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As Challenger spoke of his pterodactyl I glanced at Professor
Summerlee, and for the first time I seemed to see some signs of a
dawning credulity and repentance. There was no sneer upon his
thin lips, but, on the contrary, a gray, drawn look of excitement
and amazement. Challenger saw it, too, and reveled in the first
taste of victory.
"Of course," said he, with his clumsy and ponderous sarcasm,
"Professor Summerlee will understand that when I speak of a
pterodactyl I mean a stork--only it is the kind of stork which
has no feathers, a leathery skin, membranous wings, and teeth in
its jaws." He grinned and blinked and bowed until his colleague
turned and walked away.
In the morning, after a frugal breakfast of coffee and manioc--we
had to be economical of our stores--we held a council of war as
to the best method of ascending to the plateau above us.
Challenger presided with a solemnity as if he were the Lord Chief
Justice on the Bench. Picture him seated upon a rock, his absurd
boyish straw hat tilted on the back of his head, his supercilious
eyes dominating us from under his drooping lids, his great black
beard wagging as he slowly defined our present situation and our
future movements.
Beneath him you might have seen the three of us--myself,
sunburnt, young, and vigorous after our open-air tramp;
Summerlee, solemn but still critical, behind his eternal pipe;
Lord John, as keen as a razor-edge, with his supple, alert figure
leaning upon his rifle, and his eager eyes fixed eagerly upon
the speaker. Behind us were grouped the two swarthy half-breeds
and the little knot of Indians, while in front and above us towered
those huge, ruddy ribs of rocks which kept us from our goal.
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