The Poison Belt | Page 8

or better balanced in mind in my life."
"That may be. I don't profess 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 incapable 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 severely.
"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
coxcomb--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, adventurous 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 sobbing--sobbing in loud, gulping,
uncontrollable sobs which refused to be concealed. 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 purely alcoholic. The man has
been drinking. By the way, Lord John, I called you a coxcomb just now,
which was perhaps unduly severe. But the word reminds me of a small
accomplishment, 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 prohibition, 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 boisterous laughter,
which must have become quite hysterical 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 margin 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
extraordinarily clever and amusing.
Whilst this was going on, Lord John leaned forward and told me some
interminable story about a buffalo 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 climax of his
story, when the train drew up at Jarvis Brook, which had been given us
as the station for Rotherfield.
And