“Well,” answered Hopkins, “search me! This is nearer to fairy land than I ever thought a human could get, and—I don’t believe I like it. Rather goblin-like I thought, though not Gilbert’s notion either;
‘The goblin-imp, a lithe young ape,
A fine low-comedy bogy?’”
“Certainly the genus homo,” said the Professor reflectively, and looking more startled than pleased. “They offer a field of unusual research. They might be,” he lifted his eyes upward, almost as if imploring light on the subject, “they might be preadamites. They were not simian, not in the least. Gentlemen,” sudden thought lit up his face with the customary smile, while his lips retreated, displaying his imperfect teeth, his eyes grew larger or they issued farther from their orbits, and his red hair, now inordinately long, draped his face in a rufous tapestry that made him look still more strangely excited. “Gentlemen, I have it (“Thank God,” sotto voce from Hopkins), I have it. We have here an isolated group of mentalities that have been subjected to a restrictive and intensive process of development. Of course they had initially the prerogatives of reason. They have attained a peculiar culture, it may be a very one-sided one, but at least their methods of aeronautics leave little to be desired, and they understand and practice metal working, textile arts; they have a language. Personal beauty they do not boast (“That’s putting it mild; they looked like blueprints,” again sotto voce from Hopkins) and their physiques seem dwarfed and impoverished. How did they strike you, Erickson? What did you see? Your linguistic knowledge may help us, and—I think you had our glass.”
Parenthetically I may tell you, Mr. Link, that I have been a poor sort of a journalist, and a teacher of languages, and a traveler, a mixture of vocations not conducive, you will say, to signal distinction in any line.
“This is what I saw,” I began, with an assertiveness that brought me wrapt attention. It was true that I had seen a good deal; my monopoly of our field glass had been complete. I spoke with rather crisp acerbity because I had already taken a strong prejudice against these jaundiced objects, and neither as associates nor as subjects of study was I willing to seek their acquaintance.
“They are diaphanous yellow anthropological insects, with big beetle heads dropping forward, scrappy hair or none at all, are anemic, short bodied, long legged, short armed, and absurdly pervaded by a saffron-blueness—I can describe it in no other words. You saw their dress; the tunic clothing them like a nightshirt or a butcher’s blouse, is cinctured by a gold belt! They are scarcely more than three feet high.”
“Alfred,” asked Goritz, “are you sure about the gold belt? I thought I saw yellow links around their bodies too.”
“Oh, yes,” I replied indifferently, “the gold belts were plain enough, but Antoine, I tell you you had better leave these microbes alone.”
The intensity of my repugnance amused them. I think it was shared by Hopkins. He said, “They’ve rather got my goat, but the risk of seeing the thing out is worth taking. They certainly have the goods and, as for scrapping— Well, say, we could blow ’em away.”