“It seems strange,” said the great man, “that this African Zebra should live in the temperature of the Rue de Tournon.”
This was treading on delicate ground, but my master was equal to the occasion, although on hearing the remark I began to walk like an ass.
“Yes,” replied Marmus, “I hope he may live until my lectures are over.”
“You are a clever fellow, but bear in mind that your new and popular science must be moulded to fit in with the doctrines of the worthy Baron. Perhaps it would lend dignity to your cause were you represented by a pupil.”
Here the Baron entered, and overhearing the remark, said:—
“Ah, sir, I have a pupil of great promise, who repeats admirably what he is taught. We call this sort of man a vulgariser.”
“And we,” said the journalist, “call him a parrot. Those men render real service to science as they talk it down to the level of the popular mind.”
“Well, that is settled,” said Marmus, taking the Baron’s hand; “let us pull together.”
The minister said: “Marmus, you deserve, and shall receive, the substantial reward of genius in such honour and support as your country has to bestow.”
The Geographical Society, jealously wishing to imitate the government, offered to defray the entire cost of the journey to the Mountains of the Moon, which offer was ultimately carried into effect. These timely aids came in opportunely as my master had been burning the financial candle at both ends.