"Oh yes," I replied, with a shrug; "of course the man is mistaken--or--"
"Or what?" demanded Professor Farrago, tranquilly, wiping his glasses.
After a silence he leaned back in his chair and bade me read the letter to him again, and I did so with a contemptuous tolerance for the writer, who must have been either a very innocent victim or a very stupid swindler. I said as much to Professor Farrago, but, to my surprise, he appeared to waver.
"I suppose," he said, with his near-sighted, embarrassed smile, "that nine hundred and ninety-nine men in a thousand would throw that letter aside and condemn the writer as a liar or a fool?"
"In my opinion," said I, "he's one or the other."
"He isn't--in mine," said the professor, placidly.
"What!" I exclaimed. "Here is a man living all alone on a strip of rock and sand between the wilderness and the sea, who wants you to send somebody to take charge of a bird that doesn't exist!"
"How do you know," asked Professor Farrago, "that the bird in question does not exist?"
"It is generally accepted," I replied, sarcastically, "that the great auk has been extinct for years. Therefore I may be pardoned for doubting that our correspondent possesses a pair of them alive."
"Oh, you young fellows," said the professor, smiling wearily, "you embark on a theory for destinations that don't exist."
He leaned back in his chair, his amused eyes searching space for the imagery that made him smile.
"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?"
"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.