"Like swimming squirrels, you navigate with the help of Heaven and a
stiff breeze, but you never land where you hope to--do you?"

Rather red in the face, I said: "Don't you believe the great auk to be
extinct?"

"Audubon saw the great auk."

"Who has seen a single specimen since?"

"Nobody--except our correspondent here," he replied, laughing.

I laughed, too, considering the interview at an end, but the professor
went on, coolly:

"Whatever it is that our correspondent has--and I am daring to believe
that it _is_ the great auk itself--I want you to secure it for the
society."

When my astonishment subsided my first conscious sentiment was one of
pity. Clearly, Professor Farrago was on the verge of dotage--ah, what
a loss to the world!

I believe now that Professor Farrago perfectly interpreted my
thoughts, but he betrayed neither resentment nor impatience. I drew a
chair up beside his desk--there was nothing to do but to obey, and
this fool's errand was none of my conceiving.

Together we made out a list of articles necessary for me and itemized