"Not a word, my dear boys," he hastened to plead. "I had to do something or--or explode! I feel better, now. I can behave myself, I hope. I am calm, cool, and composed as--the genuine Aztecs! And we are the ones to discover that--oh, I forgot!"For Waldo was fairly exploding with mirth, while Bruno smiled, and even the exile appeared to be amused to a certain extent at his expense.
Little by little, the worthy savant calmed down, and then, almost forcing the exile to indulge in another delicious smoke, he led up to the subject in which his interest was fairly intense.
Cooper Edgecombe was willing enough to tell all that lay in his power, although he was only beginning to realise how much that might mean to the world at large, judging by the actions of the professor.
According to his account, the great lake, or drainage reservoir of the Olympics, was a sort of semi-yearly rendezvous for a warlike tribe of red men, where they congregated for the purpose of catching and drying vast quantities of fish, doubtless to be used during the winter.
"As a general thing they pitch their camp on the other side, over towards the northeast; but small parties are pretty sure to rove far and wide, coming around this way quite as often as not.""And their garb,--the weapons they bore?" asked the professor.
Edgecombe motioned towards those articles in which such a lively interest had been awakened, then said that, while few of the red men who had come beneath his near observation had been so elaborately equipped, he had taken notice of similar weapons and garments, with additions which he strove hard to describe with accuracy.
Nearly every sentence which crossed his lips served to confirm the marvellous truth which had so dazzlingly burst upon the professor's eager brain, and with a glib tongue he named each weapon, each garment, as accurately as ever set down in ancient history, not a little to the wide-eyed amazement of Waldo Gillespie.
"Worse than those blessed 'sour-us' and cousins," he confided to his brother, in a whisper. "Reckon it's all right, Bruno? Uncle isn't--eh?"But uncle Phaeton paid them no attention, so deeply was he stirred by this wondrous revelation. He felt that he was upon the verge of a discovery which would startle the wide world as no recent announcement had been able to do, unless--but it surely must be correct!
And then, when Cooper Edgecombe finished all he could tell concerning those queerly armed and gaudily garbed red men, the professor let loose his tongue, telling what glorious hopes and dazzling anticipations were now within him.
"For hundreds upon hundreds of years there have been wild, weird legends about the Lost City, but that merely meant a mass of wondrous ruins, long since overwhelmed by shifting sands, somewhere in the heart of the great American desert, so-called.
"By some it was claimed that this ancient city owed its primal existence to a fragment of the Aztecs, driven from their native quarters in Old Mexico. By others 'twas attributed unto one of the fabulous 'Lost Tribes of Israel,' but even the most enthusiastic never for one moment dreamed of--this!""Except yourself, uncle Phaeton," cut in Waldo, with a subdued grin. "This must be one of the marvels you calculated on discovering, thanks to the flying-machine, eh?""Nay, my boy; I never let my imagination soar half so high as all that," quickly answered the professor. "But now--now I feel confident that just such a discovery lies before us, and with the dawn of a new day we will ascend and look for the glorious 'Lost City of the Aztecs!' "Again the savant sprang to his feet, wildly gesticulating as he strode to and fro, striving to thus work off some of the intense excitement which had taken full possession. And words fell rapidly from his lips the while, only a portion of which need be placed upon record in this connection, however.
"A fico for the paltry lost cities of musty tradition, now! They may sleep beneath the sand-storms of countless years, but this--Iwould gladly give one of my eyes for the certainty that its mate might gaze upon such a wondrous spectacle as--Oh, if it might only prove true! If I might only discover such a stupendous treasure! Aztecs! And in the present day! Alive--armed and garbed as of yore! Amazing! Incredible! Astounding beyond the wildest dreams of a confirmed--"With startling swiftness uncle Phaeton wheeled to confront the exile, gripping his arm with fierce vigour, as he shrilly demanded:
"Opium--are you an eater of drugs, Cooper Edgecombe?"Even as the words crossed his lips, the professor realised how preposterous they must sound, but the exile shook his head, earnestly.
"I never ate drugs in that shape, sir. Even if I had been addicted to morphine and the like, how could I indulge the appetite here, in these gloomy, lonely wilds?""I beg your pardon, sir; most humbly I implore your forgiveness.
I have but one excuse--this wondrous--Good night! I'm going to bed before I add to my new reputation as--a blessed idiot, no less!"
