Try your luck with professor challenger how beautiful

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: The Lost World

Chapter 2: «Try Your Luck with Professor Challenger»

I always liked McArdle, the crabbed, old, round-backed, red-headed news editor, and I rather hoped that he liked me. Of course, Beaumont was the real boss; but he lived in the rarefied atmosphere of some Olympian height from which he could distinguish nothing smaller than an international crisis or a split in the Cabinet. Sometimes we saw him passing in lonely majesty to his inner sanctum, with his eyes staring vaguely and his mind hovering over the Balkans or the Persian Gulf. He was above and beyond us. But McArdle was his first lieutenant, and it was he that we knew. The old man nodded as I entered the room, and he pushed his spectacles far up on his bald forehead.

«Well, Mr. Malone, from all I hear, you seem to be doing very well,» said he in his kindly Scotch accent.

«The colliery explosion was excellent. So was the Southwark fire. You have the true descreeptive touch. What did you want to see me about?»

He looked alarmed, and his eyes shunned mine. «Tut, tut! What is it?»

«Do you think, Sir, that you could possibly send me on some mission for the paper? I would do my best to put it through and get you some good copy.»

«What sort of meesion had you in your mind, Mr. Malone?»

«Well, Sir, anything that had adventure and danger in it. I really would do my very best. The more difficult it was, the better it would suit me.»

Try your luck with professor challenger how beautiful

Arthur Conan Doyle / Артур Конан Дойл

The Lost World / Затерянный мир

Адаптация текста, комментарии и словарь Д. В. Положенцевой

Иллюстрации И. Кульбицкой

© Д. В. Положенцева, адаптация текста, комментарии, словарь

There Are Heroisms All Round Us

Mr. Hungerton, her father, was the most tactless person on the earth, a good-natured man, but absolutely centered on himself. If anything could have driven me from Gladys, it would have been the thought of such a father-in-law. I am sure that he really believed that I came round to their house three days a week only for the pleasure of his company.

For an hour or more that evening I listened to his monotonous talk about money exchange and debts.

“Imagine,” he cried, “that all the debts in the world were to be paid at once… what would happen then?”

I answered that I should be a ruined man.[1] He jumped from his chair, complained that it was impossible for him to discuss any reasonable subject with me, and ran out of the room to dress for a Masonic meeting.[2]

At last I was alone with Gladys, and the moment of Fate had come! All that evening I had felt like the soldier who awaits the signal which will send him on a hope.

She sat against the red curtain. How beautiful she was! And yet how aloof! We had been friends, quite good friends; but never could I get beyond the same friendship which I might have had with one of my fellow-reporters upon the Gazette – a frank and kind friendship. My nature is all against a woman who is too frank with me. It is no compliment to a man. Where the real feeling begins, shyness and distrust are its companions. It is heritage from old days when love and violence went often hand in hand. The bent head, the sideward eye, the low voice… these, and not the straight gaze and frank reply, are the true signals of passion. Even in my short life I had learned it.

Gladys was full of womanly qualities. Some thought her to be cold and hard; but it was so untrue! That bronzed skin, that raven hair, the large eyes, the full lips… all the signs of passion were there. But I was sadly conscious[3] that up to now I had never found the secret how to conquer her. She could refuse me, but better be a refused lover than an accepted brother.

So I was about to break the silence,[4] when two critical, dark eyes looked at me. Gladys shook her head and smiled with reproof.[5]

“I have a feeling that you are going to propose, Ned. I wish you wouldn’t.”

“How did you know that I was going to propose?” I asked in wonder.

“Don’t women always know? But… Ned, our friendship has been so good and so pleasant! What a pity to spoil it! Don’t you think how splendid it is that a young man and a young woman should be able to talk face to face as we have talked?”

“I don’t know, Gladys. You see, I can talk face to face with anyone. So it does not satisfy me. I want my arms round you, and your head on my breast, and… oh, Gladys…”

“You’ve spoiled everything, Ned,” she said. “Why can’t you control yourself?[6]”

“I can’t. It’s nature. It’s love.”

“Well, I have never felt it.”

“But you must… you, with your beauty, with your soul! Oh, Gladys, you were made for love! You must love!”

“One must wait till it comes.”

“But why can’t you love me, Gladys? Is it my appearance, or what?”

“No it isn’t that,” she said with a smile. “It’s deeper.”

She nodded severely.

“What can I do, Gladys? Tell me, what’s wrong?”

“I’m in love with somebody else,” she said.

I jumped out of my chair.

“It’s nobody in particular,” she explained, laughing at the expression of my face: “only an ideal. I’ve never met the kind of man I mean.”

“Tell me about him. What does he look like?”

“Oh, he might look very much like you.”

“How dear of you to say that! Well, what is it that he does that I don’t do? Just say the word… non-drinking, vegetarian, pilot, theosophist, superman. I’ll have a try at it, Gladys, if you will tell me what would please you.”

She laughed at the flexibility of my character.

“Well, in the first place, I don’t think my ideal would speak like that,” said she. “He would be a harder man, not so ready to adapt himself to a girl. But, above all, he must be a man who could act, who could look Death in the face and have no fear of him, a man of great experiences. It is not a man that I should love, but the glories he had won because they would be reflected upon me!”

She looked so beautiful in her enthusiasm!

“But we don’t usually get the chance of great experiences… at least, I never had the chance. If I did, I should try to take it.”

“But chances are all around you. Remember that young Frenchman who went up last week in a balloon. The wind blew him fifteen hundred miles in twenty-four hours, and he fell in the middle of Russia. That was the kind of man I mean. Think of the woman he loved, and how other women must have envied her! That’s what I should like to be… envied for my man.”

“I’d have done it to please you.”

“But you shouldn’t do it just to please me. You should do it because you can’t help yourself,[7] because it’s natural to you. Now, when you described the Wigan coal explosion last month, could you not have gone down and helped those people?”

“You never said so.”

“There was nothing worth boasting of.”

“I didn’t know.” She looked at me with more interest. “That was brave of you.”

“I had to. If you want to write a good article, you must be where the things are.”

“What a prosaic motive! It seems to take all the romance out of it. But, still, I am glad that you went down that mine. I dare say I am a foolish woman with a young girl’s dreams. And yet it is so real with me, that I cannot help it. If I marry, I do want to marry a famous man!”

“Why should you not?” I cried. “Give me a chance, and see if I will take it! I’ll do something in the world!”

She laughed at my sudden Irish excitement.

“Why not?” she said. “You have everything a man could have… youth, health, strength, education, energy. Now I am glad if it wakens these thoughts in you!”

Her dear hand rested upon my lips.

“Not another word, Sir! You should have been at the office for evening duty half an hour ago. Some day, perhaps, when you have won your place in the world, we shall talk it over again.”

And so I left her with my heart glowing within me and with the eager determination to find some deed which was worthy of my lady. But who… who in all this world could ever have imagined this incredible deed I was about to take? Was it hardness, was it selfishness, that Gladys should ask me to risk my life for her own glorification? Such thoughts may come in middle age but never when you are twenty three and in the fever of your first love.

Try Your Luck With Professor Challenger

I always liked McArdle, the crabbed,[8] old, red-headed news editor, and I hoped that he liked me. Of course, Beaumont was the real boss but he was above and beyond us – we saw him very seldom. And McArdle was his first lieutenant. The old man nodded as I entered the room.

Try your luck with professor challenger how beautiful

Produced by Judith Boss. HTML version by Al Haines.

I have wrought my simple plan If I give one hour of joy To the boy who’s half a man, Or the man who’s half a boy.

SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

Mr. E. D. Malone desires to state that both the injunction for restraint and the libel action have been withdrawn unreservedly by Professor G. E. Challenger, who, being satisfied that no criticism or comment in this book is meant in an offensive spirit, has guaranteed that he will place no impediment to its publication and circulation.

I. «THERE ARE HEROISMS ALL ROUND US» II. «TRY YOUR LUCK WITH PROFESSOR CHALLENGER» III. «HE IS A PERFECTLY IMPOSSIBLE PERSON» IV. «IT’S JUST THE VERY BIGGEST THING IN THE WORLD» V. «QUESTION!» VI. «I WAS THE FLAIL OF THE LORD» VII. «TO-MORROW WE DISAPPEAR INTO THE UNKNOWN» VIII. «THE OUTLYING PICKETS OF THE NEW WORLD» IX. «WHO COULD HAVE FORESEEN IT?» X. «THE MOST WONDERFUL THINGS HAVE HAPPENED» XI. «FOR ONCE I WAS THE HERO» XII. «IT WAS DREADFUL IN THE FOREST» XIII. «A SIGHT I SHALL NEVER FORGET» XIV. «THOSE WERE THE REAL CONQUESTS» XV. «OUR EYES HAVE SEEN GREAT WONDERS» XVI. «A PROCESSION! A PROCESSION!»

«There Are Heroisms All Round Us»

Mr. Hungerton, her father, really was the most tactless person uponearth,—a fluffy, feathery, untidy cockatoo of a man, perfectlygood-natured, but absolutely centered upon his own silly self. Ifanything could have driven me from Gladys, it would have been thethought of such a father-in-law. I am convinced that he reallybelieved in his heart that I came round to the Chestnuts three days aweek for the pleasure of his company, and very especially to hear hisviews upon bimetallism, a subject upon which he was by way of being anauthority.

For an hour or more that evening I listened to his monotonous chirrupabout bad money driving out good, the token value of silver, thedepreciation of the rupee, and the true standards of exchange.

«Suppose,» he cried with feeble violence, «that all the debts in theworld were called up simultaneously, and immediate payment insistedupon,—what under our present conditions would happen then?»

I gave the self-evident answer that I should be a ruined man, uponwhich he jumped from his chair, reproved me for my habitual levity,which made it impossible for him to discuss any reasonable subject inmy presence, and bounced off out of the room to dress for a Masonicmeeting.

At last I was alone with Gladys, and the moment of Fate had come! Allthat evening I had felt like the soldier who awaits the signal whichwill send him on a forlorn hope; hope of victory and fear of repulsealternating in his mind.

Gladys was full of every womanly quality. Some judged her to be coldand hard; but such a thought was treason. That delicately bronzedskin, almost oriental in its coloring, that raven hair, the largeliquid eyes, the full but exquisite lips,—all the stigmata of passionwere there. But I was sadly conscious that up to now I had never foundthe secret of drawing it forth. However, come what might, I shouldhave done with suspense and bring matters to a head to-night. Shecould but refuse me, and better be a repulsed lover than an acceptedbrother.

So far my thoughts had carried me, and I was about to break the longand uneasy silence, when two critical, dark eyes looked round at me,and the proud head was shaken in smiling reproof. «I have apresentiment that you are going to propose, Ned. I do wish youwouldn’t; for things are so much nicer as they are.»

I drew my chair a little nearer. «Now, how did you know that I wasgoing to propose?» I asked in genuine wonder.

«Don’t women always know? Do you suppose any woman in the world wasever taken unawares? But—oh, Ned, our friendship has been so good andso pleasant! What a pity to spoil it! Don’t you feel how splendid itis that a young man and a young woman should be able to talk face toface as we have talked?»

«I don’t know, Gladys. You see, I can talk face to face with—with thestation-master.» I can’t imagine how that official came into thematter; but in he trotted, and set us both laughing. «That does notsatisfy me in the least. I want my arms round you, and your head on mybreast, and—oh, Gladys, I want—-«

She had sprung from her chair, as she saw signs that I proposed todemonstrate some of my wants. «You’ve spoiled everything, Ned,» shesaid. «It’s all so beautiful and natural until this kind of thingcomes in! It is such a pity! Why can’t you control yourself?»

«I didn’t invent it,» I pleaded. «It’s nature. It’s love.»

«Well, perhaps if both love, it may be different. I have never feltit.»

«But you must—you, with your beauty, with your soul! Oh, Gladys, youwere made for love! You must love!»

«One must wait till it comes.»

«But why can’t you love me, Gladys? Is it my appearance, or what?»

She did unbend a little. She put forward a hand—such a gracious,stooping attitude it was—and she pressed back my head. Then shelooked into my upturned face with a very wistful smile.

«No it isn’t that,» she said at last. «You’re not a conceited boy bynature, and so I can safely tell you it is not that. It’s deeper.»

She nodded severely.

«What can I do to mend it? Do sit down and talk it over. No, really,I won’t if you’ll only sit down!»

She looked at me with a wondering distrust which was much more to mymind than her whole-hearted confidence. How primitive and bestial itlooks when you put it down in black and white!—and perhaps after allit is only a feeling peculiar to myself. Anyhow, she sat down.

«Now tell me what’s amiss with me?»

«I’m in love with somebody else,» said she.

It was my turn to jump out of my chair.

«It’s nobody in particular,» she explained, laughing at the expressionof my face: «only an ideal. I’ve never met the kind of man I mean.»

«Tell me about him. What does he look like?»

«Oh, he might look very much like you.»

«How dear of you to say that! Well, what is it that he does that Idon’t do? Just say the word,—teetotal, vegetarian, aeronaut,theosophist, superman. I’ll have a try at it, Gladys, if you will onlygive me an idea what would please you.»

She laughed at the elasticity of my character. «Well, in the firstplace, I don’t think my ideal would speak like that,» said she. «Hewould be a harder, sterner man, not so ready to adapt himself to asilly girl’s whim. But, above a
ll, he must be a man who could do, whocould act, who could look Death in the face and have no fear of him, aman of great deeds and strange experiences. It is never a man that Ishould love, but always the glories he had won; for they would bereflected upon me. Think of Richard Burton! When I read his wife’slife of him I could so understand her love! And Lady Stanley! Did youever read the wonderful last chapter of that book about her husband?These are the sort of men that a woman could worship with all her soul,and yet be the greater, not the less, on account of her love, honoredby all the world as the inspirer of noble deeds.»

She looked so beautiful in her enthusiasm that I nearly brought downthe whole level of the interview. I gripped myself hard, and went onwith the argument.

«We can’t all be Stanleys and Burtons,» said I; «besides, we don’t getthe chance,—at least, I never had the chance. If I did, I should tryto take it.»

«But chances are all around you. It is the mark of the kind of man Imean that he makes his own chances. You can’t hold him back. I’venever met him, and yet I seem to know him so well. There are heroismsall round us waiting to be done. It’s for men to do them, and forwomen to reserve their love as a reward for such men. Look at thatyoung Frenchman who went up last week in a balloon. It was blowing agale of wind; but because he was announced to go he insisted onstarting. The wind blew him fifteen hundred miles in twenty-fourhours, and he fell in the middle of Russia. That was the kind of man Imean. Think of the woman he loved, and how other women must haveenvied her! That’s what I should like to be,—envied for my man.»

«I’d have done it to please you.»

«But you shouldn’t do it merely to please me. You should do it becauseyou can’t help yourself, because it’s natural to you, because the manin you is crying out for heroic expression. Now, when you describedthe Wigan coal explosion last month, could you not have gone down andhelped those people, in spite of the choke-damp?»

«You never said so.»

«There was nothing worth bucking about.»

«I didn’t know.» She looked at me with rather more interest. «Thatwas brave of you.»

«I had to. If you want to write good copy, you must be where thethings are.»

«What a prosaic motive! It seems to take all the romance out of it.But, still, whatever your motive, I am glad that you went down thatmine.» She gave me her hand; but with such sweetness and dignity thatI could only stoop and kiss it. «I dare say I am merely a foolishwoman with a young girl’s fancies. And yet it is so real with me, soentirely part of my very self, that I cannot help acting upon it. If Imarry, I do want to marry a famous man!»

«Why should you not?» I cried. «It is women like you who brace men up.Give me a chance, and see if I will take it! Besides, as you say, menought to MAKE their own chances, and not wait until they are given.Look at Clive—just a clerk, and he conquered India! By George! I’lldo something in the world yet!»

She laughed at my sudden Irish effervescence. «Why not?» she said.»You have everything a man could have,—youth, health, strength,education, energy. I was sorry you spoke. And now I am glad—soglad—if it wakens these thoughts in you!»

Her dear hand rested like warm velvet upon my lips. «Not another word,Sir! You should have been at the office for evening duty half an hourago; only I hadn’t the heart to remind you. Some day, perhaps, whenyou have won your place in the world, we shall talk it over again.»

And so it was that I found myself that foggy November evening pursuingthe Camberwell tram with my heart glowing within me, and with the eagerdetermination that not another day should elapse before I should findsome deed which was worthy of my lady. But who—who in all this wideworld could ever have imagined the incredible shape which that deed wasto take, or the strange steps by which I was led to the doing of it?

And, after all, this opening chapter will seem to the reader to havenothing to do with my narrative; and yet there would have been nonarrative without it, for it is only when a man goes out into the worldwith the thought that there are heroisms all round him, and with thedesire all alive in his heart to follow any which may come within sightof him, that he breaks away as I did from the life he knows, andventures forth into the wonderful mystic twilight land where lie thegreat adventures and the great rewards. Behold me, then, at the officeof the Daily Gazette, on the staff of which I was a most insignificantunit, with the settled determination that very night, if possible, tofind the quest which should be worthy of my Gladys! Was it hardness,was it selfishness, that she should ask me to risk my life for her ownglorification? Such thoughts may come to middle age; but never toardent three-and-twenty in the fever of his first love.

The Lost World/Chapter II

«Try your Luck with Professor Challenger.»

I always liked McArdle, the crabbed old, round-backed, red-headed news editor, and I rather hoped that he liked me. Of course, Beaumont was the real boss, but he lived in the rarefied atmosphere of some Olympian height from which he could distinguish nothing smaller than an international crisis or a split in the Cabinet. Sometimes we saw him passing in lonely majesty to his inner sanctum, with his eyes staring vaguely and his mind hovering over the Balkans or the Persian Gulf. He was above and beyond us. But McArdle was his first lieutenant, and it was he that we knew. The old man nodded as I entered the room, and he pushed his spectacles far up on his bald forehead.

«Well, Mr. Malone, from all I hear, you seem to be doing very well,» said he in his kindly Scotch accent.

«The colliery explosion was excellent. So was the Southwark fire. You have the true descreeptive touch. What did you want to see me about?»

​ He looked alarmed and his eyes shunned mine.

«Tut! tut! What is it?»

«Do you think, sir, that you could possibly send me on some mission for the paper? I would do my best to put it through and get you some good copy.»

«What sort of meesion had you in your mind, Mr. Malone?»

«Well, sir, anything that had adventure and danger in it. I would really do my very best. The more difficult it was the better it would suit me.»

«You seem very anxious to lose your life.»

«To justify my life, sir.»

«Dear me, Mr. Malone, this is very—very exalted. I’m afraid the day for this sort of thing is rather past. The expense of the ‘special meesion’ business hardly justifies the result, and, of course, in any case it would only be an experienced man with a name that would command public confidence who would get such an order. The big blank spaces in the map are all being filled in, and there’s no room for romance anywhere. Wait a bit, though!» he added, with a sudden smile upon his face. «Talking of the blank spaces of the map gives me an idea. What about exposing a fraud—a modern Munchausen—and making him rideeculous? You could show him up as the liar that he is! Eh, man, it would be fine. How does it appeal to you?»

«Anything—anywhere—I care nothing.»

McArdle was plunged in thought for some minutes.

«I wonder whether you could get on friendly—or ​ at least on talking terms with the fellow,» he said, at last. «You seem to have a sort of genius for establishing relations with people—seempathy, I suppose, or animal magnetism, or youthful vitality, or something. I am conscious of it myself.»

«You are very good, sir.»

«So why should you not try your luck with Professor Challenger, of Enmore Park?»

I dare say I looked a little startled.

«Challenger!» I cried. «Professor Challenger, the famous zoologist! Wasn’t he the man who broke the skull of Blundell, of the Telegraph?»

The news editor smiled grimly.

«Do you mind? Didn’t you say it was adventures you were after?»

«It is all in the way of business, sir,» I answered.

«Exactly. I don’t suppose he can always be so violent as that. I’m thinking that Blundell got him at the wrong moment, maybe, or in the wrong fashion. You may have better luck, or more tact in handling him. There’s something in your line there, I am sure, and the Gazette should work it.»

«I really know nothing about him,» said I. «I only remember his name in connection with the police-court proceedings, for striking Blundell.»

«I have a few notes for your guidance, Mr. Malone. I’ve had my eye on the Professor for some little time.» He took a paper from a drawer. «Here is a summary of his record. I give it you briefly:—

«‘Challenger, George Edward. Born: Largs, ​ N.B., 1863. Educ.: Largs Academy; Edinburgh University. British Museum Assistant, 1892. Assistant-Keeper of Comparative Anthropology Department, 1893. Resigned after acrimonious correspondence same year. Winner of Crayston Medal for Zoological Research. Foreign Member of’—well, quite a lot of things, about two inches of small type—’Société Belge, American Academy of Sciences, La Plata, etc., etc. Ex-President Palæontological Society. Section H, British Association’—so on, so on!— ‘ Publications: «Some Observations Upon a Series of Kalmuck Skulls»; «Outlines of Vertebrate Evolution»; and numerous papers, including «The underlying fallacy of Weissmannism,» which caused heated discussion at the Zoological Congress of Vienna. Recreations: Walking, Alpine climbing. Address: Enmore Park, Kensington, W.’

«There, take it with you. I’ve nothing more for you to-night.»

I pocketed the slip of paper.

«One moment, sir,» I said, as I realized that it was a pink bald head, and not a red face, which was fronting me. «I am not very clear yet why I am to interview this gentleman. What has he done?»

The face flashed back again.

«Went to South America on a solitary expedeetion two years ago. Came back last year. Had undoubtedly been to South America, but refused to say exactly where. Began to tell his adventures in a vague way, but somebody started to pick holes, and he just shut ​ up like an oyster. Something wonderful happened—or the man’s a champion liar, which is the more probable supposeetion. Had some damaged photographs, said to be fakes. Got so touchy that he assaults anyone who asks questions, and heaves reporters doun the stairs. In my opinion he’s just a homicidal megalomaniac with a turn for science. That’s your man, Mr. Malone. Now, off you run, and see what you can make of him. You’re big enough to look after yourself. Anyway, you are all safe. Employers’ Liability Act, you know.»

A grinning red face turned once more into a pink oval, fringed with gingery fluff; the interview was at an end.

I walked across to the Savage Club, but instead of turning into it I leaned upon the railings of Adelphi Terrace and gazed thoughtfully for a long time at the brown, oily river. I can always think most sanely and clearly in the open air. I took out the list of Professor Challenger’s exploits, and I read it over under the electric lamp. Then I had what I can only regard as an inspiration. As a Pressman, I felt sure from what I had been told that I could never hope to get into touch with this cantankerous Professor. But these recriminations, twice mentioned in his skeleton biography, could only mean that he was a fanatic in science. Was there not an exposed margin there upon which he might be accessible? I would try.

I entered the club. It was just after eleven, and ​ the big room was fairly full, though the rush had not yet set in. I noticed a tall, thin, angular man seated in an arm-chair by the fire. He turned as I drew my chair up to him. It was the man of all others whom I should have chosen—Tarp Henry, of the staff of Nature, a thin, dry, leathery creature, who was full, to those who knew him, of kindly humanity. I plunged instantly into my subject.

«What do you know of Professor Challenger?»

«Challenger?» He gathered his brows in scientific disapproval. «Challenger was the man who came with some cock-and-bull story from South America.»

«Oh, it was rank nonsense about some queer animals he had discovered. I believe he has retracted since. Anyhow, he has suppressed it all. He gave an interview to Reuter’s, and there was such a howl that he saw it wouldn’t do. It was a discreditable business. There were one or two folk who were inclined to take him seriously, but he soon choked them off.»

«Well, by his insufferable rudeness and impossible behaviour. There was poor old Wadley, of the Zoological Institute. Wadley sent a message: ‘The President of the Zoological Institute presents his compliments to Professor Challenger, and would take it as a personal favor if he would do them the honor to come to their next meeting.’ The answer was unprintable.»

«Well, a bowdlerized version of it would run: ‘Professor Challenger presents his compliments to the President of the Zoological Institute, and would take it as a personal favour if he would go to the devil.'»

«Yes, I expect that’s what old Wadley said. I remember his wail at the meeting, which began: ‘In fifty years experience of scientific intercourse ——— ‘ It quite broke the old man up.»

«Anything more about Challenger?»

«Well, I’m a bacteriologist, you know. I live in a nine-hundred-diameter microscope. I can hardly claim to take serious notice of anything that I can see with my naked eye. I’m a frontiersman from the extreme edge of the Knowable, and I feel quite out of place when I leave my study and come into touch with all you great, rough, hulking creatures. I’m too detached to talk scandal, and yet at scientific conversaziones I have heard something of Challenger, for he is one of those men whom nobody can ignore. He’s as clever as they make ’em—a full-charged battery of force and vitality, but a quarrelsome, ill-conditioned faddist, and unscrupulous at that. He had gone the length of faking some photographs over the South American business.»

«You say he is a faddist. What is his particular fad?»

«He has a thousand, but the latest is something ​ about Weissmann and Evolution. He had a fearful row about it in Vienna, I believe.»

«Can’t you tell me the point?»

«Not at the moment, but a translation of the proceedings exists. We have it filed at the office. Would you care to come?»

«It’s just what I want. I have to interview the fellow, and I need some lead up to him. It’s really awfully good of you to give me a lift. I’ll go with you now, if it is not too late.»

Half an hour later I was seated in the newspaper office with a huge tome in front of me, which had been opened at the article «Weissmann versus Darwin,» with the sub heading, «Spirited Protest at Vienna. Lively Proceedings.» My scientific education having been somewhat neglected, I was unable to follow the whole argument, but it was evident that the English Professor had handled his subject in a very aggressive fashion, and had thoroughly annoyed his Continental colleagues. «Protests,» «Uproar,» and «General appeal to the Chairman» were three of the first brackets which caught my eye. Most of the matter might have been written in Chinese for any definite meaning that it conveyed to my brain.

«I wish you could translate it into English for me,» I said, pathetically, to my help-mate.

«Well, it is a translation.»

«Then I’d better try my luck with the original.»

«It is certainly rather deep for a layman.»

​ «If I could only get a single good, meaty sentence which seemed to convey some sort of definite human idea, it would serve my turn. Ah, yes, this one will do. I seem in a vague way almost to understand it. I’ll copy it out. This shall be my link with the terrible Professor.»

«Nothing else I can do?»

«Well, yes; I propose to write to him. If I could frame the letter here, and use your address, it would give atmosphere.»

«We’ll have the fellow round here making a row and breaking the furniture.»

«No, no; you’ll see the letter—nothing contentious, I assure you.»

«Well, that’s my chair and desk. You’ll find paper there. I’d like to censor it before it goes.»

It took some doing, but I flatter myself that it wasn’t such a bad job when it was finished. I read it aloud to the critical bacteriologist with some pride in my handiwork.

«You infernal liar!» murmured Tarp Henry.

«I remain, Sir, with assurances of profound respect,yours very truly,

«Edward D. Malone.»

«How’s that?» I asked, triumphantly.

«Well, if your conscience can stand it———»

«It has never failed me yet.»

«But what do you mean to do?»

«To get there. Once I am in his room I may see some opening. I may even go the length of open confession. If he is a sportsman he will be tickled.»

«Tickled, indeed! He’s much more likely to do the tickling. Chain mail, or an American football suit—that’s what you’ll want. Well, good-bye. I’ll have the answer for you here on Wednesday morning—if he ever deigns to answer you. He is a violent, ​ dangerous, cantankerous character, hated by everyone who comes across him, and the butt of the students, so far as they dare take a liberty with him. Perhaps it would be best for you if you never heard from the fellow at all.»

I always liked McArdle, the crabbed, old, round-backed, red-headed news editor, and I rather hoped that he liked me. Of course, Beaumont was the real boss; but he lived in the rarefied atmosphere of some Olympian height from which he could distinguish nothing smaller than an international crisis or a split in the Cabinet. Sometimes we saw him passing in lonely majesty to his inner sanctum, with his eyes staring vaguely and his mind hovering over the Balkans or the Persian Gulf. He was above and beyond us. But McArdle was his first lieutenant, and it was he that we knew. The old man nodded as I entered the room, and he pushed his spectacles far up on his bald forehead.

«Well, Mr. Malone, from all I hear, you seem to be doing very well,» said he in his kindly Scotch accent.

«The colliery explosion was excellent. So was the Southwark fire. You have the true descreeptive touch. What did you want to see me about?»

He looked alarmed, and his eyes shunned mine. «Tut, tut! What is it?»

«Do you think, Sir, that you could possibly send me on some mission for the paper? I would do my best to put it through and get you some good copy.»

«What sort of meesion had you in your mind, Mr. Malone?»

«Well, Sir, anything that had adventure and danger in it. I really would do my very best. The more difficult it was, the better it would suit me.»

«You seem very anxious to lose your life.»

«To justify my life, Sir.»

«Dear me, Mr. Malone, this is very—very exalted. I’m afraid the day for this sort of thing is rather past. The expense of the `special meesion’ business hardly justifies the result, and, of course, in any case it would only be an experienced man with a name that would command public confidence who would get such an order. The big blank spaces in the map are all being filled in, and there’s no room for romance anywhere. Wait a bit, though!» he added, with a sudden smile upon his face. «Talking of the blank spaces of the map gives me an idea. What about exposing a fraud—a modern Munchausen—and making him rideeculous? You could show him up as the liar that he is! Eh, man, it would be fine. How does it appeal to you?»

«Anything—anywhere—I care nothing.»

McArdle was plunged in thought for some minutes.

«I wonder whether you could get on friendly—or at least on talking terms with the fellow,» he said, at last. «You seem to have a sort of genius for establishing relations with people—seempathy, I suppose, or animal magnetism, or youthful vitality, or something. I am conscious of it myself.»

«You are very good, sir.»

«So why should you not try your luck with Professor Challenger, of Enmore Park?»

I dare say I looked a little startled.

«Challenger!» I cried. «Professor Challenger, the famous zoologist! Wasn’t he the man who broke the skull of Blundell, of the Telegraph?»

The news editor smiled grimly.

«Do you mind? Didn’t you say it was adventures you were after?»

«It is all in the way of business, sir,» I answered.

«Exactly. I don’t suppose he can always be so violent as that. I’m thinking that Blundell got him at the wrong moment, maybe, or in the wrong fashion. You may have better luck, or more tact in handling him. There’s something in your line there, I am sure, and the Gazette should work it.»

«I really know nothing about him,» said I. «I only remember his name in connection with the police-court proceedings, for striking Blundell.»

«I have a few notes for your guidance, Mr. Malone. I’ve had my eye on the Professor for some little time.» He took a paper from a drawer. «Here is a summary of his record. I give it you briefly:—

«`Challenger, George Edward. Born: Largs, N. B., 1863. Educ.: Largs Academy; Edinburgh University. British Museum Assistant, 1892. Assistant-Keeper of Comparative Anthropology Department, 1893. Resigned after acrimonious correspondence same year. Winner of Crayston Medal for Zoological Research. Foreign Member of’—well, quite a lot of things, about two inches of small type—`Societe Belge, American Academy of Sciences, La Plata, etc., etc. Ex-President Palaeontological Society. Section H, British Association’—so on, so on!—`Publications: «Some Observations Upon a Series of Kalmuck Skulls»; «Outlines of Vertebrate Evolution»; and numerous papers, including «The underlying fallacy of Weissmannism,» which caused heated discussion at the Zoological Congress of Vienna. Recreations: Walking, Alpine climbing. Address: Enmore Park, Kensington, W.’

«There, take it with you. I’ve nothing more for you to-night.»

I pocketed the slip of paper.

«One moment, sir,» I said, as I realized that it was a pink bald head, and not a red face, which was fronting me. «I am not very clear yet why I am to interview this gentleman. What has he done?»

The face flashed back again.

«Went to South America on a solitary expedition two years ago. Came back last year. Had undoubtedly been to South America, but refused to say exactly where. Began to tell his adventures in a vague way, but somebody started to pick holes, and he just shut up like an oyster. Something wonderful happened—or the man’s a champion liar, which is the more probable supposeetion. Had some damaged photographs, said to be fakes. Got so touchy that he assaults anyone who asks questions, and heaves reporters doun the stairs. In my opinion he’s just a homicidal megalomaniac with a turn for science. That’s your man, Mr. Malone. Now, off you run, and see what you can make of him. You’re big enough to look after yourself. Anyway, you are all safe. Employers’ Liability Act, you know.»

A grinning red face turned once more into a pink oval, fringed with gingery fluff; the interview was at an end.

I walked across to the Savage Club, but instead of turning into it I leaned upon the railings of Adelphi Terrace and gazed thoughtfully for a long time at the brown, oily river. I can always think most sanely and clearly in the open air. I took out the list of Professor Challenger’s exploits, and I read it over under the electric lamp. Then I had what I can only regard as an inspiration. As a Pressman, I felt sure from what I had been told that I could never hope to get into touch with this cantankerous Professor. But these recriminations, twice mentioned in his skeleton biography, could only mean that he was a fanatic in science. Was there not an exposed margin there upon which he might be accessible? I would try.

I entered the club. It was just after eleven, and the big room was fairly full, though the rush had not yet set in. I noticed a tall, thin, angular man seated in an arm-chair by the fire. He turned as I drew my chair up to him. It was the man of all others whom I should have chosen—Tarp Henry, of the staff of Nature, a thin, dry, leathery creature, who was full, to those who knew him, of kindly humanity. I plunged instantly into my subject.

«What do you know of Professor Challenger?»

«Challenger?» He gathered his brows in scientific disapproval. «Challenger was the man who came with some cock-and-bull story from South America.»

«Oh, it was rank nonsense about some queer animals he had discovered. I believe he has retracted since. Anyhow, he has suppressed it all. He gave an interview to Reuter’s, and there was such a howl that he saw it wouldn’t do. It was a discreditable business. There were one or two folk who were inclined to take him seriously, but he soon choked them off.»

«Well, by his insufferable rudeness and impossible behavior. There was poor old Wadley, of the Zoological Institute. Wadley sent a message: `The President of the Zoological Institute presents his compliments to Professor Challenger, and would take it as a personal favor if he would do them the honor to come to their next meeting.’ The answer was unprintable.»

«Well, a bowdlerized version of it would run: `Professor Challenger presents his compliments to the President of the Zoological Institute, and would take it as a personal favor if he would go to the devil.'»

«Yes, I expect that’s what old Wadley said. I remember his wail at the meeting, which began: `In fifty years experience of scientific intercourse—-‘ It quite broke the old man up.»

«Anything more about Challenger?»

«Well, I’m a bacteriologist, you know. I live in a nine-hundred-diameter microscope. I can hardly claim to take serious notice of anything that I can see with my naked eye. I’m a frontiersman from the extreme edge of the Knowable, and I feel quite out of place when I leave my study and come into touch with all you great, rough, hulking creatures. I’m too detached to talk scandal, and yet at scientific conversaziones I HAVE heard something of Challenger, for he is one of those men whom nobody can ignore. He’s as clever as they make ’em—a full-charged battery of force and vitality, but a quarrelsome, ill-conditioned faddist, and unscrupulous at that. He had gone the length of faking some photographs over the South American business.»

«You say he is a faddist. What is his particular fad?»

«He has a thousand, but the latest is something about Weissmann and Evolution. He had a fearful row about it in Vienna, I believe.»

«Can’t you tell me the point?»

«Not at the moment, but a translation of the proceedings exists. We have it filed at the office. Would you care to come?»

«It’s just what I want. I have to interview the fellow, and I need some lead up to him. It’s really awfully good of you to give me a lift. I’ll go with you now, if it is not too late.»

Half an hour later I was seated in the newspaper office with a huge tome in front of me, which had been opened at the article «Weissmann versus Darwin,» with the sub heading, «Spirited Protest at Vienna. Lively Proceedings.» My scientific education having been somewhat neglected, I was unable to follow the whole argument, but it was evident that the English Professor had handled his subject in a very aggressive fashion, and had thoroughly annoyed his Continental colleagues. «Protests,» «Uproar,» and «General appeal to the Chairman» were three of the first brackets which caught my eye. Most of the matter might have been written in Chinese for any definite meaning that it conveyed to my brain.

«I wish you could translate it into English for me,» I said, pathetically, to my help-mate.

«Well, it is a translation.»

«Then I’d better try my luck with the original.»

«It is certainly rather deep for a layman.»

«If I could only get a single good, meaty sentence which seemed to convey some sort of definite human idea, it would serve my turn. Ah, yes, this one will do. I seem in a vague way almost to understand it. I’ll copy it out. This shall be my link with the terrible Professor.»

«Nothing else I can do?»

«Well, yes; I propose to write to him. If I could frame the letter here, and use your address it would give atmosphere.»

«We’ll have the fellow round here making a row and breaking the furniture.»

«No, no; you’ll see the letter—nothing contentious, I assure you.»

«Well, that’s my chair and desk. You’ll find paper there. I’d like to censor it before it goes.»

It took some doing, but I flatter myself that it wasn’t such a bad job when it was finished. I read it aloud to the critical bacteriologist with some pride in my handiwork.

«DEAR PROFESSOR CHALLENGER,» it said, «As a humble student of Nature, I have always taken the most profound interest in your speculations as to the differences between Darwin and Weissmann. I have recently had occasion to refresh my memory by re-reading—-«

«You infernal liar!» murmured Tarp Henry.

—«by re-reading your masterly address at Vienna. That lucid and admirable statement seems to be the last word in the matter. There is one sentence in it, however—namely: `I protest strongly against the insufferable and entirely dogmatic assertion that each separate id is a microcosm possessed of an historical architecture elaborated slowly through the series of generations.’ Have you no desire, in view of later research, to modify this statement? Do you not think that it is over-accentuated? With your permission, I would ask the favor of an interview, as I feel strongly upon the subject, and have certain suggestions which I could only elaborate in a personal conversation. With your consent, I trust to have the honor of calling at eleven o’clock the day after to-morrow (Wednesday) morning.

«I remain, Sir, with assurances of profound respect, yours very truly, EDWARD D. MALONE.»

«How’s that?» I asked, triumphantly.

«Well if your conscience can stand it—-«

«It has never failed me yet.»

«But what do you mean to do?»

«To get there. Once I am in his room I may see some opening. I may even go the length of open confession. If he is a sportsman he will be tickled.»

«Tickled, indeed! He’s much more likely to do the tickling. Chain mail, or an American football suit—that’s what you’ll want. Well, good-bye. I’ll have the answer for you here on Wednesday morning—if he ever deigns to answer you. He is a violent, dangerous, cantankerous character, hated by everyone who comes across him, and the butt of the students, so far as they dare take a liberty with him. Perhaps it would be best for you if you never heard from the fellow at all.»