and bullies in history. I'll expose him for the fraud he is."

"I wouldn't do that, sir."

"Why not?"

"Because he is not a fraud at all."

"What!" roared McArdle. "You don't mean to say you really believe this stuff of his about mammoths and mastodons and great sea sairpents?"

"What!" roared McArdle. "You don't mean to say you really believe his stuff about mammoths and mastodons and great sea serpents?"

"Well, I don't know about that. I don't think he makes any claims of that kind. But I do believe he has got something new."

"Well, I don't know about that. I don't think he makes any claims like that. But I do believe he has something new."

"Then for Heaven's sake, man, write it up!"

"Then for heaven's sake, write it up!"

"I'm longing to, but all I know he gave me in confidence and on condition that I didn't." I condensed into a few sentences the Professor's narrative. "That's how it stands."

"I'm eager to, but he told me everything in confidence, on condition that I wouldn't." I summed up the Professor's story in a few sentences. "That's where things stand."

McArdle looked deeply incredulous.

McArdle looked deeply skeptical.

"Well, Mr. Malone," he said at last, "about this scientific meeting to-night; there can be no privacy about that, anyhow. I don't suppose any paper will want to report it, for Waldron has been reported already a dozen times, and no one is aware that Challenger will speak. We may get a scoop, if we are lucky. You'll be there in any case, so you'll just give us a pretty full report. I'll keep space up to midnight."

"Well, Mr. Malone," he said at last, "there's nothing private about tonight's scientific meeting, anyway. I don't suppose any paper will want to report on it. Waldron has already been covered a dozen times, and no one knows that Challenger will speak. We may get a scoop if we're lucky. You'll be there anyway, so give us a fairly full report. I'll hold space for it until midnight."

My day was a busy one, and I had an early dinner at the Savage Club with Tarp Henry, to whom I gave some account of my adventures. He listened with a sceptical smile on his gaunt face, and roared with laughter on hearing that the Professor had convinced me.

I had a busy day and ate an early dinner at the Savage Club with Tarp Henry. I told him about some of my adventures. He listened with a skeptical smile on his gaunt face. When he heard that the Professor had convinced me, he roared with laughter.

"My dear chap, things don't happen like that in real life. People don't stumble upon enormous discoveries and then lose their evidence. Leave that to the novelists. The fellow is as full of tricks as the monkey-house at the Zoo. It's all bosh."

"My dear friend, things don't happen like that in real life. People don't stumble upon enormous discoveries and then lose their evidence. Leave that to the novelists. The man is as full of tricks as the monkey house at the Zoo. It's all nonsense."

"But the American poet?"

"He never existed."

"I saw his sketch-book."

"I saw his sketchbook."

"Challenger's sketch-book."

"Challenger's sketchbook."

"You think he drew that animal?"

"Of course he did. Who else?"

"Well, then, the photographs?"

"Well, then, what about the photographs?"

"There was nothing in the photographs. By your own admission you only saw a bird."

"There was nothing in the photos. You admit that you only saw a bird."

"A pterodactyl."

"That's what HE says. He put the pterodactyl into your head."

"That's what HE says. He put the pterodactyl in your head."

"Well, then, the bones?"

"Well, then, what about the bones?"

"First one out of an Irish stew. Second one vamped up for the occasion. If you are clever and know your business you can fake a bone as easily as you can a photograph."

"The first one came out of an Irish stew. The second was made up for the occasion. If you're clever and know your business, you can fake a bone as easily as a photograph."

I began to feel uneasy. Perhaps, after all, I had been premature in my acquiescence. Then I had a sudden happy thought.

I began to feel uneasy. Perhaps I had agreed too soon after all. Then I suddenly had a happy thought.

"Will you come to the meeting?" I asked.

Tarp Henry looked thoughtful.

"He is not a popular person, the genial Challenger," said he. "A lot of people have accounts to settle with him. I should say he is about the best-hated man in London. If the medical students turn out there will be no end of a rag. I don't want to get into a bear-garden."

"Challenger is not a popular man, despite his charming manner," he said. "A lot of people have scores to settle with him. I would say he is probably the most hated man in London. If the medical students show up, there will be no end of trouble. I don't want to get caught up in a chaotic crowd."

"You might at least do him the justice to hear him state his own case."

"You could at least be fair and hear him explain his side."

"Well, perhaps it's only fair. All right. I'm your man for the evening."

"Well, perhaps that's only fair. All right. I'm available for the evening."

When we arrived at the hall we found a much greater concourse than I had expected. A line of electric broughams discharged their little cargoes of white-bearded professors, while the dark stream of humbler pedestrians, who crowded through the arched door-way, showed that the audience would be popular as well as scientific. Indeed, it became evident to us as soon as we had taken our seats that a youthful and even boyish spirit was abroad in the gallery and the back portions of the hall. Looking behind me, I could see rows of faces of the familiar medical student type. Apparently the great hospitals had each sent down their contingent. The behavior of the audience at present was good-humored, but mischievous. Scraps of popular songs were chorused with an enthusiasm which was a strange prelude to a scientific lecture, and there was already a tendency to personal chaff which promised a jovial evening to others, however embarrassing it might be to the recipients of these dubious honors.

When we arrived at the hall, we found a much larger crowd than I had expected. A line of electric carriages dropped off small groups of white-bearded professors. Meanwhile, a dark stream of more modest pedestrians crowded through the arched doorway. Clearly, the audience would include ordinary people as well as scientists. As soon as we took our seats, we noticed a youthful, even boyish spirit in the gallery and the back of the hall. Looking behind me, I saw rows of faces that looked like familiar medical students. Apparently, each of the great hospitals had sent a group. So far, the audience was good-humored but mischievous. They sang bits of popular songs together with an enthusiasm that seemed a strange introduction to a scientific lecture. They were already beginning to tease individuals. It promised to be a merry evening for everyone else, however embarrassing it might be for those singled out.

Thus, when old Doctor Meldrum, with his well-known curly-brimmed opera-hat, appeared upon the platform, there was such a universal query of "Where DID you get that tile?" that he hurriedly removed it, and concealed it furtively under his chair. When gouty Professor Wadley limped down to his seat there were general affectionate inquiries from all parts of the hall as to the exact state of his poor toe, which caused him obvious embarrassment. The greatest demonstration of all, however, was at the entrance of my new acquaintance, Professor Challenger, when he passed down to take his place at the extreme end of the front row of the platform. Such a yell of welcome broke forth when his black beard first protruded round the corner that I began to suspect Tarp Henry was right in his surmise, and that this assemblage was there not merely for the sake of the lecture, but because it had got rumored abroad that the famous Professor would take part in the proceedings.

When old Doctor Meldrum appeared on the platform, everyone called out, "Where DID you get that hat?" He quickly removed his well-known curly-brimmed opera hat and secretly hid it under his chair. When Professor Wadley limped to his seat, people throughout the hall affectionately asked about his gouty toe. They wanted to know exactly how it was, and their questions clearly embarrassed him. But the biggest reaction came when my new acquaintance, Professor Challenger, entered. He walked down to take his place at the far end of the platform’s front row. As soon as his black beard appeared around the corner, a great yell of welcome went up. I began to suspect that Tarp Henry was right. The crowd had come not just for the lecture, but because word had spread that the famous Professor would take part.

There was some sympathetic laughter on his entrance among the front benches of well-dressed spectators, as though the demonstration of the students in this instance was not unwelcome to them. That greeting was, indeed, a frightful outburst of sound, the uproar of the carnivora cage when the step of the bucket-bearing keeper is heard in the distance. There was an offensive tone in it, perhaps, and yet in the main it struck me as mere riotous outcry, the noisy reception of one who amused and interested them, rather than of one they disliked or despised. Challenger smiled with weary and tolerant contempt, as a kindly man would meet the yapping of a litter of puppies. He sat slowly down, blew out his chest, passed his hand caressingly down his beard, and looked with drooping eyelids and supercilious eyes at the crowded hall before him. The uproar of his advent had not yet died away when Professor Ronald Murray, the chairman, and Mr. Waldron, the lecturer, threaded their way to the front, and the proceedings began.

As Challenger entered, some well-dressed spectators in the front rows laughed in sympathy. It seemed that they welcomed the students’ reaction to him. The greeting was indeed a terrifying burst of noise. It sounded like the uproar in a cage of meat-eating animals when they hear the keeper approaching with a bucket. There was perhaps an offensive note in the greeting. But it mostly struck me as a wild, noisy welcome for someone who amused and interested them. It did not seem directed at someone they disliked or despised. Challenger smiled with tired, tolerant contempt, like a kindly man faced with a litter of yapping puppies. He sat down slowly, puffed out his chest, and stroked his beard. Then, with half-closed, disdainful eyes, he looked at the crowded hall before him. The uproar over his arrival had not yet died down when Professor Ronald Murray, the chairman, and Mr. Waldron, the lecturer, made their way to the front. The proceedings then began.

Professor Murray will, I am sure, excuse me if I say that he has the common fault of most Englishmen of being inaudible. Why on earth people who have something to say which is worth hearing should not take the slight trouble to learn how to make it heard is one of the strange mysteries of modern life. Their methods are as reasonable as to try to pour some precious stuff from the spring to the reservoir through a non-conducting pipe, which could by the least effort be opened. Professor Murray made several profound remarks to his white tie and to the water-carafe upon the table, with a humorous, twinkling aside to the silver candlestick upon his right. Then he sat down, and Mr. Waldron, the famous popular lecturer, rose amid a general murmur of applause. He was a stern, gaunt man, with a harsh voice, and an aggressive manner, but he had the merit of knowing how to assimilate the ideas of other men, and to pass them on in a way which was intelligible and even interesting to the lay public, with a happy knack of being funny about the most unlikely objects, so that the precession of the Equinox or the formation of a vertebrate became a highly humorous process as treated by him.

Professor Murray will, I am sure, forgive me for saying that he has a fault common to most Englishmen: he cannot be heard. Why on earth won't people with something worth hearing take a little trouble to learn how to be heard? It is one of the strange mysteries of modern life. Their methods are just as reasonable as trying to carry something precious from a spring to a reservoir through a blocked pipe. The pipe could be opened with the least effort. Professor Murray made several profound remarks to his white tie and the water jug on the table. He also made a humorous, twinkling aside to the silver candlestick on his right. Then he sat down, and Mr. Waldron, the famous popular lecturer, rose to a general murmur of applause. He was a stern, thin man with a harsh voice and an aggressive manner. But he had a gift for absorbing other people's ideas and passing them on in a way that ordinary people could understand and even find interesting. He also had a happy knack for making jokes about the most unlikely subjects. In his hands, the precession of the Equinox or the formation of a vertebrate became a highly amusing process.

It was a bird's-eye view of creation, as interpreted by science, which, in language always clear and sometimes picturesque, he unfolded before us. He told us of the globe, a huge mass of flaming gas, flaring through the heavens. Then he pictured the solidification, the cooling, the wrinkling which formed the mountains, the steam which turned to water, the slow preparation of the stage upon which was to be played the inexplicable drama of life. On the origin of life itself he was discreetly vague. That the germs of it could hardly have survived the original roasting was, he declared, fairly certain. Therefore it had come later. Had it built itself out of the cooling, inorganic elements of the globe? Very likely. Had the germs of it arrived from outside upon a meteor? It was hardly conceivable. On the whole, the wisest man was the least dogmatic upon the point. We could not—or at least we had not succeeded up to date in making organic life in our laboratories out of inorganic materials. The gulf between the dead and the living was something which our chemistry could not as yet bridge. But there was a higher and subtler chemistry of Nature, which, working with great forces over long epochs, might well produce results which were impossible for us. There the matter must be left.

He gave us a bird's-eye view of creation as science understood it. His language was always clear and sometimes vivid. He told us how the earth had been a huge mass of flaming gas, blazing through space. Then he described how it became solid and cooled. Its surface wrinkled to form mountains, and steam turned to water. Slowly, the stage was set for the inexplicable drama of life. He was carefully vague about the origin of life itself. He said it was fairly certain that the germs of life could hardly have survived the original roasting. Life must therefore have come later. Had life formed from the cooling, nonliving elements of the earth? Very likely. Had its germs arrived from space on a meteor? That was hardly conceivable. On the whole, the wisest man was the least certain about the matter. We could not make organic life from nonliving materials in our laboratories. At least, we had not succeeded so far. Our chemistry could not yet bridge the gap between the dead and the living. But Nature had a higher and subtler chemistry. Working with great forces over long ages, it might well produce results impossible for us. The matter had to be left there.

This brought the lecturer to the great ladder of animal life, beginning low down in molluscs and feeble sea creatures, then up rung by rung through reptiles and fishes, till at last we came to a kangaroo-rat, a creature which brought forth its young alive, the direct ancestor of all mammals, and presumably, therefore, of everyone in the audience. ("No, no," from a sceptical student in the back row.) If the young gentleman in the red tie who cried "No, no," and who presumably claimed to have been hatched out of an egg, would wait upon him after the lecture, he would be glad to see such a curiosity. (Laughter.) It was strange to think that the climax of all the age-long process of Nature had been the creation of that gentleman in the red tie. But had the process stopped? Was this gentleman to be taken as the final type—the be-all and end-all of development? He hoped that he would not hurt the feelings of the gentleman in the red tie if he maintained that, whatever virtues that gentleman might possess in private life, still the vast processes of the universe were not fully justified if they were to end entirely in his production. Evolution was not a spent force, but one still working, and even greater achievements were in store.

This brought the lecturer to the great ladder of animal life. It began low down with molluscs and weak sea creatures, then rose rung by rung through reptiles and fish. At last, we came to a kangaroo-rat, a creature that gave birth to live young. It was the direct ancestor of all mammals, and presumably, therefore, of everyone in the audience. ("No, no," from a skeptical student in the back row.) The young gentleman in the red tie had cried "No, no," and presumably claimed to have hatched from an egg. If he would come to the lecturer after the talk, the lecturer would be glad to see such a curiosity. (Laughter.) It was strange to think that Nature's process over countless ages had reached its peak in creating that gentleman in the red tie. But had the process stopped? Was this gentleman to be taken as the final type, the ultimate goal of development? The lecturer hoped he would not hurt the gentleman's feelings by saying that the universe's vast processes were not fully justified if they ended with him. That was true whatever virtues the gentleman might possess in private life. Evolution was not a spent force. It was still at work, and even greater achievements lay ahead.

Having thus, amid a general titter, played very prettily with his interrupter, the lecturer went back to his picture of the past, the drying of the seas, the emergence of the sand-bank, the sluggish, viscous life which lay upon their margins, the overcrowded lagoons, the tendency of the sea creatures to take refuge upon the mud-flats, the abundance of food awaiting them, their consequent enormous growth. "Hence, ladies and gentlemen," he added, "that frightful brood of saurians which still affright our eyes when seen in the Wealden or in the Solenhofen slates, but which were fortunately extinct long before the first appearance of mankind upon this planet."

After deftly teasing the man who had interrupted him, to general laughter, the lecturer returned to his picture of the past. He described the drying seas and the emerging sandbank, with sluggish, sticky life along their edges. He spoke of the overcrowded lagoons and how sea creatures tended to take refuge on the mudflats. There, food was plentiful, and as a result the creatures grew enormously. "Hence, ladies and gentlemen," he added, "that frightful brood of saurians. They still frighten us when we see them in the Wealden or in the Solenhofen slates. Fortunately, they became extinct long before humans first appeared on this planet."

"Question!" boomed a voice from the platform.

Mr. Waldron was a strict disciplinarian with a gift of acid humor, as exemplified upon the gentleman with the red tie, which made it perilous to interrupt him. But this interjection appeared to him so absurd that he was at a loss how to deal with it. So looks the Shakespearean who is confronted by a rancid Baconian, or the astronomer who is assailed by a flat-earth fanatic. He paused for a moment, and then, raising his voice, repeated slowly the words: "Which were extinct before the coming of man."

Mr. Waldron was a strict disciplinarian with a gift for biting humor. The gentleman with the red tie had experienced it, and it made interrupting Mr. Waldron risky. But this interruption seemed so absurd that he did not know how to respond. He looked like a Shakespeare scholar confronted by a rancid Baconian, or an astronomer attacked by a flat-earth fanatic. He paused for a moment, then raised his voice and slowly repeated the words: "Which were extinct before the coming of man."

"Question!" boomed the voice once more.

"Question!" the voice boomed again.

Waldron looked with amazement along the line of professors upon the platform until his eyes fell upon the figure of Challenger, who leaned back in his chair with closed eyes and an amused expression, as if he were smiling in his sleep.

Waldron looked in amazement along the row of professors on the platform. Then he saw Challenger, leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed. He looked amused, as if he were smiling in his sleep.

"I see!" said Waldron, with a shrug. "It is my friend Professor Challenger," and amid laughter he renewed his lecture as if this was a final explanation and no more need be said.

"I see!" said Waldron, shrugging. "It is my friend Professor Challenger." Amid laughter, he resumed his lecture, as if that explained everything and nothing more needed to be said.

But the incident was far from being closed. Whatever path the lecturer took amid the wilds of the past seemed invariably to lead him to some assertion as to extinct or prehistoric life which instantly brought the same bulls' bellow from the Professor. The audience began to anticipate it and to roar with delight when it came. The packed benches of students joined in, and every time Challenger's beard opened, before any sound could come forth, there was a yell of "Question!" from a hundred voices, and an answering counter cry of "Order!" and "Shame!" from as many more. Waldron, though a hardened lecturer and a strong man, became rattled. He hesitated, stammered, repeated himself, got snarled in a long sentence, and finally turned furiously upon the cause of his troubles.

But the incident was far from over. Whatever path the lecturer took through the wilds of the past, it always seemed to lead him to some claim about extinct or prehistoric life. Each claim instantly brought the same bull-like bellow from the Professor. The audience began to expect it and roared with delight when it came. The students on the packed benches joined in. Every time Challenger opened his mouth, a hundred voices yelled "Question!" before he could make a sound. Just as many answered with cries of "Order!" and "Shame!" Waldron was an experienced lecturer and a strong man, but he became rattled. He hesitated, stammered, and repeated himself. He got tangled up in a long sentence and finally turned furiously on the cause of his troubles.

"This is really intolerable!" he cried, glaring across the platform. "I must ask you, Professor Challenger, to cease these ignorant and unmannerly interruptions."

"This is really unbearable!" he cried, glaring across the platform. "Professor Challenger, I must ask you to stop these ignorant and rude interruptions."

There was a hush over the hall, the students rigid with delight at seeing the high gods on Olympus quarrelling among themselves. Challenger levered his bulky figure slowly out of his chair.

The hall fell silent. The students were rigid with delight at seeing the high gods on Olympus quarrel among themselves. Challenger slowly heaved his bulky body out of his chair.

"I must in turn ask you, Mr. Waldron," he said, "to cease to make assertions which are not in strict accordance with scientific fact."

"I must ask you in turn, Mr. Waldron," he said, "to stop making claims that are not strictly in line with scientific fact."

The words unloosed a tempest. "Shame! Shame!" "Give him a hearing!" "Put him out!" "Shove him off the platform!" "Fair play!" emerged from a general roar of amusement or execration. The chairman was on his feet flapping both his hands and bleating excitedly. "Professor Challenger—personal—views—later," were the solid peaks above his clouds of inaudible mutter. The interrupter bowed, smiled, stroked his beard, and relapsed into his chair. Waldron, very flushed and warlike, continued his observations. Now and then, as he made an assertion, he shot a venomous glance at his opponent, who seemed to be slumbering deeply, with the same broad, happy smile upon his face.

The words unleashed a storm. "Shame! Shame!" "Give him a hearing!" "Put him out!" "Shove him off the platform!" "Fair play!" The cries rose from a general roar of amusement and outrage. The chairman was on his feet, waving both hands and bleating excitedly. "Professor Challenger, personal, views, later," were the only words that stood out from his inaudible muttering. The interrupter bowed, smiled, stroked his beard, and settled back into his chair. Waldron, flushed and ready for a fight, continued his remarks. Now and then, as he made a claim, he shot a venomous glance at his opponent. Challenger seemed to be sleeping deeply, with the same broad, happy smile on his face.

At last the lecture came to an end—I am inclined to think that it was a premature one, as the peroration was hurried and disconnected. The thread of the argument had been rudely broken, and the audience was restless and expectant. Waldron sat down, and, after a chirrup from the chairman, Professor Challenger rose and advanced to the edge of the platform. In the interests of my paper I took down his speech verbatim.

At last the lecture came to an end. I think it ended early, since the conclusion was hurried and disjointed. The argument had been rudely interrupted, and the audience was restless and expectant. Waldron sat down. After a brief word from the chairman, Professor Challenger rose and walked to the edge of the platform. For my paper, I wrote down his speech word for word.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he began, amid a sustained interruption from the back. "I beg pardon—Ladies, Gentlemen, and Children—I must apologize, I had inadvertently omitted a considerable section of this audience" (tumult, during which the Professor stood with one hand raised and his enormous head nodding sympathetically, as if he were bestowing a pontifical blessing upon the crowd), "I have been selected to move a vote of thanks to Mr. Waldron for the very picturesque and imaginative address to which we have just listened. There are points in it with which I disagree, and it has been my duty to indicate them as they arose, but, none the less, Mr. Waldron has accomplished his object well, that object being to give a simple and interesting account of what he conceives to have been the history of our planet. Popular lectures are the easiest to listen to, but Mr. Waldron" (here he beamed and blinked at the lecturer) "will excuse me when I say that they are necessarily both superficial and misleading, since they have to be graded to the comprehension of an ignorant audience." (Ironical cheering.) "Popular lecturers are in their nature parasitic." (Angry gesture of protest from Mr. Waldron.) "They exploit for fame or cash the work which has been done by their indigent and unknown brethren. One smallest new fact obtained in the laboratory, one brick built into the temple of science, far outweighs any second-hand exposition which passes an idle hour, but can leave no useful result behind it. I put forward this obvious reflection, not out of any desire to disparage Mr. Waldron in particular, but that you may not lose your sense of proportion and mistake the acolyte for the high priest." (At this point Mr. Waldron whispered to the chairman, who half rose and said something severely to his water-carafe.) "But enough of this!" (Loud and prolonged cheers.) "Let me pass to some subject of wider interest. What is the particular point upon which I, as an original investigator, have challenged our lecturer's accuracy? It is upon the permanence of certain types of animal life upon the earth. I do not speak upon this subject as an amateur, nor, I may add, as a popular lecturer, but I speak as one whose scientific conscience compels him to adhere closely to facts, when I say that Mr. Waldron is very wrong in supposing that because he has never himself seen a so-called prehistoric animal, therefore these creatures no longer exist. They are indeed, as he has said, our ancestors, but they are, if I may use the expression, our contemporary ancestors, who can still be found with all their hideous and formidable characteristics if one has but the energy and hardihood to seek their haunts. Creatures which were supposed to be Jurassic, monsters who would hunt down and devour our largest and fiercest mammals, still exist." (Cries of "Bosh!" "Prove it!" "How do YOU know?" "Question!") "How do I know, you ask me? I know because I have visited their secret haunts. I know because I have seen some of them." (Applause, uproar, and a voice, "Liar!") "Am I a liar?" (General hearty and noisy assent.) "Did I hear someone say that I was a liar? Will the person who called me a liar kindly stand up that I may know him?" (A voice, "Here he is, sir!" and an inoffensive little person in spectacles, struggling violently, was held up among a group of students.) "Did you venture to call me a liar?" ("No, sir, no!" shouted the accused, and disappeared like a jack-in-the-box.) "If any person in this hall dares to doubt my veracity, I shall be glad to have a few words with him after the lecture." ("Liar!") "Who said that?" (Again the inoffensive one plunging desperately, was elevated high into the air.) "If I come down among you——" (General chorus of "Come, love, come!" which interrupted the proceedings for some moments, while the chairman, standing up and waving both his arms, seemed to be conducting the music. The Professor, with his face flushed, his nostrils dilated, and his beard bristling, was now in a proper Berserk mood.) "Every great discoverer has been met with the same incredulity—the sure brand of a generation of fools. When great facts are laid before you, you have not the intuition, the imagination which would help you to understand them. You can only throw mud at the men who have risked their lives to open new fields to science. You persecute the prophets! Galileo! Darwin, and I——" (Prolonged cheering and complete interruption.)

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he began, while the noise from the back continued. "I beg your pardon. Ladies, Gentlemen, and Children, I apologize. I accidentally left out a considerable part of the audience." (There was an uproar. The Professor stood with one hand raised, his enormous head nodding sympathetically, as if giving the crowd a papal blessing.) "I have been chosen to propose a vote of thanks to Mr. Waldron. We have just listened to his colorful and imaginative lecture. There are points in it that I disagree with, and I felt obliged to say so as they came up. Nevertheless, Mr. Waldron has achieved his purpose well. He wanted to give a simple and interesting account of what he believes to be our planet's history. Lectures for the general public are the easiest to listen to. But Mr. Waldron will forgive me for saying that they are necessarily both superficial and misleading." (Here he beamed and blinked at the lecturer.) "They must be pitched at a level an ignorant audience can understand." (Ironic cheering.) "Popular lecturers are parasites by nature." (Mr. Waldron protested with an angry gesture.) "They use the work of their poor, unknown colleagues to gain fame or money. Even the smallest new fact discovered in a laboratory is like a brick added to the temple of science. It is worth far more than any secondhand account that passes an idle hour but leaves no useful result. I make this obvious observation not because I wish to belittle Mr. Waldron in particular. I say it so that you do not lose your sense of proportion and mistake the assistant for the high priest." (At this point Mr. Waldron whispered to the chairman, who half rose and spoke sternly to his water pitcher.) "But enough of this!" (Loud and prolonged cheers.) "Let me turn to a subject of wider interest. On what particular point have I, as an original investigator, challenged our lecturer's accuracy? It concerns the continued existence of certain types of animal life on earth. I do not speak on this subject as an amateur or, I might add, as a popular lecturer. I speak as someone whose scientific conscience compels him to stick closely to the facts. Mr. Waldron is quite wrong to suppose that these creatures no longer exist because he has never seen a so-called prehistoric animal himself. They are indeed our ancestors, as he has said. But they are, if I may use the expression, our contemporary ancestors. They can still be found, with all their horrifying and fearsome features, if one has the energy and courage to seek out their habitats. Creatures thought to belong to the Jurassic period still exist. These monsters would hunt down and devour our largest and fiercest mammals." (Cries of "Nonsense!" "Prove it!" "How do YOU know?" "Get to the point!") "How do I know, you ask? I know because I have visited their secret habitats. I know because I have seen some of them." (Applause, uproar, and a voice, "Liar!") "Am I a liar?" (A loud, enthusiastic chorus of agreement.) "Did I hear someone say I was a liar? Would the person who called me a liar kindly stand up so I can see who he is?" (A voice cried, "Here he is, sir!" A group of students held up a harmless little man in spectacles, who struggled violently.) "Did you dare to call me a liar?" ("No, sir, no!" shouted the accused, and disappeared like a jack-in-the-box.) "If anyone in this hall dares to doubt my honesty, I shall be glad to have a few words with him after the lecture." ("Liar!") "Who said that?" (Once again, the harmless little man was lifted high into the air, struggling desperately.) "If I come down among you..." (The whole audience joined in a chorus of "Come, love, come!" This interrupted the proceedings for some moments. The chairman stood and waved both arms, as if conducting the music. The Professor's face was flushed, his nostrils flared, and his beard bristled. He was now in a proper Berserk rage.) "Every great discoverer has been met with the same disbelief. It is the sure mark of a generation of fools. When great facts are presented to you, you lack the intuition and imagination that would help you understand them. You can only throw mud at the men who have risked their lives to open new fields to science. You persecute the prophets! Galileo! Darwin, and I..." (Prolonged cheering and a complete interruption.)

All this is from my hurried notes taken at the time, which give little notion of the absolute chaos to which the assembly had by this time been reduced. So terrific was the uproar that several ladies had already beaten a hurried retreat. Grave and reverend seniors seemed to have caught the prevailing spirit as badly as the students, and I saw white-bearded men rising and shaking their fists at the obdurate Professor. The whole great audience seethed and simmered like a boiling pot. The Professor took a step forward and raised both his hands. There was something so big and arresting and virile in the man that the clatter and shouting died gradually away before his commanding gesture and his masterful eyes. He seemed to have a definite message. They hushed to hear it.

All this comes from the hurried notes I took at the time. They give little idea of the complete chaos the gathering had descended into. The uproar was so terrible that several women had already hurried away. Serious, respected older men seemed just as caught up in the mood as the students. I saw white-bearded men stand up and shake their fists at the stubborn Professor. The whole vast audience seethed and simmered like a boiling pot. The Professor stepped forward and raised both hands. There was something so powerful, commanding, and forceful about him that the noise and shouting gradually died away. His authoritative gesture and commanding eyes quieted the crowd. He seemed to have a clear message. They fell silent to hear it.

"I will not detain you," he said. "It is not worth it. Truth is truth, and the noise of a number of foolish young men—and, I fear I must add, of their equally foolish seniors—cannot affect the matter. I claim that I have opened a new field of science. You dispute it." (Cheers.) "Then I put you to the test. Will you accredit one or more of your own number to go out as your representatives and test my statement in your name?"

"I won't keep you," he said. "It's not worth it. Truth is truth. The noise of a number of foolish young men cannot change that. And I fear I must add that their elders are just as foolish. I claim that I have opened a new field of science. You dispute that claim." (Cheers.) "Then I challenge you. Will you appoint one or more of your own members to go as your representatives and test my claim on your behalf?"

Mr. Summerlee, the veteran Professor of Comparative Anatomy, rose among the audience, a tall, thin, bitter man, with the withered aspect of a theologian. He wished, he said, to ask Professor Challenger whether the results to which he had alluded in his remarks had been obtained during a journey to the headwaters of the Amazon made by him two years before.

Mr. Summerlee, the veteran Professor of Comparative Anatomy, stood up among the audience. He was a tall, thin, bitter man, with the withered look of a theologian. He said he wanted to ask Professor Challenger a question. Had Challenger obtained the results he had mentioned during his journey to the headwaters of the Amazon two years earlier?

Professor Challenger answered that they had.

Professor Challenger said they had.

Mr. Summerlee desired to know how it was that Professor Challenger claimed to have made discoveries in those regions which had been overlooked by Wallace, Bates, and other previous explorers of established scientific repute.

Mr. Summerlee wanted to know how Professor Challenger claimed to have made discoveries in those regions. Wallace, Bates, and other respected scientific explorers had missed them.

Professor Challenger answered that Mr. Summerlee appeared to be confusing the Amazon with the Thames; that it was in reality a somewhat larger river; that Mr. Summerlee might be interested to know that with the Orinoco, which communicated with it, some fifty thousand miles of country were opened up, and that in so vast a space it was not impossible for one person to find what another had missed.

Professor Challenger replied that Mr. Summerlee seemed to be confusing the Amazon with the Thames. In fact, the Amazon was a somewhat larger river. Mr. Summerlee might be interested to know that the Amazon and the Orinoco, which connected to it, opened up some fifty thousand miles of country. In such a vast area, one person could find something another had missed.

Mr. Summerlee declared, with an acid smile, that he fully appreciated the difference between the Thames and the Amazon, which lay in the fact that any assertion about the former could be tested, while about the latter it could not. He would be obliged if Professor Challenger would give the latitude and the longitude of the country in which prehistoric animals were to be found.

Mr. Summerlee smiled sourly and said he understood the difference between the Thames and the Amazon perfectly well. Any claim about the Thames could be tested, but no claim about the Amazon could be tested. He asked Professor Challenger to give him the latitude and longitude of the country where prehistoric animals could be found.

Professor Challenger replied that he reserved such information for good reasons of his own, but would be prepared to give it with proper precautions to a committee chosen from the audience. Would Mr. Summerlee serve on such a committee and test his story in person?

Professor Challenger replied that he had good reasons for keeping that information to himself. But he was willing to share it with a committee chosen from the audience, provided proper precautions were taken. Would Mr. Summerlee serve on the committee and test his story in person?

Mr. Summerlee: "Yes, I will." (Great cheering.)

Mr. Summerlee: "Yes, I will." (Loud cheering.)

Professor Challenger: "Then I guarantee that I will place in your hands such material as will enable you to find your way. It is only right, however, since Mr. Summerlee goes to check my statement that I should have one or more with him who may check his. I will not disguise from you that there are difficulties and dangers. Mr. Summerlee will need a younger colleague. May I ask for volunteers?"

Professor Challenger: "Then I guarantee I will give you the material you need to find your way. Mr. Summerlee is going to check my statement. So it is only fair that one or more people go with him to check his statement. I won't hide the fact that there are difficulties and dangers. Mr. Summerlee will need a younger colleague. May I ask for volunteers?"

It is thus that the great crisis of a man's life springs out at him. Could I have imagined when I entered that hall that I was about to pledge myself to a wilder adventure than had ever come to me in my dreams? But Gladys—was it not the very opportunity of which she spoke? Gladys would have told me to go. I had sprung to my feet. I was speaking, and yet I had prepared no words. Tarp Henry, my companion, was plucking at my skirts and I heard him whispering, "Sit down, Malone! Don't make a public ass of yourself." At the same time I was aware that a tall, thin man, with dark gingery hair, a few seats in front of me, was also upon his feet. He glared back at me with hard angry eyes, but I refused to give way.

That is how the great crisis of a man's life suddenly confronts him. When I entered that hall, could I have imagined what I was about to do? I was about to commit myself to an adventure wilder than any I had ever dreamed of. But Gladys, wasn't this the very opportunity she had spoken of? Gladys would have told me to go. I had jumped to my feet. I was speaking, though I hadn't prepared anything to say. My companion, Tarp Henry, was tugging at my coat and whispering, "Sit down, Malone! Don't make a public fool of yourself." At the same time, I noticed a tall, thin man standing a few seats in front of me. He had dark, reddish hair. He glared back at me with hard, angry eyes, but I refused to give way.

"I will go, Mr. Chairman," I kept repeating over and over again.

"I will go, Mr. Chairman," I kept repeating.

"Name! Name!" cried the audience.

"Name! Name!" shouted the audience.

"My name is Edward Dunn Malone. I am the reporter of the Daily Gazette. I claim to be an absolutely unprejudiced witness."

"My name is Edward Dunn Malone. I am a reporter for the Daily Gazette. I claim to be a completely unbiased witness."

"What is YOUR name, sir?" the chairman asked of my tall rival.

"What is YOUR name, sir?" the chairman asked my tall rival.

"I am Lord John Roxton. I have already been up the Amazon, I know all the ground, and have special qualifications for this investigation."

"I am Lord John Roxton. I have already traveled up the Amazon. I know the whole area and have special qualifications for this investigation."

"Lord John Roxton's reputation as a sportsman and a traveler is, of course, world-famous," said the chairman; "at the same time it would certainly be as well to have a member of the Press upon such an expedition."

"Lord John Roxton's reputation as a sportsman and traveler is, of course, world-famous," said the chairman. "But it would certainly be wise to have a journalist on such an expedition."

"Then I move," said Professor Challenger, "that both these gentlemen be elected, as representatives of this meeting, to accompany Professor Summerlee upon his journey to investigate and to report upon the truth of my statements."

"Then I propose," said Professor Challenger, "that we elect both gentlemen to represent this meeting on Professor Summerlee's journey. They will accompany him to investigate my statements and report on whether they are true."

And so, amid shouting and cheering, our fate was decided, and I found myself borne away in the human current which swirled towards the door, with my mind half stunned by the vast new project which had risen so suddenly before it. As I emerged from the hall I was conscious for a moment of a rush of laughing students—down the pavement, and of an arm wielding a heavy umbrella, which rose and fell in the midst of them. Then, amid a mixture of groans and cheers, Professor Challenger's electric brougham slid from the curb, and I found myself walking under the silvery lights of Regent Street, full of thoughts of Gladys and of wonder as to my future.

And so, amid shouting and cheering, our fate was decided. The crowd swept me toward the door. I was half stunned by the huge new undertaking that had so suddenly appeared before me. As I came out of the hall, I briefly saw laughing students rushing down the sidewalk. Among them, an arm swung a heavy umbrella up and down. Then, amid groans and cheers, Professor Challenger's electric carriage pulled away from the curb. I found myself walking under the silvery lights of Regent Street, thinking of Gladys and wondering about my future.

Suddenly there was a touch at my elbow. I turned, and found myself looking into the humorous, masterful eyes of the tall, thin man who had volunteered to be my companion on this strange quest.

Suddenly, someone touched my elbow. I turned and looked into the amused, commanding eyes of the tall, thin man. He had volunteered to accompany me on this strange quest.

"Mr. Malone, I understand," said he. "We are to be companions—what? My rooms are just over the road, in the Albany. Perhaps you would have the kindness to spare me half an hour, for there are one or two things that I badly want to say to you."

"Mr. Malone, I believe," he said. "We're going to be companions, aren't we? My rooms are just across the road, in the Albany. Perhaps you could spare me half an hour. There are one or two things I really want to say to you."