"It is my friend Professor Challenger," and amid laughter he renewed his lecture as if this was a final explanation and no more need be said.
Whatever path the lecturer took amid the wilds of the past seemed invariably to lead him to some assertion as to extinct or prehistoric life which instantly brought the same bulls' bellow from the Professor. The audience began to anticipate it and to roar with delight when it came.
"I must ask you, Professor Challenger, to cease these ignorant and unmannerly interruptions."
Philander, tut, tut!" cautioned Professor Porter; "you forget yourself."
The professor sat in silence for a few minutes, and the darkness hid the grim smile that wreathed his wrinkled countenance.
The professor reached out a thin, trembling old hand through the darkness until it found his old friend's shoulder.
"Neither!" said the Professor, gently clapping his hands.
"Horizontal weather," said the Professor, and made straight for the door, very nearly trampling on Bruno, who had only just time to get out of his way.
"I am not so concerned about the monetary value of the statue as I am about its antiquity," went on Professor Bumper.
"One only of the priests in the temple of Quitzel escaped and set down part of the tale," said the professor. "It is his narrative, or one based on it, that I have given you."
"Forgive me, Professor," von Horn hastened to urge.
Professor Maxon was mollified by this apology, and turned to resume his watch beside a large, coffin-shaped vat.