"Besides," said I, "he has been a good friend to every one of
us. Whatever his faults may be, he is as straight as a line,
and I don't believe he ever speaks evil of his comrades behind
their backs."

"Well said, young fellah-my-lad," said Lord John Roxton. Then,
with a kindly smile, he slapped Professor Summerlee upon his
shoulder. "Come, Herr Professor, we're not going to quarrel at
this time of day. We've seen too much together. But keep off
the grass when you get near Challenger, for this young fellah
and I have a bit of a weakness for the old dear."

But Summerlee was in no humour for compromise. His face was
screwed up in rigid disapproval, and thick curls of angry smoke
rolled up from his pipe.

"As to you, Lord John Roxton," he creaked, "your opinion upon a
matter of science is of as much value in my eyes as my views
upon a new type of shot-gun would be in yours. I have my own
judgment, sir, and I use it in my own way. Because it has misled
me once, is that any reason why I should accept without
criticism anything, however far-fetched, which this man may care
to put forward? Are we to have a Pope of science, with
infallible decrees laid down _ex cathedra_, and accepted without
question by the poor humble public? I tell you, sir, that I have
a brain of my own and that I should feel myself to be a snob and
a slave if I did not use it. If it pleases you to believe this
rigmarole about ether and Fraunhofer's lines upon the spectrum,
do so by all means, but do not ask one who is older and wiser
than yourself to share in your folly. Is it not evident that if