ot to the keeping of
Mr. McArdle. Let me draw one last picture before I close the
notebook--a picture which is the last memory of the old country which I
bear away with me. It is a wet, foggy morning in the late spring; a
thin, cold rain is falling. Three shining mackintoshed figures are
walking down the quay, making for the gang-plank of the great liner
from which the blue-peter is flying. In front of them a porter pushes
a trolley piled high with trunks, wraps, and gun-cases. Professor
Summerlee, a long, melancholy figure, walks with dragging steps and
drooping head, as one who is already profoundly sorry for himself.
Lord John Roxton steps briskly, and his thin, eager face beams forth
between his hunting-cap and his muffler. As for myself, I am glad to
have got the bustling days of preparation and the pangs of leave-taking
behind me, and I have no doubt that I show it in my bearing. Suddenly,
just as we reach the vessel, there is a shout behind us. It is
Professor Challenger, who had promised to see us off. He runs after
us, a puffing, red-faced, irascible figure.

"No thank you," says he; "I should much prefer not to go aboard. I
have only a few words to say to you, and they can very well be said
where we are. I beg you not to imagine that I am in any way indebted
to you for making this journey. I would have you to understand that it
is a matter of perfect indifference to me, and I refuse to entertain
the most remote sense of personal obligation. Truth is truth, and
nothing which you can report can affect it in any way, though it may
excite the emotions and allay the curiosity of a number of very
ineffectual people. My directions for your instruction and guidance
are in this sealed envelope. You will open it when you reach a town
upon the Amazon which is called Manaos, but not until the date and hour
which is marked upon the outside. Have I made myself clear? I leave
the strict observance of my conditions entirely to your honor. No, Mr.
Malone, I will place no restriction upon your correspondence, since the
ventilation of the facts is the object of your journey; but I demand
that you shall give no particulars as to your exact destination, and
that nothing be actually published until your return. Good-bye, sir.
You have done something to mitigate my feelings for the loathsome
profession to which you unhappily belong. Good-bye, Lord John.
Science is, as I understand, a sealed book to you; but you m