2


It was in February, nine months later, when Dr. Laidlaw made his way to
Charing Cross to meet his chief after his long absence of travel and
exploration. The vision about the so-called Tablets of the Gods had
meanwhile passed almost entirely from his memory.

There were few people in the train, for the stream of traffic was now
running the other way, and he had no difficulty in finding the man he
had come to meet. The shock of white hair beneath the low-crowned felt
hat was alone enough to distinguish him by easily.

"Here I am at last!" exclaimed the professor, somewhat wearily, clasping
his friend's hand as he listened to the young doctor's warm greetings
and questions. "Here I am--a little older, and _much_ dirtier than when
you last saw me!" He glanced down laughingly at his travel-stained
garments.

"And _much_ wiser," said Laidlaw, with a smile, as he bustled about the
platform for porters and gave his chief the latest scientific news.

At last they came down to practical considerations.

"And your luggage--where is that? You must have tons of it, I suppose?"
said Laidlaw.

"Hardly anything," Professor Ebor answered. "Nothing, in fact, but what
you see."