Seizing the lead-tipped stick, Doggo scratched on the pavement of the room, “Quick, give me paper! Quick! Your lives depend upon it! Quick, before it is too late!” Cabot rushed into the hall and clicked twice with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, but nothing happened. Again and again he repeated the call, until finally one of the little winged messengers flitted into sight. To him the earth-man indicated his wants by going through the motions of writing with the index finger of his right hand upon the palm of his left. The little creature flitted away, and after what seemed an interminable wait returned with pad and stylus. Myles snatched them and rushed back to Doggo. “What is the matter?” he wrote. But Doggo replied, “Nothing. It was just a joke, to frighten you. We are all perfectly safe here, and Boomalayla has a wonderful plan to facilitate our departure three days from now.” It was not like Doggo, or any other member of the serious minded race of ant-men, to play a practical joke like this. Myles could swear that his friend had been genuinely agitated a few moments ago. What could have happened in the meantime to change him? The earth-man looked at the Formian steadily through narrowed lids. His friend appeared to act strangely. Could this, in truth, be Doggo? If they had been on any other continent Myles would have sworn that some other ant-man, closely resembling his friend, was attempting an impersonation, but that could not be the case here, for Doggo was certainly the only Formian on this continent. It was Doggo’s body, all right, yet it did not act or look like Doggo. Even Quivven noticed that something was wrong. Nervously she said good night, and Cabot followed shortly after. Instead of retiring he went to Quivven’s room, where the two puzzled together for some time, trying to guess what had come over their friend. What at last they parted for the night the mystery was no nearer solution than before. In fact, they had practically made up their minds that no mystery existed, after all; and that the strange surroundings, and strange events, and strange talk of souls, had merely cast an aura of strangeness even over their friend. The next morning Doggo was on hand bright and early, but this time it was Quivven who was missing. “My turn next,” thought Myles, “and then perhaps I shall find out what it is all about.” As before, the Whoomangs were evasive as to the whereabouts of the golden one, and even Doggo was singularly unresponsive and devoid of ideas on the subject. This day the she-dragon high-priestess was their guide, but although she outdid both Boomalayla and Queekle Mukki, Cabot fretted, and worried, and merely put on an external show of interest. Late that afternoon—the fourth—of their stay among the Whoomangs—as soon as the tour was over, Cabot left Doggo and withdrew to his own room. Where was Quivven all this time, he wondered.