I asked Miss Grey to precede us and wait for us under the palm; and she went forward in that light-footed way of hers which, to any non-scientific man, might have been a trifle disturbing. It had no effect upon me. Besides, I was looking at Grue, who had gone to the fire and was evidently preparing to fry our evening meal of fish and rice. I didn't like to have him cook, but I wasn't going to do it myself; and my pretty waitress didn't know how to cook anything more complicated than beans. We had no beans. Kemper said to me: "Why on earth did you bring a waitress?" "Not to wait on table," I replied, amused. "I'll explain her later. Meanwhile, I merely want to say that you need not remain with this expedition if you don't want to. It's optional with you." "That's a funny thing to say!" "No, not funny; sad. The truth is that if I fail I'll be driven into obscurity by the ridicule of my brother scientists the world over. I had to tell them at the Bronx what I was going after. Every man connected with the society attempted to dissuade me, saying that the whole thing was absurd and that my reputation would suffer if I engaged in such a ridiculous quest. So when you hear what that girl and I are after out here in the semi-tropics, and when you are in possession of the only evidence I have to justify my credulity, if you want to go home, go. Because I don't wish to risk your reputation as a scientist unless you choose to risk it yourself." He regarded me curiously, then his eyes strayed toward the palm-tree which Evelyn Grey was now approaching. "All right," he said briefly, "let's hear what's up." So we moved forward to rejoin the girl, who had already seated herself under the tree. She looked very attractive in her neat cuffs, tiny cap, and pink print gown, as we approached her. "Why does she dress that way?" asked Kemper, uneasily. "Economy. She desires to use up the habiliments of a service which there will be no necessity for her to reenter if this expedition proves successful." "Oh. But Smithy--" "What?" "Was it--moral--to bring a waitress?" "Perfectly," I replied sharply. "Science knows no sex!" "I don't understand how a waitress can be scientific," he muttered, "and there seems to be no question about her possessing plenty of sex--" "If that girl's conclusions are warranted," I interrupted coldly, "she is a most intelligent and clever person. _I_ think they are warranted. If you don't, you may go home as soon as you like." I glanced at him; he was smiling at her with that strained politeness which alters the natural expression of men in the imminence of a conversation with a new and pretty woman. I often wonder what particular combination of facial muscles are brought into play when that politely receptive expression transforms the normal and masculine features into a fixed simper.