“What? Murowski the Pole?” cried one.
“Murowski the snake-charmer?” said another.
“Murowski the butterfly hunter?” cried a third.
“Yes, gentlemen, Murowski, our learned medical officer. But, if you please, a little more respect for that high-priest of science. Do not, pray, forget that he is the most celebrated entomologist India has ever possessed and that is, I think, saying a good deal in these days when every little German prince gives his paltry decorations and family orders for any complete—or incomplete—collection of insects, or for a bowl of disgusting reptiles tortured to death in arrack. And, further, please not to forget that he is a most earnest observer of all scientific phenomena, a man whose very name will impress upon our séance that stamp of learning which it will need if it is to go forth to the world of science as a noteworthy experiment. Our Pole was in ecstasies when he heard of our experiment, and when I asked him to undertake the management of it, he promised to bring his thermometers, his stethoscopes—You will see what a dose of learning he will give us!”
“That’s all very fine;” said Grenits, “but meanwhile he has not turned up.”
“Perhaps,” suggested van Beneden, “he is hunting butterflies.”
“Excuse me,” replied van Rheijn, “in addition to his other merits, the man is also a great lover of music. Nothing in the world would induce him to miss the afternoon concert on the green, moreover he is deeply smitten with Miss Agatha van Bemmelen, and she, no doubt, is there in the family coach.”
“Oh, ho!” said Grenits, “that is a pretty little butterfly, she has money too.”
“Oh, yes, your Poles are no fools.”
“But how long will he be?”