When my astonishment subsided my first conscious sentiment was one of pity. Clearly, Professor Farrago was on the verge of dotage--ah, what a loss to the world! I believe now that Professor Farrago perfectly interpreted my thoughts, but he betrayed neither resentment nor impatience. I drew a chair up beside his desk--there was nothing to do but to obey, and this fool's errand was none of my conceiving. Together we made out a list of articles necessary for me and itemized the expenses I might incur, and I set a date for my return, allowing no margin for a successful termination to the expedition. "Never mind that," said the professor. "What I want you to do is to get those birds here safely. Now, how many men will you take?" "None," I replied, bluntly; "it's a useless expense, unless there is something to bring back. If there is I'll wire you, you may be sure." "Very well," said Professor Farrago, good-humoredly, "you shall have all the assistance you may require. Can you leave to-night?" The old gentleman was certainly prompt. I nodded, half-sulkily, aware of his amusement. "So," I said, picking up my hat, "I am to start north to find a place called Black Harbor, where there is a man named Halyard who possesses, among other household utensils, two extinct great auks--" We were both laughing by this time. I asked him why on earth he credited the assertion of a man he had never before heard of. "I suppose," he replied, with the same half-apologetic, half-humorous smile, "it is instinct. I feel, somehow, that this man Halyard _has_ got an auk--perhaps two. I can't get away from the idea that we are on the eve of acquiring the rarest of living creatures. It's odd for a scientist to talk as I do; doubtless you're shocked--admit it, now!" But I was not shocked; on the contrary, I was conscious that the same strange hope that Professor Farrago cherished was beginning, in spite of me, to stir my pulses, too. "If he has--" I began, then stopped. The professor and I looked hard at each other in silence. "Go on," he said, encouragingly. But I had nothing more to say, for the prospect of beholding with my own eyes a living specimen of the great auk produced a series of conflicting emotions within me which rendered speech profanely superfluous. As I took my leave Professor Farrago came to the door of the temporary, wooden office and handed me the letter written by the man Halyard. I folded it and put it into my pocket, as Halyard might require it for my own identification. "How much does he want for the pair?" I asked. "Ten thousand dollars. Don't demur--if the birds are really--" "I know," I said, hastily, not daring to hope too much. "One thing more," said Professor Farrago, gravely; "you know, in that last paragraph of his letter, Halyard speaks of something else in the way of specimens--an undiscovered species of amphibious biped--just read that paragraph again, will you?" I drew the letter from my pocket and read as he directed: