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 humble4 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, inevitable5 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.
It was upon Friday, the twenty-seventh of August — a date forever memorable6 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 dwindling7 fringe of ruddy fluff, and finally put his reluctance8 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 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 ——”
“Well, I don’t see that you can.”
It was bitter, but I had to put the best face I could upon it. After all, it was my own fault, for I should have known by this time 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?”
“Well, it was just to interview that deevil of a man down at Rotherfield.”
“You don’t mean Professor Challenger?” I cried.
“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 alligator9 in the zoo. But you could do it, I’m thinking — an old friend like you.”
“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.”
“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!”
“Get what out of him?” I asked. “What has he been doing?”
“Haven’t you seen his letter on ‘Scientific Possibeelities’ in today’s Times?”
“No.”
McArdle dived down and picked a copy from the floor.
“Read it aloud,” said he, indicating a column with his finger. “I’d be glad to hear it again, for I am not sure now that I have the man’s meaning clear in my head.”
This was the letter which I read to the news editor of the Gazette:—
“SCIENTIFIC POSSIBILITIES”
“Sir,— I have read with amusement, not wholly unmixed with some less complimentary10 emotion, the complacent11 and wholly fatuous12 letter of James Wilson MacPhail which has lately appeared in your columns upon the subject of the blurring13 of Fraunhofer’s lines in the spectra14 both of the planets and of the fixed15 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 condescend16 to their limitation and to indicate the situation by the use of a homely17 analogy which will be within the limits of the intelligence of your readers.”
“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.”
“We will suppose,” I read, “that a small bundle of connected corks18 was launched in a sluggish19 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 sentient20 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 entangled21 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?
“Your readers will possibly comprehend that the Atlantic, in this parable22, stands for the mighty23 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 insignificant24 satellites, we float under the same daily conditions towards some unknown end, some squalid catastrophe25 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.”
“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.”
“The general blurring and shifting of Fraunhofer’s lines of the spectrum26 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 simultaneously27 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 infinitely28 fine ether which extends from star to star and pervades29 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 disturbance30 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 possessed31 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 indigenous32 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 dense33 to perceive that it is well within the bounds of scientific possibility.
“Yours faithfully,
“GEORGE EDWARD CHALLENGER.
“THE BRIARS, ROTHERFIELD.”
“It’s a fine, steemulating letter,” said McArdle thoughtfully, fitting a cigarette into the long glass tube which he used as a holder34. “What’s your opeenion 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 spectral35 bands which bear a general resemblance to the hat-ribbons of some young and ambitious cricket club. He pointed36 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 indigo37 to the 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 blurred38 instead of clear this last week, and all the astronomers39 have been quarreling over the reason. Here’s a photograph of the blurred lines for our issue tomorrow. 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.”
“And this about 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 today 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.”
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 lodgings40 at Streatham. The message was from the very man we had been discussing, and ran thus:—
Malone, 17, Hill Street, Streatham.— Bring oxygen.— Challenger.
“Bring oxygen!” The Professor, as I remembered him, had 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 gaping41 mouth and wagging beard, supremely42 indifferent to the gravity of all around him? I turned the words over, but could make nothing even remotely jocose43 out of them. Then surely it was a concise44 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 ascertained45 the address from the telephone book, I made for the Oxygen Tube Supply Company in Oxford46 Street.
As I alighted on the pavement at my destination, two youths emerged from the door of the establishment carrying an iron cylinder47, which, with some trouble, they hoisted48 into a waiting motor-car. An elderly man was at their heels scolding and directing in a creaky, sardonic49 voice. He turned towards me. There was no mistaking those austere50 features and that goatee beard. It was my old cross-grained companion, Professor Summerlee.
“What!” he cried. “Don’t tell me that you have had one of these preposterous51 telegrams for oxygen?”
I exhibited 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?”
I could only suggest that he probably wanted it at once.
“Or thought he did, which is quite another matter. But it is superfluous52 now for you to purchase any, since I have this considerable 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.”
Accordingly, in spite of many grumbles53 and remonstrances55 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.
I turned away to pay off my taxi, the driver of which was very cantankerous56 and abusive over his fare. As I came back to Professor Summerlee, he was having a furious altercation57 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 bleached58 cockatoo,” which so enraged59 his chauffeur60 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.
These little things may seem trivial to relate, and passed as mere61 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.
The chauffeur must, as it seemed to me, have been a novice62 or else have lost his nerve in this disturbance, for he drove vilely63 on the way to the station. Twice we nearly had collisions with other equally erratic64 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 petulant65 manner that his own patience had got to a low ebb66.
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 furrows67 upon his brow had been cut a little deeper by Time’s chisel68, but in all else he was the Lord John who had been our good comrade in the past.
“Hullo, Herr Professor! Hullo, young fella!” he shouted as he came toward us.
He roared with amusement when he saw the oxygen cylinders69 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?”
“Have you seen his letter in the Times?” I asked.
“What was it?”
“Stuff and nonsense!” said Summerlee harshly.
“Well, it’s at the bottom of this oxygen business, or I am mistaken,” said I.
“Stuff and nonsense!” cried Summerlee again with quite unnecessary violence. We had all got into a first-class smoker70, and he had already lit the short and charred71 old briar pipe which seemed to singe72 the end of his long, aggressive nose.
“Friend Challenger is a clever man,” said he with great vehemence73. “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 charlatan74 — 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?”
He sat like an old white raven75, croaking76 and shaking with sardonic 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.
“You had a scrap77 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.”
“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.”
“Well said, young fellah-my-lad,” said Lord John Roxton. Then, with a kindly78 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.”
But Summerlee was in no humour for compromise. His face was screwed up in rigid79 disapproval80, and thick curls of angry smoke rolled up 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 judgment81, 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 snob82 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 folly83. Is it not evident that if the ether were affected84 to the degree which he maintains, and if it were obnoxious85 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 evasion86! I pin you to an answer!”
I felt more and more angry. There was something very irritating and aggressive in Summerlee’s demeanour.
“I think that if you knew more about the facts you might be less positive in your opinion,” said I.
Summerlee took his pipe from his mouth and fixed me with a stony87 stare.
“Pray what do you mean, sir, by that somewhat impertinent observation?”
“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.”
“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 layman88. 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 appreciable89 effect upon us whatever? Personally, I can truly say that I never felt stronger in body or better balanced in mind in my life.”
“That may be. I don’t profess3 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.”
“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 incapable90 of reason. I had as soon lay arguments before 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 severely91.
“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?”
“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.”
Summerlee thrust out his chin, with its little wagging tuft of goatee beard.
“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 coxcomb92 — yes, sir, an ignorant coxcomb, 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, adventurous93 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 sobbing94 — sobbing in loud, gulping95, uncontrollable sobs96 which refused to be concealed97. 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!”
“You’re ill, young fellah, that’s what’s amiss with you,” said Lord John. “I thought you were queer from the first.”
“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 purely98 alcoholic99. The man has been drinking. By the way, Lord John, I called you a coxcomb just now, which was perhaps unduly100 severe. But the word reminds me of a small accomplishment101, 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?”
“No, sir,” said Lord John, who was still greatly 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?”
“No, sir, no — certainly not.”
But in spite of this earnest prohibition102, 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 boisterous103 laughter, which must have become quite hysterical104 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 margin105 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 extraordinarily106 clever and amusing.
Whilst this was going on, Lord John leaned forward and told me some interminable story about a buffalo107 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 climax108 of his story, when the train drew up at Jarvis Brook109, which had been given us as the station 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 condescending110 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 accentuated111. 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 cascade112, and his clear grey eyes, with their insolent113 and sardonic eyelids114, were even more masterful than of yore.
He gave me the amused hand-shake and encouraging smile which the head master bestows115 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 winding116 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 rumble54 of Challenger and the insistent117 accents of Summerlee as their brains locked in high and fierce scientific debate. Suddenly Austin slanted118 his mahogany face toward me without taking his eyes from his steering-wheel.
“I’m under notice,” said he.
“Dear me!” said I.
Everything seemed strange today. Everyone said queer, unexpected things. It was like a dream.
“It’s forty-seven times,” said Austin reflectively.
“When do you go?” I asked, for want of some better observation. “I don’t go,” said Austin.
The conversation seemed to have ended there, but presently he came back to it.
“If I was to go, who would look after ’im?” He jerked his head toward his master. “Who would ‘e get to serve ’im?”
“Someone else,” I suggested lamely119.
“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.”
“Why would no one 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.”
“What did he do?”
Austin bent120 over to me.
“‘E bit the ‘ousekeeper,” said he in a hoarse121 whisper.
“Bit her?”
“Yes, sir. Bit ‘er on the leg. I saw ‘er with my own eyes startin’ a marathon from the ‘all-door.”
“Good gracious!”
“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.”
The car on its lowest speed had ground its way up a steep, curving ascent122. 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:—
WARNING.
Visitors, Pressmen, and Mendicants
are not encouraged.
G. E. CHALLENGER.
“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 spoke123 as much as this for many a long year, but today 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.”
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 doorway124 to welcome us.
“Well, my dear,” said Challenger, bustling125 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.”
“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 enables me to concentrate my attention upon my incomparable wife,” said Challenger, passing his short, thick arm round her waist. Picture a gorilla126 and a gazelle, and you have the pair of them. “Come, come, these gentlemen are tired from the journey, and luncheon127 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.
“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.”
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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6
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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7
dwindling
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| adj.逐渐减少的v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的现在分词 ) | |
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8
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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9
alligator
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| n.短吻鳄(一种鳄鱼) | |
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10
complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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12
fatuous
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| adj.愚昧的；昏庸的 | |
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13
blurring
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| n.模糊，斑点甚多，（图像的）混乱v.（使）变模糊( blur的现在分词 )；（使）难以区分 | |
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14
spectra
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| n.光谱 | |
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15
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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16
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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17
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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18
corks
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| n.脐梅衣；软木( cork的名词复数 )；软木塞 | |
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19
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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20
sentient
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| adj.有知觉的，知悉的；adv.有感觉能力地 | |
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21
entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22
parable
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| n.寓言，比喻 | |
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23
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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24
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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25
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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26
spectrum
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| n.谱，光谱，频谱；范围，幅度，系列 | |
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27
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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28
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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29
pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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30
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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31
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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32
indigenous
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| adj.土产的，土生土长的，本地的 | |
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33
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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34
holder
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| n.持有者，占有者；(台，架等)支持物 | |
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35
spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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36
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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37
indigo
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| n.靛青，靛蓝 | |
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38
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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39
astronomers
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| n.天文学者，天文学家( astronomer的名词复数 ) | |
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40
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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41
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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42
supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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43
jocose
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| adj.开玩笑的，滑稽的 | |
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44
concise
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| adj.简洁的，简明的 | |
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45
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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47
cylinder
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| n.圆筒，柱(面)，汽缸 | |
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48
hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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50
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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51
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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52
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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53
grumbles
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| 抱怨( grumble的第三人称单数 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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54
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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55
remonstrances
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| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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56
cantankerous
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| adj.爱争吵的，脾气不好的 | |
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57
altercation
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| n.争吵，争论 | |
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58
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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59
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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60
chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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61
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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62
novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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63
vilely
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| adv.讨厌地，卑劣地 | |
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64
erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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65
petulant
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| adj.性急的，暴躁的 | |
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66
ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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67
furrows
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| n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 )；（脸上的）皱纹v.犁田，开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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68
chisel
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| n.凿子；v.用凿子刻，雕，凿 | |
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69
cylinders
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| n.圆筒( cylinder的名词复数 )；圆柱；汽缸；（尤指用作容器的）圆筒状物 | |
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70
smoker
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| n.吸烟者，吸烟车厢，吸烟室 | |
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71
charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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72
singe
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| v.(轻微地)烧焦；烫焦；烤焦 | |
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73
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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74
charlatan
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| n.骗子；江湖医生；假内行 | |
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75
raven
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| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
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76
croaking
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的现在分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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77
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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78
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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79
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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80
disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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81
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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82
snob
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| n.势利小人，自以为高雅、有学问的人 | |
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83
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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84
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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85
obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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86
evasion
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| n.逃避，偷漏(税) | |
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87
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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88
layman
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| n.俗人，门外汉，凡人 | |
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89
appreciable
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| adj.明显的，可见的，可估量的，可觉察的 | |
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90
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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91
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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92
coxcomb
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| n.花花公子 | |
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93
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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94
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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95
gulping
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的现在分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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96
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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97
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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98
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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99
alcoholic
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| adj.（含）酒精的，由酒精引起的；n.酗酒者 | |
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100
unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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101
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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102
prohibition
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| n.禁止；禁令，禁律 | |
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103
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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104
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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105
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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106
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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107
buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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108
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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109
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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110
condescending
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| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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111
accentuated
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| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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112
cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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113
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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114
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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115
bestows
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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116
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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117
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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118
slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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119
lamely
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| 一瘸一拐地，不完全地 | |
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120
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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121
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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122
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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123
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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124
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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125
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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126
gorilla
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| n.大猩猩，暴徒，打手 | |
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127
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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