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Updated: May 10, 2025
Then the theatrical moon came up through filmy draperies of waving Spanish moss thin as cobwebs; and far in the wilderness a cougar fell a-crying and coughing like a little child with a bad cold. I went in after that. Miss Barrison was sitting before the oven, knees gathered in her clasped hands, languidly studying the fire.
He turned to Miss Barrison and asked her whether she had brought a complete outfit, and she opened the bundle on her knees and handed it to him. "I cannot," he said, "delicately explain in so many words what use I expect to make of this apparel. Nor do I yet know whether I shall have any use at all for it.
We rose at once, removing the cigars from our lips; but Miss Barrison bade us continue smoking, and at a gesture from her we resumed our seats after she had installed herself by the window. "Really," she said, looking coldly at me, "I couldn't endure the solitude any longer. Isn't there anything to do on this tiresome train?"
We were seated, just before sunset, outside of the hut built of palmetto logs, when Professor Farrago, addressing us both, began the explanation of our future duties. Miss Barrison, it appeared, was to note everything said by himself, making several shorthand copies by evening. In other words, she was to report every scrap of conversation she heard while in the Everglades.
"We were all in the same fix," she said, modestly. "No, we were not. Now I'll tell you the truth my hair stood up the greater part of the night. You are looking upon a poltroon, Miss Barrison." "Then there was something at your window, too?" "Something? A dozen!
I felt mean, and I probably looked it, and I was glad that telepathy did not permit Miss Barrison to record my secret and unworthy ruminations.
"A personal experience revealed to me my life's work," he, went on, thoughtfully stroking his blond mustache. "If Miss Barrison would care to hear it " "Please tell it," she said, sweetly. "I shall have to relate it clothed in that artificial garb known as literary style," he explained, deprecatingly.
The words were almost driven down my throat by the dog, who, without a yelp of warning, hurled himself at Miss Barrison and alighted on my chest, fore paws around my neck. I cast him scornfully from me, but he scrambled back, digging like a mole to get under us. "The transparent creatures!" whispered Miss Barrison. "Look! See that pie move!"
The operator's head appeared to be gliding out of my range of vision; then the windows of the north-bound train slid past, faster and faster. A melancholy grace-note from the dog, a jolt, and I turned around, appalled. "This train is going," I stammered, "and you are on it!" Miss Barrison sprang up and started towards the door, and I sped after her.
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