"Do you think so, Bill? The submarine, the airplane, the radio--all were absurd, all were preposterous, Bill, until men got them. And many other things, too. Why, it was only yesterday that the sphericity of this old world that we inhabit ceased to be absurd, ceased to be preposterous. Don't be too sure, old _tillicum_. Remember the oft-repeated observation of Hamlet: "'There are more things in heaven _and earth_, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'" "That is true enough. But this is different. This isn't philosophy or something in philosophy. This--" "Awaits us!" said Milton Rhodes. "The question of prime importance to us now is if we can find the way to that place whence the angel and the demon came; for, so it seems to me, there can be little doubt that it is only on rare occasions, on very rare occasions, that these strange beings appear on the mountain." "It is," Scranton remarked, "as, of course, you know, against the rules to take any firearm into the Park; but, if I were you, I should never start upon this enterprise without weapons." "You may rest assured on that point," Milton told him: "we will be armed. The hazardous possibilities of this very strange problem that we are going to endeavor to solve justifies this infraction of the rule." "Well," said Scranton, suddenly rising from his chair, "you are doubtless anxious to start your preparations at once, and I am keeping you from them. There is one thing, though, Mr. Rhodes, that I, that--" He paused, and a look of trouble, of distress settled upon his pale, pinched features. "What is it?" Milton Rhodes queried. "I am glad that you are going, and yet--and yet I may regret this day, this visit, to my dying hour. For the thing that I have brought you is dangerous. It is more than that; it is awful." "And probably," said Milton, "it is very wonderful indeed." "But," Scranton added, "one should not blink the possibility that--" "Tut, tut, man!" Milton Rhodes exclaimed, laughing. "We mustn't find you a bird of ill-omen now. You mustn't think things like that." "Yet I can't help thinking about them, Mr. Rhodes. I wish that I could accompany you, at least as far as the scene of the tragedies; but I am far from strong. Even to drive a car sometimes taxes my strength. I doubt if I could now make the climb even from the Inn as far as Sluiskin Falls." A silence fell, to be suddenly broken by Milton. "Let us regard _that_ as a happy augury," said he, pointing towards the southern windows, through which the sunlight, bright and sparkling, came streaming in: "the gloom and the storm have passed away, and all is bright once more." "I pray Heaven that _it_ prove so!" the other exclaimed. "For my part, I shall always be glad that you came to me, Mr. Scranton; glad always, even--even," said Milton Rhodes, "if I never come back." Chapter 10 ON THE MOUNTAIN