“With all due respeck, m’lord,” answered the seaman firmly, “I would not go back if you dammed the brook with di’monds.”
“You’re a coward, Parsons,” said I disgustedly. “What’s there to be afraid of? It’s simply the body of a man who was caught by the glacier when it overwhelmed this valley, as it evidently has done. It’s the cold that’s kept him fresh.”
“Yes, m’lord,” answered Parsons, without conviction.
“So of course we ought to look into the matter further. Who knows what there may be besides what we’ve seen? I shall call the others.”
“Yes, m’lord,” quoth Mr. Parsons, with steadfast respect. “I should certainly call the others.”
I turned away, disgusted with his cowardice, scrambled up the side of the ravine again, and strolled back to where they were still delving away among the rubbish. They took no notice of me, and I lit a cigarette with deliberation before I inquired if they had found anything.
“Ouf! but you annoy me with your questions,” snapped Lessaution. “Is it that you expect us to examine the whole of this affair in ten minutes? This is the discovery of the century—the most magnificent one that has been made about peoples of which we know nothing. And you say have you found anything? We have found a house, and have been here the littlest half-hour.”
“Ah,” said I superciliously; “I think you’re wasting your time.”
He boiled over at me, his face the color of beetroot.
“Can you not search for your beach without disturbing the important investigations of savants? What is your beach to me? Go you on and look for it, and leave us to dig at our leisure.” He snorted with indignation as he turned away.