of me, to stir my pulses, too.

"If he has--" I began, then stopped.

The professor and I looked hard at each other in silence.

"Go on," he said, encouragingly.

But I had nothing more to say, for the prospect of beholding with my
own eyes a living specimen of the great auk produced a series of
conflicting emotions within me which rendered speech profanely
superfluous.

As I took my leave Professor Farrago came to the door of the
temporary, wooden office and handed me the letter written by the man
Halyard. I folded it and put it into my pocket, as Halyard might
require it for my own identification.

"How much does he want for the pair?" I asked.

"Ten thousand dollars. Don't demur--if the birds are really--"

"I know," I said, hastily, not daring to hope too much.

"One thing more," said Professor Farrago, gravely; "you know, in that
last paragraph of his letter, Halyard speaks of something else in the
way of specimens--an undiscovered species of amphibious biped--just
read that paragraph again, will you?"

I drew the letter from my pocket and read as he directed: