THE THIRD EYE
Although the man's was toward me, I was that he was me. How he possibly be me while I directly him, I did not ask myself; yet, nevertheless, me that I was being inspected; that somehow or other the man was at me as as though he and I had been to and his faded, sea-green were upon me.
It was an odd which in of logic, and of which I not myself. Yet the little did not to it. Perhaps she was not under his inspection. But then, of course, I not be either.
No the to the was making me and morbid.
Our sail-boat the torquoise-tinted at anchor, just off the on which we were now camping. The who, for economy's sake, her cap, apron, and over her print dress, was seated by the fire in her diary. Sometimes she touched her pencil point with the of her tongue; sometimes she the fire from a of up on the her. Whatever she did she gracefully.
As for the man, Grue, his toward us and he continued, apparently, to the for the sail which we all expected. And all the time I not myself of the idea that somehow or other he was looking at me, the of my and my every movement.
The of our fire wide across of shallow, water, or, when the wind veered, into our across the reef, and among the like drifting.
Seated there near the fire, from time to time I the with my glasses; but there was no of Kemper; no sail the of sky and water; nothing moved out there save when a wild took the dark of its to circle low above the and settle at random, again when, at intervals, its white in the sunshine.
Meanwhile the had to in her and now sat with the closed book on her and her pencil against her lips, at the of Grue's head.
It was a of black hair, and looked greasy. The of him me as and dingy—a man, lean, by the sun of the semi-tropics to a hue, and hairy.
I don't mind a brawny, man, but the on Grue's arms and was a red, and like a chimpanzee's in texture, and sometimes a idea me that the man needed it when he about in the without his clothes.
But he was only a "poor white"—a "cracker" recruited from one of the near Pelican Light, where he alone by and selling his fish to the at Heliatrope City. The sail-boat was his; he as our official on this expedition—an which already had to worry me a great deal.
For it was, perhaps, the and the most enterprise in the of science by the Bronx Park authorities.
Nothing is more by scientists than ridicule; and it was in of this terror of that I to an party and start out in search of something so extraordinary, so of, that I had not to Kemper by the object of my quest.
No, I did not to myself to just yet; I had sent Kemper a to join me on Sting-ray Key.
He me from Tampa that he would join me at the rendezvous; and I started directly from Bronx Park for Heliatrope City; there in three days; the all to start with me; about a and the man Grue in his off Pelican Light; my with him; and set sail for Sting-ray Key, the most and the most man who had in the of science.
Everything was now at stake, my honour, reputation, career, fortune. For, as of the Anthropological Field Survey Department of the great Bronx Park Zoölogical Society, I was perfectly aware that no scientific can ridicule.
Nevertheless, the die had been cast, the Rubicon in a sail-boat one cracker, one hotel waitress, a of and special utensils, and myself!
How was I going to tell Kemper? How was I going to to him that I was my as an upon a or two and a personal with a girl—a at the Hotel Gardenia in Heliatrope City?
I my sea-glasses and at the waitress. She was still the end of her pencil, reflectively.
She was a girl, one Evelyn Grey, and had been a country school-teacher in Massachusetts until her health broke.
Florida was what she required; but that was possible to her only if she there a self-supporting position.
Also she had an for a education, with to a Government in the Smithsonian Institute.
All very worthy, no doubt—in fact, particularly the she saved as in a Florida hotel the winter were her only means of support while studying for college the in Boston, where she lived.
Yet, although she was an of Massachusetts, her and would have any light-opera stage. I looked at her but I so; and her and the delusion. Such are when the after the overture. Odd that through an only to science!
The man, Grue, had not from his survey of the Atlantic Ocean. He had a for motionless—like a and bird which on for and existence.
The sea-wind his shirt and and the of his hat. And always I as though he were me out of the of his head, through the that over his neck.
The had now the end of her pencil to a satisfactory pulp, and she was again in her diary, very intently, so that my touch on her arm to her.
Meeting her I said in a low voice:
"I am not sure why, but I don't to very much for that man, Grue. Do you?"
She at the water's edge, where Grue stood, immovable, his still to us.
"I liked him," she said under her breath.
"Why?" I asked cautiously.
She her shoulders. She did it gracefully.
I said:
"Have you any particular for him?"
"He's dirty."
"He looks dirty, yet every day he goes into the sea and about. He ought to be clean enough."
She for a moment, then:
"He seems, somehow, to be unclean—I don't that he doesn't wash himself. But there are of animals and and other from which one shrinks—not, perhaps, they are unclean—"
"I understand," I said. After a I added: "Well, there's no now of sending him back, if I were to do so. He to be familiar with these latitudes. I don't we a man for our purpose. Do you?"
"No. He was a once, I believe."
"Did he tell you so?"
"No. But yesterday, when you took the and to the south, I sat here and up the fire. And I saw Grue about among the over the water in a most way; and two snake-birds sat him, and they moved.
"He didn't to see them; his was toward them. And then, all at once, he at them where they sat on a mangrove, and he got one of them by the neck—"
"Climbing about among the above the water"
"What!"
The girl nodded.
"By the neck," she repeated, "and they into the water. And what do you happened?"
"I can't imagine," said I with a grimace.
"Well, Grue under, still the squirming, bird; and he under."
"Stayed under the water?"
"Yes, longer than any I of. And I was when the and to come up—"
"What was he doing under water?"
"He must have been the bird to pieces. Oh, it was unpleasant, I you, Mr. Smith. And when he came up and looked at me out of those very he something amphibious.... And I and dizzy."
"He's got to stop that of thing!" I said angrily. "Snake-birds are and I won't have him killing them in that fashion. I've him already to let alone. I don't know how he them or why he kills them. But he to have a for doing it—"
I was by Grue's soft and voice from the water's edge, announcing a sail on the horizon. He did not turn when speaking.
The next moment I out the sail and my on it.
"It's Professor Kemper," I presently.
"I'm so glad," Evelyn Grey.
I don't know why it should have to me, of nothing, that Billy Kemper was handsome. Or why I should have and looked at the waitress—except that she was, perhaps, upon from a purely non-scientific point of view. In fact, to a man not in scientific and not and to his profession, her violet-blue and sweet mouth might have proved disturbing.
As I was about this she looked up at me and smiled.
"It's a good thing," I to myself, "that I am to my profession." And I across the Atlantic Ocean.
