Blurring Lines

It is imperative that now at once, while these stupendous events are still clear in my mind, I should set them down with that exactness of detail which time may blur. But even as I do so, I am overwhelmed by the wonder of the fact that it should be our little group of the "Lost World"—Professor Challenger, Professor Summerlee, Lord John Roxton, and myself—who have passed through this amazing experience.

I must write down these momentous events now, while they are still clear in my mind. I must record the details precisely, before time blurs them. But even as I write, I am overwhelmed by the wonder of it. Our little group from the "Lost World" has gone through this amazing experience: Professor Challenger, Professor Summerlee, Lord John Roxton, and myself.

When, some years ago, I chronicled in the Daily Gazette our epoch-making journey in South America, I little thought that it should ever fall to my lot to tell an even stranger personal experience, one which is unique in all human annals and must stand out in the records of history as a great peak among the humble foothills which surround it. The event itself will always be marvellous, but the circumstances that we four were together at the time of this extraordinary episode came about in a most natural and, indeed, inevitable fashion. I will explain the events 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 a subject the more welcome it will be to the reader, for the public curiosity has been and still is insatiable.

Some years ago, I wrote in the Daily Gazette about our groundbreaking journey in South America. I little thought I would ever tell of an even stranger personal experience. It was unique in all human history. It must stand out in the historical record like a great peak among the humble foothills surrounding it. The event itself will always be extraordinary. But the four of us came to be together during this extraordinary episode in a natural, indeed inevitable, way. I will explain the events leading up to it as briefly and clearly as I can. Yet I know readers will welcome every detail about such a subject. Public curiosity has been, and still is, insatiable.

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

It was Friday, August 27, a date the world would remember forever. I went to my newspaper’s office and asked Mr. McArdle for three days off. He was still in charge of our news department. The good old Scotchman shook his head and scratched his thinning fringe of reddish fluff. At last, he put his reluctance into words.

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

"I was thinking, Mr. Malone, that we could put you to good use these days. There's a story that only you could handle properly."

"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. But the engagement was important and intimate. If I could be spared——"

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said, trying to hide my disappointment. "Of course, if I'm needed, that's the end of it. But the engagement was important and personal. If you could spare me..."

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

"Well, I don't see how 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 this time that a journalist has no right to make plans of his own.

It was disappointing, but I had to make the best of it. After all, it was my own fault. By now, I should have known that a journalist has no right to make plans of his own.

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

"Then I won't think about it anymore," I said, sounding as cheerful as I could on such short notice. "What did you want me to do?"

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

"Well, it was just to interview that devil of a man down at Rotherfield."

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

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

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

"Yes, he's exactly who I mean. Last week, he dragged young Alec Simpson of the Courier a mile down the main road. He held him by his coat collar and the seat of his pants. You probably read about it in the police report. Our boys would just as soon interview an escaped alligator at the zoo. But I think you could do it. You're an old friend of his."

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

"Why," I said, greatly relieved, "that makes it all easy. As it happens, I was asking for time off to visit Professor Challenger at Rotherfield. It's the anniversary of our main adventure on the plateau three years ago. He has invited our whole party to his house to see him and celebrate the occasion."

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

"Excellent!" cried McArdle, rubbing his hands and beaming through his glasses. "Then you will be able to get his opinions out of him. If it were any other man, I would say it was all nonsense. But the fellow has proved himself once, and who knows? He may do it again!"

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

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

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

"Haven't you seen his letter on 'Scientific Possibilities' in today's Times?"

"No."

"No."

McArdle dived down and picked a copy from the floor.

McArdle bent down and picked up 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 have the man's meaning clear in my head."

"Read it aloud," he said, pointing to a column. "I'd be glad to hear it again, because I'm not sure I understand what the man meant."

This was the letter which I read to the news editor of the Gazette:—

This is the letter I read to the news editor of the Gazette:

"SCIENTIFIC POSSIBILITIES"

"SCIENTIFIC POSSIBILITIES"

"Sir,—I have read with amusement, not wholly unmixed with some less complimentary emotion, the complacent and wholly fatuous letter of James Wilson MacPhail which has lately appeared in your columns upon the subject of the blurring of Fraunhofer's lines in the spectra both of the planets and of the fixed stars. He dismisses the matter as of no significance. To a wider intelligence it may well seem of very great possible importance—so great as to involve the ultimate welfare of every man, woman, and child upon this planet. I can hardly hope, by the use of scientific language, to convey any sense of my meaning to those ineffectual people who gather their ideas from the columns of a daily newspaper. I will endeavour, therefore, to condescend to their limitation and to indicate the situation by the use of a homely analogy which will be within the limits of the intelligence of your readers."

"Sir, I read James Wilson MacPhail's recent letter in your newspaper with amusement, mixed with some less flattering feelings. His letter was smug and utterly foolish. It concerned the blurring of Fraunhofer's lines in the spectra of both planets and fixed stars. He dismisses the matter as insignificant. To a broader mind, it may seem of great possible importance. It may even affect the ultimate welfare of every man, woman, and child on this planet. I can hardly hope to make myself understood through scientific language. That is because your readers are ineffectual people who get their ideas from a daily newspaper. I will therefore try to make allowances for their limitations. I will explain the situation with a simple analogy that is within their powers of understanding."

"Man, he's a wonder—a living wonder!" said McArdle, shaking his head reflectively. "He'd put up the feathers of a sucking-dove and set up a riot in a Quakers' meeting. No wonder he has made London too hot for him. It's a peety, Mr. Malone, for it's a grand brain! We'll let's have the analogy."

"Man, he's a wonder, a living wonder!" said McArdle, shaking his head thoughtfully. "He'd ruffle the feathers of a baby dove and start a riot at a Quakers' meeting. No wonder he's made London too hot for himself. It's a pity, Mr. Malone, for he has a grand brain! Let's have the analogy."

"We will suppose," I read, "that a small bundle of connected corks was launched in a sluggish current upon a voyage across the Atlantic. The corks drift slowly on from day to day with the same conditions all round them. If the corks were sentient we could imagine that they would consider these conditions to be permanent and assured. But we, with our superior knowledge, know that many things might happen to surprise the corks. They might possibly float up against a ship, or a sleeping whale, or become entangled in seaweed. In any case, their voyage would probably end by their being thrown up on the rocky coast of Labrador. But what could they know of all this while they drifted so gently day by day in what they thought was a limitless and homogeneous ocean?

“Suppose,” I read, “that a small bundle of corks tied together was set adrift in a slow current across the Atlantic. The corks drift slowly on, day after day, with the same conditions all around them. If the corks could think, we might imagine they would consider these conditions permanent and certain. But with our greater knowledge, we know that many things might happen to surprise them. They might float against a ship or a sleeping whale, or become tangled in seaweed. In any case, their voyage would probably end with the corks being washed up on the rocky coast of Labrador. But what could they know of all this as they drifted so gently day after day? They thought they were in a limitless ocean that was the same throughout.

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

"Your readers may understand that, in this parable, the Atlantic represents the mighty ocean of ether through which we drift. The bunch of corks represents the small, obscure planetary system to which we belong. We are a third-rate sun with a ragtag collection of insignificant satellites. We float on under the same daily conditions toward some unknown end. Some miserable catastrophe awaits us at the farthest reaches of space. There we will be swept over an etheric Niagara or dashed against some unimaginable Labrador. I see no room here for the shallow, ignorant optimism of your correspondent, Mr. James Wilson MacPhail. But I see many reasons to watch closely and with keen interest for every sign of change in our cosmic surroundings. Our ultimate fate may depend on those surroundings."

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

"Man, he'd have made a grand minister," said McArdle. "It just booms like an organ. Let's get down to what's troubling him."

"The general blurring and shifting of Fraunhofer's lines of the spectrum point, in my opinion, to a widespread cosmic change of a subtle and singular character. Light from a planet is the reflected light of the sun. Light from a star is a self-produced light. But the spectra both from planets and stars have, in this instance, all undergone the same change. Is it, then, a change in those planets and stars? To me such an idea is inconceivable. What common change could simultaneously come upon them all? Is it a change in our own atmosphere? It is possible, but in the highest degree improbable, since we see no signs of it around us, and chemical analysis has failed to reveal it. What, then, is the third possibility? That it may be a change in the conducting medium, in that infinitely fine ether which extends from star to star and pervades the whole universe. Deep in that ocean we are floating upon a slow current. Might that current not drift us into belts of ether which are novel and have properties of which we have never conceived? There is a change somewhere. This cosmic disturbance of the spectrum proves it. It may be a good change. It may be an evil one. It may be a neutral one. We do not know. Shallow observers may treat the matter as one which can be disregarded, but one who like myself is possessed of the deeper intelligence of the true philosopher will understand that the possibilities of the universe are incalculable and that the wisest man is he who holds himself ready for the unexpected. To take an obvious example, who would undertake to say that the mysterious and universal outbreak of illness, recorded in your columns this very morning as having broken out among the indigenous races of Sumatra, has no connection with some cosmic change to which they may respond more quickly than the more complex peoples of Europe? I throw out the idea for what it is worth. To assert it is, in the present stage, as unprofitable as to deny it, but it is an unimaginative numskull who is too dense to perceive that it is well within the bounds of scientific possibility.

"The widespread blurring and shifting of Fraunhofer's lines in the spectrum suggests a broad cosmic change. In my opinion, this change is subtle and extraordinary. Light from a planet is reflected sunlight. Light from a star is produced by the star itself. Yet in this case, the spectra of both planets and stars have all undergone the same change. Has there been a change in the planets and stars themselves? I find that idea inconceivable. What common change could affect them all at once? Has there been a change in our own atmosphere? That is possible, but highly improbable. We see no signs of such a change around us, and chemical analysis has failed to reveal one. What, then, is the third possibility? The change may be in the medium that conducts light. I mean the infinitely fine ether that stretches from star to star and fills the entire universe. Deep in that ocean, we float on a slow current. Might that current carry us into unfamiliar belts of ether with properties we have never imagined? There is a change somewhere. This cosmic disturbance of the spectrum proves it. It may be a good change. It may be an evil one. It may be a neutral one. We do not know. Shallow observers may dismiss the matter. But someone like myself, with the deeper intelligence of a true philosopher, will understand. The possibilities of the universe are incalculable, and the wisest man is the one prepared for the unexpected. Take an obvious example. This very morning, your newspaper reported a mysterious, universal outbreak of illness among the indigenous races of Sumatra. Who would dare say that this outbreak has no connection to some cosmic change? They may respond to such a change more quickly than the more complex peoples of Europe. I offer the idea for what it is worth. At this stage, asserting it is as unprofitable as denying it. But only an unimaginative numskull would be too dense to see that it is well within the bounds of scientific possibility.

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

"It's a fine, stimulating letter," said McArdle thoughtfully. He fitted a cigarette into the long glass tube he used as a holder. "What's your opinion of it, Mr. Malone?"

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

I had to admit, to my embarrassment, that I knew nothing about the subject. What, for example, were Fraunhofer's lines? McArdle had just been studying the matter with help from our tame scientist at the office. He took two of those multicolored spectral bands from his desk. They looked rather like the hat ribbons of some young, ambitious cricket club. He pointed out certain black lines that crossed the bands of brilliant colors. The colors ran from red at one end through shades of orange, yellow, green, blue, and indigo to violet at the other.

"Those dark bands are Fraunhofer's lines," said he. "The colours are just light itself. Every light, if you can split it up with a prism, gives the same colours. They tell us nothing. It is the lines that count, because they vary according to what it may be that produces the light. It is these lines that have been blurred instead of clear this last week, and all the astronomers have been quarreling over the reason. Here's a photograph of the blurred lines for our issue to-morrow. The public have taken no interest in the matter up to now, but this letter of Challenger's in the Times will make them wake up, I'm thinking."

"Those dark bands are Fraunhofer's lines," he said. "The colours are just light itself. If you split any light with a prism, it gives the same colours. The colours tell us nothing. The lines are what count, because they vary depending on what produces the light. For the past week, the lines have been blurred instead of clear. All the astronomers have been arguing over the reason. Here's a photograph of the blurred lines for tomorrow's issue. The public haven't been interested in the matter so far. But I think Challenger's letter in the Times will wake them up."

"And this about Sumatra?"

"And what about this news from Sumatra?"

"Well, it's a long cry from a blurred line in a spectrum to a sick nigger in Sumatra. And yet the chiel has shown us once before that he knows what he's talking about. There is some queer illness down yonder, that's beyond all doubt, and to-day there's a cable just come in from Singapore that the lighthouses are out of action in the Straits of Sundan, and two ships on the beach in consequence. Anyhow, it's good enough for you to interview Challenger upon. If you get anything definite, let us have a column by Monday."

"Well, it’s a long way from a blurred line in a spectrum to a sick nigger in Sumatra. And yet the fellow has shown us before that he knows what he’s talking about. There’s definitely some strange illness down there. And today a cable came in from Singapore. The lighthouses in the Straits of Sundan are out of action, and two ships have run aground as a result. Anyway, that’s enough reason for you to interview Challenger. If you get anything definite, let us have a column by Monday."

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

I was leaving the news editor's room, thinking over my new assignment, when I heard my name called from the waiting room below. A telegraph boy had brought a telegram forwarded from my lodgings in Streatham. It was from the very man we had been discussing. It read:

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

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

"Bring oxygen!" The Professor, as I remembered him, had an elephantine sense of humour capable of the most clumsy and unwieldly gambollings. Was this one of those jokes which used to reduce him to uproarious laughter, when his eyes would disappear and he was all gaping mouth and wagging beard, supremely indifferent to the gravity of all around him? I turned the words over, 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 I should care to disobey. Possibly some chemical experiment was afoot; possibly——Well, it was no business of mine to speculate upon why he wanted it. I must get it. There was nearly an hour before I should catch the train at Victoria. I took a taxi, and having ascertained the address from the telephone book, I made for the Oxygen Tube Supply Company in Oxford Street.

"Bring oxygen!" As I remembered the Professor, his sense of humour was elephantine, capable of the clumsiest, most unwieldy playfulness. Was this one of those jokes that used to make him roar with laughter? His eyes would disappear, leaving only his wide-open mouth and wagging beard. He was supremely indifferent to the seriousness of everyone around him. I turned the words over in my mind, but could find nothing even remotely funny in them. Surely, then, they were a brief order, though a very strange one. He was the last man in the world whose deliberate command I would want to disobey. Perhaps he was planning some chemical experiment. Perhaps... Well, it was none of my business to speculate about why he wanted oxygen. I had to get it. I had nearly an hour before I had to catch the train at Victoria. I looked up the address in the telephone book, took a taxi, and headed for the Oxygen Tube Supply Company in Oxford Street.

As I alighted on the pavement at my destination, two youths emerged from the door of the establishment carrying an iron cylinder, which, with some trouble, they hoisted into a waiting motor-car. An elderly man was at their heels scolding and directing in a creaky, sardonic voice. He turned towards me. There was no mistaking those austere features and that goatee beard. It was my old cross-grained companion, Professor Summerlee.

As I stepped onto the sidewalk at my destination, two young men came out of the establishment carrying an iron cylinder. With some difficulty, they lifted it into a waiting car. An elderly man followed close behind them, scolding them and giving directions in a creaky, sarcastic voice. He turned toward me. There was no mistaking those stern features and that goatee. It was my old irritable companion, Professor Summerlee.

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

"What!" he cried. "Don't tell me you got one of these ridiculous telegrams asking for oxygen?"

I exhibited it.

I showed it.

"Well, well! I have had one too, and, as you see, very much against the grain, I have acted upon it. Our good friend is as impossible as ever. The need for oxygen could not have been so urgent that he must desert the usual means of supply and encroach upon the time of those who are really busier than himself. Why could he not order it direct?"

“Well, well! I’ve had one too, and as you can see, I’ve acted on it, though very reluctantly. Our good friend is as impossible as ever. His need for oxygen couldn’t have been so urgent that he had to abandon the usual way of getting it. And he had no need to take up the time of people who are really busier than he is. Why couldn’t he order it directly?”

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

I could only suggest that he probably wanted it right away.

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

"Or he thought he did, which is quite different. But you don't need to buy any now, since I have a large supply."

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

"Still, for some reason, he seems to want me to bring oxygen too. It will be safer to do exactly what he tells me."

Accordingly, in spite of many grumbles and remonstrances from Summerlee, I ordered an additional tube, which was placed with the other in his motor-car, for he had offered me a lift to Victoria.

So, despite Summerlee's many complaints and objections, I ordered an extra tube. It was placed with the other tube in his car, since he had offered me a ride to Victoria.

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

I turned away to pay my taxi driver, who was very bad-tempered and abusive about the fare. When I returned to Professor Summerlee, he was arguing furiously with the men who had carried down the oxygen. His little white goatee jerked with indignation. I remember one of the men called him "a silly old bleached cockatoo." This so enraged his chauffeur that he leaped out of his seat to defend his insulted master. We could barely prevent a riot in the street.

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

These little things may seem too trivial to mention, and at the time they seemed like mere incidents. Only now, looking back, do I see how they relate to the whole story I have to tell.

The chauffeur must, as it seemed to me, have been a novice or else have lost his nerve in this disturbance, for he drove vilely on the way to the station. Twice we nearly had collisions with other equally erratic vehicles, and I remember remarking to Summerlee that the standard of driving in London had very much declined. Once we brushed the very edge of a great crowd which was watching a fight at the corner of the Mall. The people, who were much excited, raised cries of anger at the clumsy driving, and one fellow sprang upon the step and waved a stick above our heads. I pushed him off, but we were glad when we had got clear of them and safe out of the park. These little events, coming one after the other, left me very jangled in my nerves, and I could see from my companion's petulant manner that his own patience had got to a low ebb.

It seemed to me that the chauffeur was either a novice or had lost his nerve in the disturbance. He drove terribly on the way to the station. Twice we nearly collided with other vehicles driving just as erratically. I remember remarking to Summerlee that the standard of driving in London had declined considerably. Once we brushed past the edge of a large crowd watching a fight at the corner of the Mall. The people were very excited and shouted angrily at the clumsy driving. One man jumped onto the step and waved a stick above our heads. I pushed him off, but we were glad to get clear of the crowd and safely out of the park. These little events, coming one after another, left my nerves badly shaken. I could see from my companion's irritable manner that his own patience was wearing thin.

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

But our good mood returned when we saw Lord John Roxton waiting for us on the platform. His tall, thin figure was dressed in a yellow tweed shooting suit. His keen face lit up with pleasure when he saw us. His unforgettable eyes were both fierce and amused. His reddish hair was streaked with gray, and time had carved deeper lines in his forehead. But in every other way, he was the same Lord John who had been our good comrade in the past.

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

"Hello, Herr Professor! Hello, young fellow!" he shouted as he came toward us.

He roared with amusement when he saw the oxygen cylinders upon the porter's trolly behind us. "So you've got them too!" he cried. "Mine is in the van. Whatever can the old dear be after?"

He roared with laughter when he saw the oxygen cylinders on the porter's cart behind us. "So you've got them too!" he cried. "Mine is in the van. What on earth is the old dear up to?"

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

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

"What was it?"

"What was it?"

"Stuff and nonsense!" said Summerlee harshly.

"Nonsense!" said Summerlee harshly.

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

"Well, it's behind this oxygen business, unless I'm mistaken," I said.

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

"Nonsense!" Summerlee cried again, far more violently than necessary. We had all settled into a first-class smoking compartment. He had already lit his short, charred old briar pipe, which seemed to singe the tip of his long, aggressive nose.

"Friend Challenger is a clever man," said he with great vehemence. "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 big engine, running smooth, and turning out clean work. Show me the 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 to his face—a born charlatan, with a kind of dramatic trick of jumping into the limelight. Things are quiet, so friend Challenger sees a chance to set the public talking about him. You don't imagine that he seriously believes all this nonsense about a change in the ether and a danger to the human race? Was ever such a cock-and-bull story in this life?"

"Friend Challenger is a clever man," he said vehemently. "No one can deny it. Anyone who does is a fool. Look at his hat. There's a sixty-ounce brain inside it. It's a big engine, running smoothly and producing clean work. Show me the engine house, and I'll tell you the size of the engine. But he's a born fraud. You've heard me tell him so to his face. He's a born fraud with a flair for dramatically jumping into the spotlight. Things are quiet, so friend Challenger sees a chance to get the public talking about him. Surely you don't think he seriously believes all this nonsense about a change in the ether endangering the human race? Has there ever been such a ridiculous story?"

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

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

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

A wave of anger swept over me as I listened to Summerlee. It was disgraceful for him to speak that way about our leader. He was the source of all our fame and had given us an experience no men had ever enjoyed. I opened my mouth to make an angry reply, but Lord John spoke before I could.

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

"You fought old man Challenger once before," he said sternly, "and he knocked you out in less than ten seconds. It seems to me, Professor Summerlee, that he's out of your league. The best thing you can do is steer clear of him and leave him alone."

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

“Besides,” I said, “he has been a good friend to every one of us. Whatever his faults may be, he is completely honest. And I don’t believe he ever speaks badly of his comrades behind their backs.”

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

"Well said, young fellow," said Lord John Roxton. Then, with a kindly smile, he slapped Professor Summerlee on the shoulder. "Come on, Professor, we're not going to quarrel at a time like this. We've been through too much together. But tread carefully when it comes to Challenger. This young fellow and I have a soft spot for the old dear."

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

But Summerlee was in no mood to compromise. His face was set in firm disapproval, and thick curls of angry smoke rose from his pipe.

"As to you, Lord John Roxton," he creaked, "your opinion upon a matter of science is of as much value in my eyes as my views upon a new type of shot-gun would be in yours. I have my own judgment, sir, and I use it in my own way. Because it has misled me once, is that any reason why I should accept without criticism anything, however far-fetched, which this man may care to put forward? Are we to have a Pope of science, with infallible decrees laid down ex cathedra, and accepted without question by the poor humble public? I tell you, sir, that I have a brain of my own and that I should feel myself to be a snob and a slave if I did not use it. If it pleases you to believe this rigmarole about ether and Fraunhofer's lines upon the spectrum, do so by all means, but do not ask one who is older and wiser than yourself to share in your folly. Is it not evident that if the ether were affected to the degree which he maintains, and if it were obnoxious to human health, the result of it would already be apparent upon ourselves?" Here he laughed with uproarious triumph over his own argument. "Yes, sir, we should already be very far from our normal selves, and instead of sitting quietly discussing scientific problems in a railway train we should be showing actual symptoms of the poison which was working within us. Where do we see any signs of this poisonous cosmic disturbance? Answer me that, sir! Answer me that! Come, come, no evasion! I pin you to an answer!"

“As for you, Lord John Roxton,” he said in a creaking voice, “your opinion on science is worth as much to me as my views on a new type of shotgun would be to you. I have my own judgment, sir, and I use it as I see fit. It misled me once, but is that any reason to accept whatever this man proposes without questioning it, however far-fetched? Are we to have a Pope of science, issuing infallible decrees ex cathedra, for the poor humble public to accept without question? I tell you, sir, I have a brain of my own. I would feel like a snob and a slave if I did not use it. “If you want to believe this nonsense about ether and Fraunhofer's lines in the spectrum, go right ahead. But do not ask someone older and wiser than you to share your folly. If the ether were affected as much as he claims, and if it were harmful to human health, wouldn't the effects already be apparent in us?” Here he laughed loudly in triumph at his own argument. “Yes, sir, we would already be very different from our normal selves. Instead of sitting quietly on a train discussing scientific problems, we would be showing actual symptoms of the poison working inside us. Where do we see any signs of this poisonous cosmic disturbance? Answer me that, sir! Answer me that! Come, come, no dodging the question! I demand an answer!”

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

I grew angrier and angrier. There was something very irritating and aggressive about Summerlee's manner.

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

"I think you might be less sure of your opinion if you knew more about the facts," I said.

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

Summerlee took his pipe from his mouth and stared at me coldly.

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

"What do you mean by that rather rude remark, sir?"

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

"I mean that as I was leaving the office, the news editor told me a telegram had arrived. It confirmed that the Sumatra natives were generally ill. It also said that the lights in the Straits of Sunda had not been lit."

"Really, there should be some limits to human folly!" cried Summerlee in a positive fury. "Is it possible that you do not realize that ether, if for a moment we adopt Challenger's preposterous supposition, is a universal substance which is the same here as at the other side of the world? Do you for an instant suppose that there is an English ether and a Sumatran ether? Perhaps you imagine that the ether of Kent is in some way superior to the ether of Surrey, through which this train is now bearing us. There really are no bounds to the credulity and ignorance of the average layman. Is it conceivable that the ether in Sumatra should be so deadly as to cause total insensibility at the very time when the ether here has had no appreciable effect upon us whatever? Personally, I can truly say that I never felt stronger in body or better balanced in mind in my life."

"Really, there should be limits to human foolishness!" cried Summerlee, furious. "Suppose for a moment that we accept Challenger's ridiculous theory. Don't you realize that ether is a universal substance, the same here as on the other side of the world? Do you really think there is an English ether and a Sumatran ether? Perhaps you imagine that the ether of Kent is somehow better than the ether of Surrey, where this train is now carrying us. There really are no limits to how gullible and ignorant the average nonexpert is. Could the ether in Sumatra be so deadly that it causes complete unconsciousness? And could it do so while the ether here has had no noticeable effect on us at all? Personally, I can honestly say that I have never felt stronger in body or more balanced in mind."

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

"That may be. I don't claim to be a scientist," I said. "Though I have heard somewhere that one generation's science is usually the next generation's error. But it doesn't take much common sense to see that we seem to know very little about ether. It might be affected by local conditions in different parts of the world. So it might have an effect over there that would only develop later here."

"With 'might' and 'may' you can prove anything," cried Summerlee furiously. "Pigs may fly. Yes, sir, pigs may fly—but they don't. It is not worth arguing with you. Challenger has filled you with his nonsense and you are both incapable of reason. I had as soon lay arguments before those railway cushions."

"With 'might' and 'may' you can prove anything," cried Summerlee furiously. "Pigs may fly. Yes, sir, pigs may fly, but they don't. There's no point arguing with you. Challenger has filled your head with his nonsense, and neither of you can reason. I might as well argue with those railway cushions."

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

"I must say, Professor Summerlee, your manners don't seem to have improved since we last had the pleasure of meeting," Lord John said sternly.

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

"You nobles aren't used to hearing the truth," Summerlee replied with a bitter smile. "It's a bit of a shock, isn't it, when someone makes you realize that your title doesn't make you any less ignorant?"

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

"Honestly, sir," said Lord John, stern and rigid, "if you were younger, you wouldn't dare speak to me so offensively."

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

Summerlee thrust out his chin, making the little tuft of his goatee wag.

"I would have you know, sir, that, young or old, there has never been a time in my life when I was afraid to speak my mind to an ignorant coxcomb—yes, sir, an ignorant coxcomb, if you had as many titles as slaves could invent and fools could adopt."

"I want you to know, sir, that I have never been afraid to speak my mind to an ignorant fool, young or old. Yes, sir, an ignorant fool, even if you had as many titles as slaves could invent and fools could adopt."

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

For a moment, Lord John's eyes blazed. Then, with a tremendous effort, he controlled his anger. He leaned back in his seat, arms folded, with a bitter smile on his face. To me, it was all dreadful and heartbreaking. Memories of the past swept over me like a wave. I remembered our good friendship and our happy days of adventure. I remembered all we had suffered, worked for, and won. How could it have come to insults and abuse? Suddenly I was sobbing, in loud, gulping, uncontrollable sobs that I could not hide. My companions looked at me in surprise. I covered my face with my hands.

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

"It's all right," I said. "It's just, just that it is such a pity!"

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

"You're ill, young fellow. That's what's wrong with you," said Lord John. "I thought you seemed off from the start."

"Your habits, sir, have not mended in these three years," said Summerlee, shaking his head. "I also did not fail to observe your strange manner the moment we met. You need not waste your sympathy, Lord John. These tears are purely alcoholic. The man has been drinking. By the way, Lord John, I called you a coxcomb just now, which was perhaps unduly severe. But the word reminds me of a small accomplishment, trivial but amusing, which I used to possess. You know me as the austere man of science. Can you believe that I once had a well-deserved reputation in several nurseries as a farmyard imitator? Perhaps I can help you to pass the time in a pleasant way. Would it amuse you to hear me crow like a cock?"

"Your habits, sir, have not improved in these three years," said Summerlee, shaking his head. "I also noticed your strange manner the moment we met. You need not waste your sympathy, Lord John. These tears are purely the result of alcohol. The man has been drinking. By the way, Lord John, I called you a fool just now. That was perhaps too harsh. But the word reminds me of a small skill I once had. It was trivial but amusing. You know me as a stern man of science. Can you believe that several nurseries once knew me as a talented imitator of farmyard animals? Perhaps I can help you pass the time pleasantly. Would it amuse you to hear me crow like a rooster?"

"No, sir," said Lord John, who was still greatly offended, "it would not amuse me."

"No, sir," said Lord John, who was still very offended, "it would not amuse me."

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

"My imitation of a hen clucking after laying an egg was also considered rather above average. May I try it?"

"No, sir, no—certainly not."

"No, sir, no, certainly not."

But in spite of this earnest prohibition, Professor Summerlee laid down his pipe and for the rest of our journey he entertained—or failed to entertain—us by a succession of bird and animal cries which seemed so absurd that my tears were suddenly changed into boisterous laughter, which must have become quite hysterical as I sat opposite this grave Professor and saw him—or rather heard him—in the character of the uproarious rooster or the puppy whose tail had been trodden upon. Once Lord John passed across his newspaper, upon the margin of which he had written in pencil, "Poor devil! Mad as a hatter." No doubt it was very eccentric, and yet the performance struck me as extraordinarily clever and amusing.

But despite this earnest warning, Professor Summerlee put down his pipe. For the rest of the journey, he entertained us, or failed to entertain us, with a series of bird and animal cries. They seemed so absurd that my tears suddenly turned to loud laughter. My laughter must have become quite hysterical as I sat opposite this serious professor. I saw him, or rather heard him, playing the part of a noisy rooster or a puppy whose tail had been stepped on. Once, Lord John passed me his newspaper. On its margin he had written in pencil, "Poor devil! Mad as a hatter." His performance was certainly very eccentric, but I found it extraordinarily clever and amusing.

Whilst this was going on, Lord John leaned forward and told me some interminable story about a buffalo and an Indian rajah which seemed to me to have neither beginning nor end. Professor Summerlee had just begun to chirrup like a canary, and Lord John to get to the climax of his story, when the train drew up at Jarvis Brook, which had been given us as the station for Rotherfield.

While this was going on, Lord John leaned forward and told me an endless story about a buffalo and an Indian rajah. It seemed to have neither a beginning nor an end. Professor Summerlee had just begun chirping like a canary, and Lord John was reaching the climax of his story. Just then, the train stopped at Jarvis Brook, the station we had been told to use for Rotherfield.

And there was Challenger to meet us. His appearance was glorious. Not all the turkey-cocks in creation could match the slow, high-stepping dignity with which he paraded his own railway station and the benignant smile of condescending encouragement with which he regarded everybody around him. If he had changed in anything since the days of old, it was that his points had become accentuated. The huge head and broad sweep of forehead, with its plastered lock of black hair, seemed even greater than before. His black beard poured forward in a more impressive cascade, and his clear grey eyes, with their insolent and sardonic eyelids, were even more masterful than of yore.

And there was Challenger to meet us. He looked magnificent. None of the turkey cocks in the world could match his slow, high-stepping dignity as he paraded around his own railway station. Nor could they match the kindly, condescending smile of encouragement he gave everyone around him. If he had changed since the old days, it was only that his features had become more pronounced. His huge head and broad forehead, with its flattened lock of black hair, seemed even larger than before. His black beard swept forward in an even more impressive cascade. His clear gray eyes, with their insolent, mocking eyelids, looked even more commanding than they used to.

He gave me the amused hand-shake and encouraging smile which the head master bestows upon the small boy, and, having greeted the others and helped to collect their bags and their cylinders of oxygen, he stowed us and them away in a large motor-car which was driven by the same impassive Austin, the man of few words, whom I had seen in the character of butler upon the occasion of my first eventful visit to the Professor. Our journey led us up a winding hill through beautiful country. I sat in front with the chauffeur, but behind me my three comrades seemed to me to be all talking together. Lord John was still struggling with his buffalo story, so far as I could make out, while once again I heard, as of old, the deep rumble of Challenger and the insistent accents of Summerlee as their brains locked in high and fierce scientific debate. Suddenly Austin slanted his mahogany face toward me without taking his eyes from his steering-wheel.

He shook my hand with amusement and gave me an encouraging smile, like a headmaster greeting a small boy. He greeted the others and helped gather their bags and oxygen cylinders. Then he packed us and our belongings into a large car. It was driven by the same impassive Austin, a man of few words. I had seen him acting as butler on my first eventful visit to the Professor. We drove up a winding hill through beautiful countryside. I sat in front with the chauffeur, but behind me, my three companions all seemed to be talking at once. As far as I could tell, Lord John was still struggling to tell his buffalo story. Once again, I heard Challenger’s deep rumble and Summerlee’s insistent voice, as their minds clashed in fierce scientific debate. Suddenly, Austin turned his mahogany face toward me without taking his eyes off the steering wheel.

"I'm under notice," said he.

"I've been given notice," he said.

"Dear me!" said I.

"Oh my!" I said.

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

Everything seemed strange today. Everyone said odd, unexpected things. It was like a dream.

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

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

"When do you go?" I asked, for want of some better observation.

"When do you leave?" I asked, unable to think of anything better to say.

"I don't go," said Austin.

"I don't go," said Austin.

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

The conversation seemed to be over, but soon he returned to the subject.

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

"If I was to go, who would look after him?" He jerked his head toward his master. "Who would he get to serve him?"

"Someone else," I suggested lamely.

"Someone else," I suggested weakly.

"Not 'e. No one would stay a week. If I was to go, that 'ouse would run down like a watch with the mainspring out. I'm telling you because you're 'is friend, and you ought to know. If I was to 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."

"Not he. No one would stay a week. If I was to go, that house would run down like a watch with the mainspring out. I'm telling you because you're his friend, and you ought to know. If I was to take him at his word, but there, I wouldn't have the heart. He and the missus would be like two babies left out in a bundle. I'm just everything. And then he goes and gives me notice."

"Why would no one stay?" I asked.

"Why wouldn't anyone stay?" I asked.

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

"Well, they wouldn't make allowances, same as I do. The master is a very clever man. He's so clever that sometimes he's completely crazy. I've seen him out of his mind, no mistake. Well, look what he did this morning."

"What did he do?"

"What did he do?"

Austin bent over to me.

Austin leaned toward me.

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

"He bit the housekeeper," he said in a hoarse whisper.

"Bit her?"

"Bit her?"

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

"Yes, sir. Bit her on the leg. I saw her with my own eyes starting a marathon from the hall door."

"Good gracious!"

"Oh my goodness!"

"So you'd say, sir, if you could see some of the goings on. 'E don't make friends with the neighbors. There's some of them thinks that when 'e was up among those monsters you wrote about, it was just ''Ome, Sweet 'Ome' for the master, and 'e was never in fitter company. That's what they say. But I've served 'im ten years, 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 'e does try one cruel at times. Now look at that, sir. That ain't what you might call old-fashioned 'ospitality, is it now? Just you read it for yourself."

"So you'd say, sir, if you could see some of the things that go on. He don't make friends with the neighbors. Some of them think that when he was up among those monsters you wrote about, it was just 'Home, Sweet Home' for the master. They think he was never in better company. That's what they say. But I've served him ten years, and I'm fond of him. And, mind you, he's a great man, when all's said and done. It's an honor to serve him. But he does try one terribly at times. Now look at that, sir. That ain't what you might call old-fashioned hospitality, is it now? Just 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 a well-clipped hedge. As Austin said, it was not difficult to read, for the words were few and arresting:—

In its lowest gear, the car slowly climbed a steep, winding slope. At the corner, a sign peered over a neatly trimmed hedge. As Austin said, it was easy to read, because the words were few and striking:

"No, it's not what you might call 'earty," said Austin, shaking his head and glancing up at the deplorable placard. "It wouldn't look well in a Christmas card. I beg your pardon, sir, for I haven't spoke as much as this for many a long year, but to-day my feelings 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 the end of the chapter."

"No, it's not what you might call 'hearty'," said Austin, shaking his head and glancing up at the dreadful placard. "It wouldn't look good on a Christmas card. I beg your pardon, sir, for I haven't spoke this much in many a long year. But today my feelings seem to have got the better of me. He can sack me till he's blue in the face, but I ain't going, and that's final. I'm his man and he's my master, and so it will be, I expect, to the very end."

We had passed between the white posts of a gate and up a curving drive, lined with rhododendron bushes. Beyond stood a low brick house, picked out with white woodwork, very comfortable and pretty. Mrs. Challenger, a small, dainty, smiling figure, stood in the open doorway to welcome us.

We passed between the white gateposts and went up a curving drive lined with rhododendron bushes. Beyond them stood a low brick house with white woodwork. It was very comfortable and pretty. Mrs. Challenger, small, delicate, and smiling, stood in the open doorway to welcome us.

"Well, my dear," said Challenger, bustling out of the car, "here are 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 it would be there."

"Well, my dear," said Challenger, hurrying out of the car, "here are our visitors. It's unusual for us to have visitors, isn't it? We don't get along with our neighbors, do we? If they could put rat poison in our baker's cart, I expect they would."

"It's dreadful—dreadful!" cried the lady, between laughter and tears. "George is always quarreling with everyone. We haven't a friend on the countryside."

"It's awful, just awful!" cried the woman, laughing and crying at the same time. "George is always arguing with everyone. We don't have a single friend in the countryside."

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

"It lets me focus my attention on my incomparable wife," said Challenger, putting his short, thick arm around her waist. Picture a gorilla and a gazelle, and you have the two of them. "Come, come, these gentlemen are tired from the journey, and lunch should be ready. Has Sarah returned?"

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

The woman shook her head regretfully. The Professor laughed loudly and stroked his beard in his commanding way.

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

"Austin," he cried, "once you've put the car away, please help your mistress set the table for lunch. Now, gentlemen, please come into my study. I have one or two very urgent things I want to tell you."