Would they repudiate me and send another delegate to replace me? Would
they merely wash their hands of me and let me go to my own
destruction?

"I will know soon enough," thought I, "for this morning's proceedings
will have been cabled to New York ere now, and read at the
breakfast-tables of every old, moss-grown naturalist in America before
I see the Countess d'Alzette this evening." And I drew from my pocket
the roll of paper which she had given me, and, lighting a cigar, lay
back in my chair to read it.

The manuscript had been beautifully type-written, and I had no trouble
in following her brief, clear account of the circumstances under which
the notorious ux-skin had been obtained. As for the story itself, it
was somewhat fishy, but I manfully swallowed my growing nervousness
and comforted myself with the belief of Darwin in the existence of the
ux, and the subsequent testimony of Wallace, who simply stated what he
had seen through his telescope, and then left it to others to identify
the enormous birds he described as he had observed them stalking about
on the snowy peaks of the Tasmanian Alps.

My own knowledge of the ux was confined to a single circumstance.
When, in 1897, I had gone to Tasmania with Professor Farrago, to make
a report on the availability of the so-called "Tasmanian devil," as a
substitute for the mongoose in the West Indies, I of course heard a
great deal of talk among the natives concerning the birds which they
affirmed haunted the summits of the mountains.

Our time in Tasmania was too limited to admit of an exploration then.
But although we were perfectly aware that the summits of the Tasmanian