“Are you willing, then, wretched Dick—are you willing, false friend—that this glory should belong to another? Must I then be untrue to my past history; recoil before obstacles that are not serious; requite with cowardly hesitation what both the English Government and the Royal Society of London have done for me?” “But,” resumed Kennedy, who made great use of that conjunction. “But,” said the doctor, “are you not aware that my journey is to compete with the success of the expeditions now on foot? Don’t you know that fresh explorers are advancing toward the centre of Africa?” “Still—” “Listen to me, Dick, and cast your eyes over that map.” Dick glanced over it, with resignation. “Now, ascend the course of the Nile.” “I have ascended it,” replied the Scotchman, with docility. “Stop at Gondokoro.” “I am there.” And Kennedy thought to himself how easy such a trip was—on the map! “Now, take one of the points of these dividers and let it rest upon that place beyond which the most daring explorers have scarcely gone.” “I have done so.” “And now look along the coast for the island of Zanzibar, in latitude six degrees south.” “I have it.” “Now, follow the same parallel and arrive at Kazeh.” “I have done so.” “Run up again along the thirty-third degree of longitude to the opening of Lake Oukéréoué, at the point where Lieutenant Speke had to halt.” “I am there; a little more, and I should have tumbled into the lake.” “Very good! Now, do you know what we have the right to suppose, according to the information given by the tribes that live along its shores?” “I haven’t the least idea.” “Why, that this lake, the lower extremity of which is in two degrees and thirty minutes, must extend also two degrees and a half above the equator.” “Really!” “Well from this northern extremity there flows a stream which must necessarily join the Nile, if it be not the Nile itself.” “That is, indeed, curious.” “Then, let the other point of your dividers rest upon that extremity of Lake Oukéréoué.” “It is done, friend Ferguson.” “Now, how many degrees can you count between the two points?” “Scarcely two.” “And do you know what that means, Dick?” “Not the least in the world.” “Why, that makes scarcely one hundred and twenty miles—in other words, a nothing.” “Almost nothing, Samuel.” “Well, do you know what is taking place at this moment?” “No, upon my honor, I do not.”