A number of strange faces surrounded me in the club room among which I recognized Harris, the E.U. secretary, "Harmless" Harris we used to call him. "Where is Waxman?" I asked coldly. A shadow of pain flitted across his face. "Of course," he murmured. "You haven't heard ... it was very sudden ... poor Waxman ... heart failure, you know ... the day after we heard of your safe arrival." So my old friend Waxman was gone. With the receipt of this news I instantly dismissed all unkind thoughts I may have had of this benevolent old man. As I look at his photograph now, on my mantelpiece, bland and serene, it seems to breathe a benediction upon me. The pleading look in his eyes seems still to ask for peanuts. May I cherish always, as he did, a love for other explorers and an interest in their exploits. If anything was calculated to further soften my heart it was the more joyous occasion which followed, the grand banquet given in my honor at the Hotel Commodore. That entire, mighty hive hummed with explorers and noted travellers. Overflow meetings were held in the Biltmore, Yale Club, Grand Central Station and on nearby subway platforms. The scene in the ballroom beggared description. On the dais with me sat representatives of all the National scientific bodies and distinguished guests from abroad. Publishers, artists and editors were present by the hundreds. Famous actors forced their way to my chair, above which blossomed the words "Traprock must be true" done in thousands of Bougainvilleas and snowdrops. The colleges of the country had sent their delegations, my own Alma Mater surpassing all with a group of two hundred bright-faced lads whose merry songs and cheers made the welkin ring. They had come by special train from New Haven, accompanied by members of the faculty, for whom the affair was a great junket, you may be sure. Harvard stood officially aloof owing to their recent ban on Eskimos, but the great sister university, as well as Princeton, was represented by individuals who made up in enthusiasm what they lacked in numbers. When my brothers in the Phi Chapter of D.K.E. arose and sang our fraternal anthem I felt obliged to remain seated. Let me here explain that curious action. It was because my mind went back to that period of terrific strain when I had actually _eaten_ a Brother! But the thing which touched me most deeply[28] was the presence, at adjoining tables of the combined Boards of Trade of Derby and Shelton, sister cities of the Housatonic, and the Derby Fencibles, forty strong, accompanied by their fife and drum corps wearing the old continental uniforms. My eyes dimmed as I thought of the stirring times when I had stepped to that same inspiring music, as we practised our secret marches back of the old Sterling Melodeon factory.