“The next thing was to apply the theory, as you rightly suggest, to _horizontal_ motion. But the moving body, ever tending to _fall_, needs _constant support_, if it is to move in a true horizontal line. ‘What, then,’ he asked himself, ‘will _give constant support to a moving body_?’ And his answer was ‘_Human legs!_’ _That_ was the discovery that immortalised his name!” “His name being——?” I suggested. “I had not mentioned it,” was the gentle reply of my most unsatisfactory informant. “His next step was an obvious one. He took to a diet of suet-dumplings, until his body had become a perfect sphere. _Then_ he went out for his first experimental run—which nearly cost him his life!” “How was _that_?” “Well, you see, he had no idea of the _tremendous_ new Force in Nature that he was calling into play. He began too fast. In a very few minutes he found himself moving at a hundred miles an hour! And, if he had not had the presence of mind to charge into the middle of a haystack (which he scattered to the four winds) there can be no doubt that he would have left the Planet he belonged to, and gone right away into Space!” “And how came that to be the _last_ of the Cub-Hunts?” I enquired. “Well, you see, it led to a rather scandalous dispute between two of the Colleges. _Another_ Principal had laid his hand on the young man, so nearly at the same moment as the _spherical_ one, that there was no knowing which had touched him first. The dispute got into print, and did us no credit, and, in short, Cub-Hunts came to an end. Now I’ll tell you what cured us of that wild craze of ours, the bidding against each other, for the clever scholars, just as if they were articles to be sold by auction! Just when the craze had reached its highest point, and when one of the Colleges had actually advertised a Scholarship of one thousand pounds _per annum_, one of our tourists brought us the manuscript of an old African legend—I happen to have a copy of it in my pocket. Shall I translate it for you?” “Pray go on,” I said, though I felt I was getting _very_ sleepy. CHAPTER XIII. WHAT TOTTLES MEANT. Mein Herr unrolled the manuscript, but, to my great surprise, instead of _reading_ it, he began to _sing_ it, in a rich mellow voice that seemed to ring through the room. “One thousand pounds per annuum Is not so bad a figure, come!” Cried Tottles. “And I tell you, flat, A man may marry well on that! To say ‘the Husband needs the Wife’ Is not the way to represent it. The crowning joy of Woman’s life Is _Man_!” said Tottles (and he meant it). The blissful Honey-moon is past: The Pair have settled down at last: Mamma-in-law their home will share, And make their happiness her care. “Your income is an ample one; Go it, my children!” (And they went it). “I rayther think this kind of fun Won’t last!” said Tottles (and he meant it).