e to speculate for the benefit of anybody. I
wouldn't do it for my friend Professor Farrago; and I'm not going to
do it for you," he ended, laughing a rather grim laugh that somehow
jarred me into realizing the amazing import of his story. For I did
not doubt it, strange as it was--fantastic, incredible though it
sounded in the ears of a scientist.

What it was that carried conviction I do not know--perhaps the fact
that my superior credited it; perhaps the manner of narration. Told in
quiet, commonplace phrases, by an exceedingly practical and
unimaginative young man who was plainly embarrassed in the telling,
the story rang out like a shout in a canon, startling because of the
absolute lack of emphasis employed in the telling.

"Professor Farrago asked me to speak of this to no one except the man
who should come to his assistance. He desired the first chance of
clearing this--this rather perplexing matter. No doubt he didn't want
exploring parties prowling about him," added Rowan, smiling. "But
there's no fear of that, I fancy. I never expect to tell that story
again to anybody; I shouldn't have told him, only somehow it's worried
me for three years, and though I was deadly afraid of ridicule, I
finally made up my mind that science ought to have a hack at it.

"When I was in New York last winter I summoned up courage and wrote
Professor Farrago. He came to see me at the Holland House that same
evening; I told him as much as I ever shall tell anybody. That is all,
Mr. Gilland."

For a long time I sat silent, musing over the strange words. After a
while I asked him whether Professor Farrago was supplied with
provisions; and he said he was; that a great store of staples and tins
of concentrated rations had been carried in as far as Little Sprite
Lake; that Professor Farrago was now there alone, having insisted upon
dismissing all those he had employed.

"There was no practical use for a guide," added Rowan, "because no
cracker, no Indian, and no guide knows the region beyond the Seminole
country."

I rose, thanking him and offering my hand. He took it and shook it in
manly fashion, saying: "I consider Professor Farrago a very brave man;
I may say the same of any man who volunteers to accompany him.
Good-bye, Mr. Gilland; I most earnestly wish for your success.
Professor Farrago left this letter for you."

And that was all. I climbed back into the rickety carriage, carrying
my unopened letter; the negro driver cr