The lost world

Arthur Conan Doyle

• Publisher: Youcanprint
• Year: 2018
• eBook ISBN: 9788827800133
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Classics
• Index: Literature

The Lost World is a novel released in 1912 by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle concerning an expedition to a plateau in the Amazon basin of South America where prehistoric animals (dinosaurs and other extinct creatures) still survive. It was originally published serially in the popular Strand Magazine and illustrated by New-Zealand-born artist Harry Rountree during the months of April–November 1912. The character of Professor Challenger was introduced in this book. The novel also describes a war between indigenous people and a vicious tribe of ape-like creatures.

The Lost World

Arthur Conan Doyle

First digital edition 2017 by Anna Ruggieri

CONTENTS

The Lost World

Arthur Conan Doyle

CHAPTER I- There Are Heroisms All Round Us;

CHAPTER II - Try Your Luck with Professor Challenger

CHAPTER III- He is a PerfectlyImpossible Person;

CHAPTER IV- It's Just the very Biggest Thing in the World

CHAPTER V- Question!

CHAPTER VI- I was the Flail of the Lord;

CHAPTER VII- To-morrow we Disappear into the Unknown;

CHAPTER VIII- The Outlying Pickets of the New World;

CHAPTER IX- Who could have Foreseen it?

CHAPTER X- The most Wonderful Things have Happened;

CHAPTER XI- For once I was the Hero;

CHAPTER XII-It was Dreadful in the Forest

CHAPTER XIII- A Sight which I shall Never Forget;

CHAPTER XIV- Those Were the Real Conquests;

CHAPTER XV- Our Eyes have seen Great Wonders

CHAPTER XVI-A Procession! A Procession;

CHAPTER I- There Are Heroisms All Round Us;

Mr. Hungerton, herfather, really was the most tactless personupon earth,—a fluffy, feathery, untidy cockatoo of a man,perfectly good-natured, but absolutely centered upon his own sillyself. If anything could have driven me from Gladys, it would havebeen the thought of such a father-in-law. I am convinced that hereally believed in his heart that I came round to the Chestnutsthree days a week for the pleasure of his company, and veryespecially to hear his views upon bimetallism, a subject upon whichhe was by way of being an authority.

For an hour or more that evening I listened to his monotonouschirrup about bad money driving out good, the token value ofsilver, the depreciation of the rupee, and the true standards ofexchange.

"Suppose," he cried with feeble violence,"that all the debts inthe world were called up simultaneously, and immediate paymentinsisted upon,—what under our present conditions would happenthen?"

I gave the self-evident answer that I should be a ruined man,upon which he jumped from his chair,reproved me for my habituallevity, which made it impossible for him to discuss any reasonablesubject in my presence, and bounced off out of the room to dressfor a Masonic meeting.

At last I was alone with Gladys, and the moment of Fate hadcome! All that evening I had felt like the soldier who awaits thesignal which will send him on a forlorn hope; hope of victory andfear of repulse alternating in his mind.

She sat with that proud, delicate profile of hers outlinedagainst the red curtain. How beautiful she was! And yet how aloof!We had been friends, quite good friends; but never could I getbeyond the same comradeship which I might have established with oneof my fellow-reporters upon the Gazette,—perfectly frank,perfectly kindly, and perfectly unsexual. My instincts are allagainst a woman being too frank and at her ease with me. It is nocompliment to a man. Where the real sex feeling begins, timidityand distrust are its companions, heritage from old wicked days whenlove and violence went often hand in hand. The bent head, theaverted eye, the faltering voice, the wincing figure—these,and not the unshrinking gaze and frank reply, are the true signalsof passion. Even in my short life I had learned as much asthat—or had inherited it in that race memory which we callinstinct.

Gladys was full of every womanly quality. Some judged her to becold and hard; but such a thought was treason. That delicatelybronzed skin, almost oriental in its coloring, thatraven hair, thelarge liquid eyes, the full butexquisite lips,—all thestigmata of passion were there. But I was sadly conscious that upto now I had never found the secret of drawing it forth. However,come what might, I should have done with suspense and bring mattersto a head to-night. She could but refuse me, and better be arepulsed lover than an accepted brother.

So far my thoughts had carried me, and I was about to break thelong and uneasy silence, when two critical, dark eyes looked roundat me, and the proud head was shaken in smiling reproof. "I have apresentiment that you are going to propose, Ned. I do wish youwouldn't; for things are so much nicer as they are."

I drew my chair a little nearer. "Now, how did you know that Iwas going to propose?" I asked in genuine wonder.

"Don't women always know? Do you suppose any woman in the worldwas ever taken unawares? But—oh, Ned, our friendship has beenso good and so pleasant! What a pity to spoil it! Don't you feelhow splendid it is that a young man and a young woman should beable to talk face to face as we have talked?"

"I don't know, Gladys. You see, I can talk face to facewith—with the station-master." I can't imagine how thatofficial came into the matter; but in he trotted, and set us bothlaughing. "That does not satisfy me in the least. I want my armsround you, and your head on my breast, and—oh, Gladys, Iwant——"

She had sprung from her chair, as she saw signs that I proposedto demonstrate some of my wants. "You've spoiled everything, Ned,"she said. "It's all so beautiful and natural until this kind ofthing comes in! It is such a pity! Why can't you controlyourself?"

"I didn't invent it," I pleaded. "It's nature. It's love."

"Well, perhaps if both love, it may be different. I have neverfelt it."

"But you must—you, with your beauty, with your soul! Oh,Gladys, you were made for love! You must love!"

"One must wait till it comes."

"But why can't you love me, Gladys? Is it my appearance, orwhat?"

She did unbend a little. She put forward a hand—such agracious, stooping attitude it was—and she pressed back myhead. Then she looked into my upturned face with a very wistfulsmile.

"No it isn't that," she said at last. "You're not a conceitedboy by nature, and so I can safely tell you it is not that. It'sdeeper."

"My character?"

She nodded severely.

"What can I do to mend it? Do sit down and talk it over. No,really, I won't if you'll only sit down!"

She looked at me with a wondering distrust which was much moreto my mind than her whole-hearted confidence. How primitive andbestial itlooks when you put it down in black and white!—andperhaps after all it is only a feeling peculiar to myself. Anyhow,she sat down.

"Now tell me what's amiss with me?"

"I'm in love with somebody else," said she.

It was my turn to jump out of my chair.

"It's nobody in particular," she explained, laughing at theexpression of my face: "only an ideal. I've never met the kind ofman I mean."

"Tell me about him. What does he look like?"

"Oh, he might look very much like you."

"How dear of you to say that! Well,what is it that he does thatI don't do? Just say the word,—teetotal, vegetarian,aeronaut, theosophist, superman. I'll have a try at it, Gladys, ifyou will only give me an idea what would please you."

She laughed at the elasticity of my character. "Well,in thefirst place, I don't think my ideal would speak like that," saidshe. "He would be a harder, sterner man, not so ready to adapthimself to a silly girl's whim. But, above all, he must be a manwho could do, who could act, who could look Death in the face andhave no fear of him, a man of great deeds and strange experiences.It is never a man that I should love, but always the glories he hadwon; for they would be reflected upon me. Think of Richard Burton!When I read his wife's life of him I couldso understand her love!And Lady Stanley! Did you ever read the wonderful last chapter ofthat book about her husband? These are the sort of men that a womancould worship with all her soul, and yet be the greater, not theless, on account of her love, honored by all the world as theinspirer of noble deeds."

She looked so beautiful in her enthusiasm that I nearly broughtdown the whole level of the interview. I gripped myself hard, andwent on with the argument.

"We can't all be Stanleys and Burtons," saidI; "besides, wedon't get the chance,—at least, I never had the chance. If Idid, I should try to take it."

"But chances are all around you. It is the mark of the kind ofman I mean that he makes his own chances. You can't hold him back.I've never met him, and yet I seem to know him so well. There areheroisms all round us waiting to be done. It's for men to do them,and for women to reserve their love as a reward for such men. Lookat that young Frenchman who went up lastweek in a balloon. It wasblowing a gale of wind; but because he was announced to go heinsisted on starting. The wind blew him fifteen hundred miles intwenty-four hours, and he fell in the middle of Russia. That wasthe kind of man I mean. Think of the woman he loved, and how otherwomen must have envied her! That's what I should like tobe,—envied for my man."

"I'd have done it to please you."

"But you shouldn't do it merely to please me. You should do itbecause you can't help yourself, because it's natural to you,because the man inyou is crying out for heroic expression. Now,when you described the Wigan coal explosion last month, could younot have gone down and helped those people, in spite of thechoke-damp?"

"I did."

"You never said so."

"There was nothing worth bucking about."

"I didn't know." She looked at me with rather more interest."That was brave of you."

"I had to. If you want to write good copy, you must be where thethings are."

"What a prosaic motive! It seems to take all the romance out ofit. But, still, whatever your motive, I am glad that you went downthat mine." She gave me her hand; but with such sweetness anddignity that I could only stoop and kiss it. "I dare say I ammerely a foolish woman with a young girl's fancies. And yet it isso real with me, so entirely part of my very self, that I cannothelp acting upon it. If I marry, I do want to marry a famousman!"

"Why should you not?" I cried. "It is women like you who bracemen up. Give me a chance, and see if I will take it! Besides, asyou say, men ought to MAKE their own chances, and not wait untilthey are given. Look at Clive—just a clerk, and he conqueredIndia! By George! I'll do something in the world yet!"

She laughed at my sudden Irish effervescence. "Why not?" shesaid. "You have everything a man could have,—youth, health,strength, education, energy. I was sorry you spoke. And now I amglad—so glad—if it wakens these thoughts in you!"

"And if I do——"

Her dear hand rested like warm velvet upon my lips. "Not anotherword, Sir! You should have been at the office for evening duty halfan hour ago; only I hadn't the heart to remind you. Some day,perhaps, when you have won your place in the world, we shall talkit over again."

And so it was that I found myself that foggy November eveningpursuing the Camberwell tram with my heart glowing within me, andwith the eager determination that not another day should elapsebefore I should find some deed which was worthy of my lady.Butwho—who in all this wide world could ever have imaginedthe incredible shape which that deed was to take, or the strangesteps by which I was led to the doing of it?

And, after all, this opening chapter will seem to the reader tohave nothing to do with my narrative; and yet there would have beenno narrative without it, for it is onlywhen a man goes out into theworld with the thought that there are heroisms all round him, andwith the desire all alive in his heart to follow any which may comewithin sight of him, that he breaks away as I did from the life heknows, and ventures forthinto the wonderful mystic twilight landwhere lie the great adventures and the great rewards. Behold me,then, at the office of the Daily Gazette, on the staff of which Iwas a most insignificant unit, with the settled determination thatvery night, if possible, to find the quest which should be worthyof my Gladys! Was it hardness, was it selfishness, that she shouldask me to risk my life for her own glorification? Such thoughts maycome to middle age; but never to ardent three-and-twenty in thefever ofhis first love.

CHAPTER II - Try Your Luck with Professor Challenger

I always liked McArdle, the crabbed, old, round-backed,red-headed news editor, and I rather hoped that he liked me. Ofcourse, Beaumont was the real boss; but he lived in therarefiedatmosphere of some Olympian height from which he could distinguishnothing smaller than an international crisis or a split in theCabinet. Sometimes we saw him passing in lonely majesty to hisinner sanctum, with his eyes staring vaguely and his mind hoveringover the Balkans or the Persian Gulf. He was above and beyond us.But McArdle was his first lieutenant, and it was he that we knew.The old man nodded as I entered the room, and he pushed hisspectacles far up on his bald forehead.

"Well, Mr.Malone, from all I hear, you seem to be doing verywell," said he in his kindly Scotch accent.

I thanked him.

"The colliery explosion was excellent. So was the Southwarkfire. You have the true descreeptive touch. What did you want tosee me about?"

"To ask a favor."

He looked alarmed, and his eyes shunned mine. "Tut, tut! What isit?"

"Do you think, Sir, that you could possibly send me on somemission for the paper? I would do my best to put it through and getyou some good copy."

"What sort of meesion hadyou in your mind, Mr. Malone?"

"Well, Sir, anything that had adventure and danger in it. Ireally would do my very best. The more difficult it was, the betterit would suit me."

"You seem very anxious to lose your life."

"To justify my life, Sir."

"Dear me, Mr. Malone, this is very—very exalted. I'mafraid the day for this sort of thing is rather past. The expenseof the 'special meesion' business hardly justifies the result, and,of course, in any case it would only be an experienced man with aname thatwould command public confidence who would get such anorder. The big blank spaces in the map are all being filled in, andthere's no room for romance anywhere. Wait a bit, though!" headded, with a sudden smile upon his face. "Talking of the blankspaces of the map gives me an idea. What about exposing afraud—a modern Munchausen—and making him rideeculous?You could show him up as the liar that he is! Eh, man, it would befine. How does it appeal to you?"

"Anything—anywhere—I care nothing."

McArdle was plunged in thought for some minutes.

"I wonder whether you could get on friendly—or at least ontalking terms with the fellow," he said, at last. "You seem to havea sort of genius for establishing relations withpeople—seempathy, I suppose, or animal magnetism, or youthfulvitality, or something. I am conscious of it myself."

"You are very good, sir."

"So why should you not try your luck with Professor Challenger,of Enmore Park?"

I dare say I looked a little startled.

"Challenger!" I cried. "Professor Challenger, the famouszoologist! Wasn't he the man who broke the skull of Blundell, ofthe Telegraph?"

The news editor smiled grimly.

"Do you mind? Didn't you say it was adventures you wereafter?"

"It is all in the way of business, sir," I answered.

"Exactly.I don't suppose he can always be so violent as that.I'm thinking that Blundell got him at the wrong moment, maybe, orin the wrong fashion. You may have better luck, or more tact inhandling him. There's something in your line there, I am sure, andthe Gazette should work it."

"I really know nothing about him," said I. "I only remember hisname in connection with the police-court proceedings, for strikingBlundell."

"I have a few notes for your guidance, Mr. Malone. I've had myeye on the Professor for some little time." He took a paper from adrawer. "Here is a summary of his record. I give it youbriefly:—

"'Challenger, George Edward. Born: Largs, N. B., 1863. Educ.:Largs Academy; Edinburgh University. British Museum Assistant,1892. Assistant-Keeper ofComparative Anthropology Department, 1893.Resigned after acrimonious correspondence same year. Winner ofCrayston Medal for Zoological Research. Foreign Memberof'—well, quite a lot of things, about two inches of smalltype—'Societe Belge, American Academy of Sciences, La Plata,etc., etc. Ex-President Palaeontological Society. Section H,British Association'—so on, so on!—'Publications: "SomeObservations Upon a Series of Kalmuck Skulls"; "Outlines ofVertebrate Evolution"; and numerous papers, including"Theunderlying fallacy of Weissmannism," which caused heated discussionat the Zoological Congress of Vienna. Recreations: Walking, Alpineclimbing. Address: Enmore Park, Kensington, W.'

"There, take it with you. I've nothing more for youto-night."

I pocketed the slip of paper.

"One moment, sir," I said, as I realized that it was a pink baldhead, and not a red face, which was fronting me. "I am not veryclear yet why I am to interview this gentleman. What has hedone?"

The face flashed back again.

"Wentto South America on a solitary expedeetion two years ago.Came back last year. Had undoubtedly been to South America, butrefused to say exactly where. Began to tell his adventures in avague way, but somebody started to pick holes, and he just shut uplike an oyster. Something wonderful happened—or the man's achampion liar, which is the more probable supposeetion. Had somedamaged photographs, said to be fakes. Got so touchy that heassaults anyone who asks questions, and heaves reporters down thestairs.In my opinion he's just a homicidal megalomaniac with a turnfor science. That's your man, Mr. Malone. Now, off you run, and seewhat you can make of him. You're big enough to look after yourself.Anyway, you are all safe. Employers' Liability Act, you know."

A grinning red face turned once more into a pink oval, fringedwith gingery fluff; the interview was at an end.

I walked across to the Savage Club, but instead of turning...

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• The Lost World