nless transfer of
scientific notes to the sanctuary of the unvarnished note-book or the
cloister of the juiceless monograph. Nor have I the slightest approach
to that superficial and doubtful quality known as literary skill.
Once, however, as I sat alone in the middle of the floor, classifying
my isopods, I was not only astonished but totally unprepared to find
myself repeating aloud a verse that I myself had unconsciously
fashioned:

"An isopod
Is a work of God."

Never before in all my life had I made a rhyme; and it worried me for
weeks, ringing in my brain day and night, confusing me, interfering
with my thoughts.

I said as much to the young man, who only laughed good-naturedly and
replied that it was the Creator's purpose to limit certain intellects,
nobody knows why, and that it was apparent that mine had not escaped.

"There's one thing, however," he said, "that might be of some interest
to you and come within the circumscribed scope of your intelligence."

"And what is that?" I asked, tartly.

"A scientific experience of mine," he said, with a careless laugh.
"It's so much stranger than fiction that even Professor Bruce
Stoddard, of Columbia, hesitated to credit it."

I looked at the young fellow suspiciously. His bland smile disarmed
me, but I did not invite him to relate his experience, although he
apparently needed only that encouragement to begin.

"Now, if I could tell it exactly as it occurred," he observed, "and a
stenographer could take it down, word for word, exactly as I relate
it--"

"It would give me great pleasure to do so," said a quiet voice at the
door. We rose at once, removing the cigars from our lips; but Miss
Barrison bade us continue smoking, and at a gesture from her we
resumed our seats after she had installed herself by the window.

"Really," she said, looking coldly at me, "I couldn't endure the
solitude any longer. Isn't there anything to do on this tiresome
train?"

"If you had your pad and pencil," I began, maliciously, "you might
take down a matter of interest--"

She looked frankly at the young man, who laughed in that pleasant,
good-tempered manner of his, and offered to tell us of his alleged
scientific experience if we thought it might amuse us sufficiently to
vary the dull monotony of the journey north.

"Is it fiction?" I asked, point-blank.

"It is absolute truth," he replied.

I rose and went off to find pad and pencil. When I returned Miss
Bar