The Lost City [31]
lost here in this thrice accursed wilderness!" passionately cried the exile; then, as though abashed by his own outburst, he turned away, pausing again only when at the entrance to his dreary refuge of many years.
"Give the poor fellow his own way until he has had time to rally, boys," muttered uncle Phaeton, in lowered tones, before following that lead. "I can understand it better, now, and this is--still is the terra incognita of which I have dreamed so long!"
That refuge proved to be a large, fairly dry cavern, the entrance to which was admirably masked by vines and creepers, while the stony soil just there retained no trace of footprints to tell dangerous tales.
Mr. Edgecombe vanished, but not for long. Then, showing a light, formed of fat and twisted wick in a hollowed bit of hardwood, he begged his rescuers to enter.
No second invitation was needed, for even the professor felt a powerful curiosity to learn what method had been followed by this enforced exile; how he had managed to live for so many weary years.
With only that smoky lamp to shed light around the place, critical investigation was a matter of time and painstaking, although a general idea of the cavern was readily formed.
High overhead arched the rocky roof, blackened by smoke, and looking more gloomy than nature had intended. The side walls were likewise irregular, now showing tiny niches and nooks, then jutting out to form awkward points and elbows, which were but partially disguised by such articles of wear and daily use as the exile had collected during the years gone by, or since his occupancy first began.
So much the professor took in with his initial glances, but then he left Waldo and his brother to look more closely, himself giving thought to the being whom they had so happily saved from the whirlpool.
"Professor Edgecombe!" he again exclaimed, grasping those roughened hands to press them cordially. "I ought to have recognised you at sight, no doubt, since I have watched your ascents time and time again."
The exile smiled faintly, shaking his head and giving another sigh.
"Ah, me! 'twas vastly different, then. I only marvel that you should give me credit when I lay claim to that name, so long--it has long faded from the public's memory, sir."
But uncle Phaeton shook his head, decidedly.
"No, no, I assure you, my friend; far from it. Whenever the topic is brought to the front; whenever aerostatics are discussed, your name and fame are sure to play a prominent part. And yet,--you disappeared so long ago, never being heard of after--"
"After sailing away upon the storm for which I had waited and prayed, for so many weary, heart-sick months!"
"So the rumour ran, but we all believed that must be an exaggeration, and not for a long time was all hope abandoned. Then, more hearts than one felt sore and sad at thoughts of your untimely fate."
"A fate infinitely worse than ordinary death such as was credited me," huskily muttered the exile. "Ten years,--and ever since I have been here, helpless to extricate myself, doomed to a living death, which none other can ever fully realise! Doomed to--to--"
His voice choked, and he turned away to hide his emotions.
Professor Featherwit thoroughly appreciated the interruption which came through Waldo's lips just at that moment.
"Oh, I say,--uncle Phaeton!"
"What is it, lad? Don't meddle with what doesn't--"
"Looking can't hurt, can it? And to think people ever got along with such things as these!"
Waldo was squared before sundry articles depending from the side wall, and as the professor drew closer, he, too, displayed a degree of interest which was really remarkable.
A gaily colored tunic of thickly quilted cotton was hanging beside an oddly shaped war club, the heavier end of which was armed with blades of stone which gleamed and sparkled even in that dim light. And attached to this weapon was another, hardly less curious: a knife formed of copper, with heft and blade all from one piece of metal.
"Here is the rest of the outfit,"
"Give the poor fellow his own way until he has had time to rally, boys," muttered uncle Phaeton, in lowered tones, before following that lead. "I can understand it better, now, and this is--still is the terra incognita of which I have dreamed so long!"
That refuge proved to be a large, fairly dry cavern, the entrance to which was admirably masked by vines and creepers, while the stony soil just there retained no trace of footprints to tell dangerous tales.
Mr. Edgecombe vanished, but not for long. Then, showing a light, formed of fat and twisted wick in a hollowed bit of hardwood, he begged his rescuers to enter.
No second invitation was needed, for even the professor felt a powerful curiosity to learn what method had been followed by this enforced exile; how he had managed to live for so many weary years.
With only that smoky lamp to shed light around the place, critical investigation was a matter of time and painstaking, although a general idea of the cavern was readily formed.
High overhead arched the rocky roof, blackened by smoke, and looking more gloomy than nature had intended. The side walls were likewise irregular, now showing tiny niches and nooks, then jutting out to form awkward points and elbows, which were but partially disguised by such articles of wear and daily use as the exile had collected during the years gone by, or since his occupancy first began.
So much the professor took in with his initial glances, but then he left Waldo and his brother to look more closely, himself giving thought to the being whom they had so happily saved from the whirlpool.
"Professor Edgecombe!" he again exclaimed, grasping those roughened hands to press them cordially. "I ought to have recognised you at sight, no doubt, since I have watched your ascents time and time again."
The exile smiled faintly, shaking his head and giving another sigh.
"Ah, me! 'twas vastly different, then. I only marvel that you should give me credit when I lay claim to that name, so long--it has long faded from the public's memory, sir."
But uncle Phaeton shook his head, decidedly.
"No, no, I assure you, my friend; far from it. Whenever the topic is brought to the front; whenever aerostatics are discussed, your name and fame are sure to play a prominent part. And yet,--you disappeared so long ago, never being heard of after--"
"After sailing away upon the storm for which I had waited and prayed, for so many weary, heart-sick months!"
"So the rumour ran, but we all believed that must be an exaggeration, and not for a long time was all hope abandoned. Then, more hearts than one felt sore and sad at thoughts of your untimely fate."
"A fate infinitely worse than ordinary death such as was credited me," huskily muttered the exile. "Ten years,--and ever since I have been here, helpless to extricate myself, doomed to a living death, which none other can ever fully realise! Doomed to--to--"
His voice choked, and he turned away to hide his emotions.
Professor Featherwit thoroughly appreciated the interruption which came through Waldo's lips just at that moment.
"Oh, I say,--uncle Phaeton!"
"What is it, lad? Don't meddle with what doesn't--"
"Looking can't hurt, can it? And to think people ever got along with such things as these!"
Waldo was squared before sundry articles depending from the side wall, and as the professor drew closer, he, too, displayed a degree of interest which was really remarkable.
A gaily colored tunic of thickly quilted cotton was hanging beside an oddly shaped war club, the heavier end of which was armed with blades of stone which gleamed and sparkled even in that dim light. And attached to this weapon was another, hardly less curious: a knife formed of copper, with heft and blade all from one piece of metal.
"Here is the rest of the outfit,"