Wednesday's Good Reading: “As Cegonhas” by Hans Christian Andersen (translated into Portuguese by Monteiro Lobato).

 

Um casal de cegonhas havia construído o ninho no telhado duma casa de aldeia. Lá estava a cegonha-mãe ao lado de seus quatro filhotes, cujos bicos escuros só mais tarde ficariam vermelhos como os bicos das cegonhas. Um pouco mais além, na parte mais alta do telhado, a cegonha-pai montava guarda, muito séria e tesa, de pé num pé só. Parecia feita de pau.

— É uma grande honra para minha esposa ter sentinela ao lado, murmurava ele. Os que não sabem que sou o marido pensarão que fui contratado para montar guarda e isso dá muita importância à nossa família.

Nisto apareceu na rua, embaixo, um grupo de meninos vadios. Ao verem as cegonhas puseram-se a cantar uma cantiga muito velha. Essa cantiga dizia que pouco adiantava a cegonha-pai estar montando sentinela, porque o primeiro filhote tinha de acabar preso num laço; o segundo, caído num braseiro; o terceiro, morto por uma carga de chumbo e o último, assado ao espeto.

— Escutem! exclamaram os filhotes assustadíssimos. Estão dizendo que vamos ser enforcados e assados!...

— Bobagem! exclamou a mãe-cegonha. Nada disso acontecerá.

Os meninos continuaram a cantar e apontavam para as cegonhas com o dedo. Apenas um, de nome Peter, não gostou da brincadeira e disse que não deviam estar atropelando as pobres aves que não lhes tinham feito mal nenhum. Mas os meninos insistiram e a cegonha--mãe continuou a dizer aos filhotes que não fizessem caso.

— Não se assustem com as bobagens desses vadios. Não sabem o que dizem. Veja o vosso pai como não liga nenhuma importância e continua imóvel numa perna só.

— Estamos com medo! piavam os filhotes encolhendo-se no ninho.

No dia seguinte os mesmos meninos voltaram a brincar por ali e repetiram a cantiga, assustando ainda mais as cegonhinhas recém-nascidas.

— Seremos mesmo enforcadas e assadas? indagavam elas arregalando os olhos cheios de pavor.

— Nunca! respondia com firmeza a mãe-cegonha. Eu ensinarei vocês a voar, e quando estiverem práticas iremos todas para os brejos em visita às rãs que fazem creque! creque! antes de serem devoradas.

— E depois? quiseram saber os filhotes.

— Depois nos reuniremos a todas as cegonhas desta terra para a viagem do outono. Por esse tempo vocês já devem estar voando perfeitamente e o que não voar direito será espetado pelo enorme bico do general do bando. Tratem pois de aplicar-se da melhor maneira, aproveitando bem as minhas lições.

— Mas que adianta isso, se temos de acabar no espeto? Lá estão os meninos com a mesma cantiga, outra vez...

— Eles não sabem o que dizem; só o que eu digo é certo. Depois de nos reunirmos num grande bando, voaremos para um país quente para o Egito, onde as casas são de pedra, e enormes as tais pirâmides. Nesse país há um rio que todos os anos alaga as duas margens até muito longe. Não há melhor lugar no mundo para a caçada de rãs.

— Que bom! exclamaram os filhotes entusiasmados.

— É um lugar maravilhoso! E enquanto por lá estivermos, quentinhas ao sol, por aqui todas as árvores ficarão peladas, sem uma só folha nos galhos. O frio cá é terrível no inverno. As nuvens do céu viram gelo e caem como farinha branca. É o que os homens chamam neve. Tudo fica gelado.

— E os meninos também gelam?

— Não. Mas para isso têm que ficar dentro das casas, vestidos de grossas roupas de lã ou de peles. E vocês, lá longe, gozando o bom sol e vendo tudo verdinho e florido!...

E desse modo a cegonha-mãe consolou-os.

Correu o tempo. Os filhos da cegonha já estavam crescidotes e já sabiam ficar de pé no ninho, para espiar em redor. Todos os dias o pai-cegonha trazia-lhes no bico rãs e outros bichinhos. Depois fazia trejeitos cômicos para diverti-los; revirava a cabeça até encostar na cauda, estalava o bico como se estivesse tocando castanholas e também contava casos engraçados.

Afinal chegou a época de deixar o ninho, e os quatro filhotes saíram a passeio pelo telhado, muito sem jeito e cambaleantes; ao tentarem voar quase caíram no chão.

— Muito atentos agora, disse a cegonha-mãe. Vejam como eu faço. O pescoço deve conservar-se bem esticado, assim. E o pé nesta posição — primeiro o esquerdo; depois o direito. Vamos ver.

E isto dizendo ela alçou o vôo. Entusiasmados, os filhotes tentaram fazer o mesmo — mas foi uma série de tombos, um atrás do outro.

— Não quero mais aprender a voar, disse um deles voltando ao ninho. Prefiro continuar aqui em vez de voar para o tal país quente.

— Quer então morrer entanguido no inverno ou ser assado no espeto pelos meninos?

— Não! Não! gritou o filhote assustado e veio de novo para o exercício.

No terceiro dia já sabiam voar um pouquinho; um deles experimentou pairar no espaço sem bater as asas e o resultado foi um boléu. Felizmente bateu as asas a tempo e evitou de chegar ao chão, onde os meninos, numa gritaria, o estavam esperando.

— Não acha bom darmos umas bicadas nesses meninos? perguntou outro.

— Não, já disse que só façam o que eu mandar. Temos agora de voar em redor da chaminé, da direita para a esquerda e depois da esquerda para direita. Vamos! Um, dois e três!... Bravos! Muito bem! creio que amanhã já poderão acompanhar-me ao brejo das rãs. Quero que se comportem muito direitinhos, para serem admirados, e que andem com imponência, para se tornarem respeitados.

— Mas então iremos daqui sem nos vingarmos desses meninos maus?

— O frio vingará vocês. Enquanto estiverem bem quentes lá no Egito, eles aqui vão tiritar de frio.

— Isso não basta, disse o mais valente dos quatro. Queremos tomar a nossa vingança — e todos concordaram.

O menino mais assanhado em judiar das cegonhas era um de seis anos apenas, um pirralho, mas que parecia enorme para as cegonhinhas.

E as cegonhinhas resolveram que ele pagaria por todos. E tanto amolaram a mãe-cegonha com essa história de vingança, que tempos mais tarde ela lhes deu a licença pedida — mas com uma condição.

— Primeiro quero ver como vocês se comportam no ensaio geral antes da partida para o Egito. Se se comportarem mal, o chefe os atravessará com o bico e ficarei sabendo que os meninos têm razão. Por isso quero que esperem o ensaio. Depois, se tudo correr bem, darei licença de se vingarem dos meninos.

Com medo das bicadas do chefe, as cegonhinhas aplicaram-se aos exercícios com todo o afinco e acabaram por voar tão bem como os pais. Nisto chegou o outono, e os quatro irmãos foram mandados voar sobre florestas e cidades a fim de demonstrarem o seu grau de adiantamento. Foram aprovados com distinção e receberam como prêmio uma rã e uma cobra, petiscos que muito apreciavam.

— Ora graças que chegou o momento da nossa vingança! disseram eles ao chegar.

— Isso mesmo, concordou a cegonha-mãe, e tenho cá um plano excelente. Sei onde fica a floresta na qual as cegonhas vão buscar os bebês que distribuem pela cidade. Porque somos nós que fornecemos os bebês a este povo. Ora, os pais querem sempre bebês bem bonitinhos e nós podemos trazer dos mais lindos para as casas dos meninos que não caçoaram de nós e não nos ameaçaram.

— E para os que nos ameaçaram? Para aquele que queria nos assar ao espeto?

— Para a casa desse levaremos um dos bebês mortos que existem na floresta — e ele terá de chorar quando souber que perdeu um irmãozinho. Será um bom castigo.

— E para o menino bom, que nos defendeu, o Peter?

— Para esse levaremos um casal de lindos bebês, um irmãozinho e uma irmãzinha. E em homenagem a ele vocês, cegonhinhas, ficarão com esse nome — Peter.

E foi assim que apareceram na Dinamarca as cegonhas de nome Peter.

Wednesday's Good Reading; “Jorinda and Joringel” by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm (translated into English by Margaret Raine Hunt).

 

There was once an old castle in the midst of a large and thick forest, and in it an old woman who was a witch dwelt all alone. In the day-time she changed herself into a cat or a screech-owl, but in the evening she took her proper shape again as a human being. She could lure wild beasts and birds to her, and then she killed and boiled and roasted them. If any one came within one hundred paces of the castle he was obliged to stand still, and could not stir from the place until she bade him be free. But whenever an innocent maiden came within this circle, she changed her into a bird, and shut her up in a wicker-work cage, and carried the cage into a room in the castle. She had about seven thousand cages of rare birds in the castle.

Now, there was once a maiden who was called Jorinda, who was fairer than all other girls. She and a handsome youth named Joringel had promised to marry each other. They were still in the days of betrothal, and their greatest happiness was being together. One day in order that they might be able to talk together in quiet they went for a walk in the forest. "Take care," said Joringel, "that you do not go too near the castle."

It was a beautiful evening; the sun shone brightly between the trunks of the trees into the dark green of the forest, and the turtle-doves sang mournfully upon the young boughs of the birch-trees.

Jorinda wept now and then: she sat down in the sunshine and was sorrowful. Joringel was sorrowful too; they were as sad as if they were about to die. Then they looked around them, and were quite at a loss, for they did not know by which way they should go home. The sun was still half above the mountain and half set.

Joringel looked through the bushes, and saw the old walls of the castle close at hand. He was horror-stricken and filled with deadly fear. Jorinda was singing—

 

"My little bird, with the necklace red,

   Sings sorrow, sorrow, sorrow,

He sings that the dove must soon be dead,

   Sings sorrow, sor——— jug, jug, jug."

 

Joringel looked for Jorinda. She was changed into a nightingale, and sang "jug, jug, jug." A screech-owl with glowing eyes flew three times round about her, and three times cried "to-whoo, to-whoo, to-whoo!"

Joringel could not move: he stood there like a stone, and could neither weep nor speak, nor move hand or foot.

The sun had now set. The owl flew into the thicket, and directly afterwards there came out of it a crooked old woman, yellow and lean, with large red eyes and a hooked nose, the point of which reached to her chin. She muttered to herself, caught the nightingale, and took it away in her hand.

Joringel could neither speak nor move from the spot; the nightingale was gone. At last the woman came back, and said in a hollow voice, "Greet thee, Zachiel. If the moon shines on the cage, Zachiel, let him loose at once." Then Joringel was freed. He fell on his knees before the woman and begged that she would give him back his Jorinda, but she said that he should never have her again, and went away. He called, he wept, he lamented, but all in vain, "Ah, what is to become of me?"

Joringel went away, and at last came to a strange village; there he kept sheep for a long time. He often walked round and round the castle, but not too near to it. At last he dreamt one night that he found a blood-red flower, in the middle of which was a beautiful large pearl; that he picked the flower and went with it to the castle, and that everything he touched with the flower was freed from enchantment; he also dreamt that by means of it he recovered his Jorinda.

In the morning, when he awoke, he began to seek over hill and dale if he could find such a flower. He sought until the ninth day, and then, early in the morning, he found the blood-red flower. In the middle of it there was a large dew-drop, as big as the finest pearl.

Day and night he journeyed with this flower to the castle. When he was within a hundred paces of it he was not held fast, but walked on to the door. Joringel was full of joy; he touched the door with the flower, and it sprang open. He walked in through the courtyard, and listened for the sound of the birds. At last he heard it. He went on and found the room from whence it came, and there the witch was feeding the birds in the seven thousand cages.

When she saw Joringel she was angry, very angry, and scolded and spat poison and gall at him, but she could not come within two paces of him. He did not take any notice of her, but went and looked at the cages with the birds; but there were many hundred nightingales, how was he to find his Jorinda again?

Just then he saw the old woman quietly take away a cage with a bird in it, and go towards the door.

Swifty he sprang towards her, touched the cage with the flower, and also the old woman. She could now no longer bewitch any one; and Jorinda was standing there, clasping him round the neck, and she was as beautiful as ever!

Saturday's Good Reading: “The Eggs From Lake Tanganyika” by Curt Siodmak (translated into English by unknown translator).

 

Professor Meyer-Maier drew a sharp needle out of the cushion, carefully picked up with the pincers the fly lying in front of him and stuck it carefully upon a piece of white paper. He looked over the rim of his glasses, dipped his pen in the ink and wrote under the specimen:

 

    "Glossina palpalis, specimen from Tsetsefly River. In the aboriginal language termed nsi-nsi. Usually found on river courses and lakes in West Africa. Bearer of the malady Negana (Tse-tse sickness—sleeping sickness.)

 

He laid down the pen and took up a powerful magnifying glass for a closer examination. "A horrible creature," he murmered, and shivered involuntarily. On each side of the head of the flying horror, there was a monstrous eye surrounded by many sharp lashes and divided up into a hundred thousand flashing facets. An ugly proboscis thickly studded with curved barbs or hooks grew out of the lower side of the head. The wings were small and pointed, the legs armed with thorns, spines and claws. The thorax was muscular, like that of a prize fighter. The abdomen was thin and looked like India rubber. It could take in a great quantity of blood and expand like a balloon. On the whole, the flying horror, resembling a pre-historic flying dragon, was not very pleasant looking—Prof. Meyer-Maier took a pin and transfixed the body of the fly. It seemed to him that a vicious sheen of light emanated from the eyes and that the proboscis rolled up. Quickly he picked up the magnifying glass, but it was an optical illusion—the thing was dead, with all its poison still within its body.

 

Memories of the Expedition to Africa

With a deep sigh he laid aside pincers and magnifying glass and sank into a deep reverie. The clock struck 12. 1-2-S-4-5, counted Professor Meyer-Maier.

In Udjidji, a village on lake Tanganyika, the natives had told him of gigantic flies inhabiting the interior further north. These monsters were three times as big as the giants composing the giant bodyguard of the Prince of Ssuggi, who all had to be of at least standard height. Meyer-Maier laughed over this negro fable, but the negroes were obstinate. They refused to follow him to the northern part of Lake Tanganyika. Even Msu-uru, his black servant, who otherwise made an intelligent impression, trembled with excitement and begged to be left out of the expedition—because there enormous flies and bees were to be found,—that let no man approach. They drank the river dry and guarded the valley of the elephants. "The Valley of the Elephants" was a fabled place where the old pachyderms withdrew to die. "It is inexplicable," soliloquized Meyer-Maier, "that no one ever found a dead elephant."

The clock struck 6-7-8.

The natives had come along on the expedition much against their will. Meyer-Maier had trouble to keep the caravan moving up to the day when he found four great, strange looking eggs, larger than ostrich eggs. The negroes were seized with a panic, half of them deserting in the night, in spite of the great distance from the coast. The other half could only be kept there by tremendous efforts. He had to make up his mind finally, to go back, but he secretly put the eggs he had found into his camping chest to solve their riddle.

Now they were here in his Berlin home, in his work-room. He had not found time as yet to examine them, for he had brought much material home to be worked over.

The clock struck 9-10.

Meyer-Maier kept thinking of the ugly head of the tse-tse fly that he had seen through the magnifying glass. A strange thought occurred to him and made him smile. Suppose the stories of the negroes were true and the giant flies—butterflies and beetles as big as elephants did exist! And suppose that they propagated as flies do!—each one laying eighty million eggs a year! He laughed aloud and pictured to himself how such a creature would stalk through the streets.

 

A Strange Sound and the Hatching of An Egg

He broke off suddenly, in the midst of his laughter. A sound reached his ear, an earsplitting buzzing like that of a thousand flies, a deafening hum, as if a swarm of bees were entering the room; it burst out like a blast of wind through the room and then stopped. Meyer-Maier jerked the door open. Nothing. All was quiet.

"I must relax for a while," said he, and opened the window. He turned on the light and threw back the lid of the big chest, which contained the giant eggs. Suddenly he grew pale as death and staggered back. A creature was crawling out, a creature as big as a police dog—a frightful creature, with wings—a muscular body, and six hairy legs with claws. It crept slowly, raised its incandescent head to the light and polished its wings with its hind legs. Faint with fright, Meyer-Maier pressed against the wall with outspread arms. A loud buzzing,—the creature swept across the room, climbed up on the window sill and was gone.

Meyer-Maier came slowly to himself. "My nerves are deceiving me. Did I dream?" he whispered, and dragged himself to the camp-chest. But he became frozen with horror. One egg was broken open. "It breaks out of its shell like a chicken, it does not change into a chrysalis," he thought mechanically. At last his mind cleared and he awoke to the emergency. He sprang to the desk, snatched up his revolver, ran downstairs and out into the streets He saw no trace of the escaped giant insect. Meyer-Maier looked up at the lighted windows of his home. Suddenly the light became dim. "The other eggs"—like a blow came the thought—"the other eggs too have broken." He raced back up the stairs. A deafening buzzing filled the room. He jerked his door open and fired—once, twice, until the magazine was empty—the room was silent. Through the window he saw three silhouettes sweeping high across the night-sky and disappearing in the direction of the great woods in the West. In the chest there lay the four broken giant eggs. . . . .

 

A Call for His Colleague

Meyer-Maier sank upon a chair. "It's against all logic," he thought, and glanced at the empty revolver in his hand. "My delirium has taken wings and crawled out of the egg. What shall I do? Shall I call the police? They will send me to an alienist! Keep quiet about it? Look for the creatures? I'll call up my colleague, Schmidt-Schmitt!" He dragged himself to the telephone and got a connection. Schmidt-Schmitt was at home! "This is Meyer-Maier," sounded a tired voice. "Come over at once!"

"What's the trouble?" asked Schmidt-Schmitt.

"My African giant eggs have burst," lisped Meyer-Maier with a failing voice. "You must come at once!"

"Your nerves are out of order," answered Schmidt-Schmitt. Have you still got the creatures?"

"They've gone," whispered Meyer-Maier,—he thought he would collapse,—"flew out of the window."

"There, there," laughed Schmidt-Schmitt. "Now, we are getting to the truth—of course they aren't there. Anyhow, I'll come over. Meanwhile take a cognac and put on a cold pack."

"Take your car, and say nothing about what I told you."

Professor Meyer-Maier hung up the receiver.

It was incredible. He pressed his hand to his forehead. If the empty shells were not irrefutable evidence, he would have been inclined to think of hallucinations.

He helped himself to some brandy and after the second glass he felt better. "I wish Professor Schmidt-Schmitt would come. He ought to be here by now. He will have an explanation and will help me to get myself in hand again. The day of ghosts and miracles is long past. But why isn't he here? He ought to have come by this time."

Meyer-Maier looked out of the window. A car came tearing through the dark street and stopped with squeaking brakes in front of Meyer-Maier's residence. A form jumped out like an india rubber ball, ran up the steps, burst into Meyer-Maiers' study, and collapsed into a chair.

"How awful," he gasped.

"It seems to me, you are even more excited over it than I," said Professor Meyer-Maier dispiritedly while he watched his shaking friend.

"Absolutely terrible" Professor Schmidt-Schmitt wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief. "You were not suffering from nerves, you had no hallucinations. Just now I saw a fly-creature as large as a heifer falling upon a horse. The monster grew big and heavy, while the horse collapsed and the fly flew away. I examined the horse. Its veins and arteries were empty. Not a drop of blood was left in its body. The driver fainted with fright and has not come to yet. It is a world catastrophe."

 

Notifying the Police

"We must notify the police at once."

A quick telephone connection was obtained. The police Lieutenant in charge himself answered.

"This is Professor Meyer-Maier talking! Please believe what I am going to tell you. I am neither drunk nor crazy. Four poisonous gigantic flies, as large as horses are at large in the city. They must be destroyed at all costs."

"What are you trying to do? Kid me?" the lieutenant came back in an angry voice.

"Believe me—for God's sake," yelled Meyer-Maier, reaching the end of his nervous strength.

"Hold the wire." The Lieutenant turned to the desk of the sergeant. "What is up now?"

"A cab driver has been here who says that his horse was killed by a gigantic bird on Karlstrasse."

"Get the men of the second platoon ready for immediate action" he ordered the sergeant, and turned back to the telephone. "Hello Professor! Are you still there? Please come over as quickly as possible. What you told me is true. One of these giant insects has been seen."

Professor Meyer-Maier hung up. He loaded his revolver and put a Browning pistol into his colleague's hand. "Is your car still downstairs?"

"Yes I took the little limousine."

"Excellent—then the monster cannot attack us." They rushed on through the night.

"What can happen now?" inquired Professor Schmidt-Sshmitt.

These giant flies may propagate and multiply in the manner of the housefly. And in that case, due to their strength and poisonous qualities" continued Professor Meyer-Maier, "the whole human race will perish in a few weeks. When they crept from the shell they were as large as dogs. They grew to the size of a horse within an hour. God knows what will happen next. Let us hope and pray that we will be able to find and kill the four flies and destroy the eggs which they have laid in the meantime, within fourteen days."

The car came to a stop in front of the Police Station. A policeman armed with steel helmet and hand trench bombs swinging from his belt tore open the limousine door. The lieutenant hastened out and conducted the scientists into the station house.

"Any more news?" inquired Meyer-Maier.

"The West Precinct station just called up. One of their patrolmen saw a giant animal fly over the Teutoburger Forest. Luckily we had war tanks near there which immediately set out in search of the creature."

The telephone-bell rang. The lieutenant rushed to the phone.

"Central Police Station."

"East Station talking. Report comes from Lake Wieler, that a gigantic fly has attacked two motor boats."

"Put small trench mortars on the police-boat and go out on the lake. Shoot when the beast gets near you."

The door of the Station-House opened and the city commissioner entered. "I have just heard some fabulous stories," he said, and approached the visitors. "Professor Meyer-Maier? Major Pritzel-Wilzell! Can you explain all this?"

"I brought home with me four large eggs from my African expedition, for examination. Tonight these eggs broke open. Four great flies came out—a sort of tse-tse fly, such as is found on Lake Tanganyika. The creatures escaped through the window and we must make every endeavor to kill them at once."

The telephone bell rang as if possessed.

"This is the Central Broadcasting Station. A giant bird has been caught in the high voltage lines. It has fallen down and lies on the street."

"Close the street at once." The major took up the instrument. "Call up the Second Company. Let all four flying companies go off with munition and gasoline for three days. Come with me my friends, we will get at least one of them!"

An armored automobile came tearing along at a frightful speed. "We appreciate your foresight, Major," said Meyer-Maier, as they stepped into the steel-armored machine.

 

One of the Giant Flies Is Electrocuted

Although it was five o'clock in the morning, the square in front of the broadcasting station was black with people. The police kept a space clear in the center, where monstrously large and ugly, lay the dead giant fly. Its wings were burnt, its proboscis extended, while the legs, with their claws, were drawn up against the body. The abdomen was a great ball, full of bright red liquid. "That is certainly the creature that killed the horse," said Schmidt-Schimitt, and pointed at the thick abdomen. He then walked around the creature. "Glossina pal-palis. A monstrous tse-tse fly."

"Will you please send the monster to the zoological laboratory?" The major nodded assent. The firemen, prepared for service, pushed poles under the insect and tried to lift it up from the ground. Out of the air came a droning sound. An airplane squadron dropped out of the clouds and again disappeared. A bright body with vibrating wings flew across the sky. The airplanes dropped on it. The noise of the machine-guns started. The bright body fell in a spiral course to the ground. Crying and screaming, the people fled from the street and crowded into the houses. They couldn't tell where the insect would fall and they were afraid of their heads. The street was empty in an instant. The body of the monster fell directly in front of the armored car and lay there, stiff. In its fall it carried away a lot of aerial cable and now it lay on the pavement as if caught in a net, the head torn by the machine gun bullets. It looked like a strange gleaming cactus.

"Take me to my home, Major," groaned Meyer-Maier. "I can't stand it any longer. The excitement is too much for me."

 

In the Hospital

The armored car started noisily into motion. Meyer-Maier fell from the seat, senseless, upon the floor of the tonneau. When he came to himself, he lay in a strange bed. His gaze fell upon a bell which swung to and fro above his face. In his head there was a humming like an airplane motor. He made no attempt, even to think. His finger pressed the push-button and he never released it until half-a-dozen attendants came rushing into the room. One figure stood out in dark colors, in the group of while-clad interns. It was his colleague, Schmidt-Schmitt.

"You're awake?" said he, and stepped to his bed. "How are you feeling?"

"My head is buzzing as if there were a swarm of hornets living in it. How many hours have I lain here?"

"Hours?" Schmidt-Schmitt dwelt upon the word. "Today is the fifteenth day that you are lying in Professor Stiebling's sanitorium. It was a difficult case. You always woke up at meal-time and without saying a word, went to sleep again."

"Fifteen days!" cried Meyer-Maier excitedly. "And the insects? Have they been killed?"

"I'll tell you the whole story when you are well again," said Schmidt-Schmitt, quieting him. "Lie as you are, quietly—any excitement may hurt you."

"They must not come into the room!" he screamed out to an excited messenger, who breathlessly pulled the door open.

"Professor! ——"the man was in deadly fear—— "the Central Police station has given out the news that a swarm of giant flies are descending upon the city."

"Barricade all windows at once!"

"You wasted precious time," screamed Meyer-Maier, and jumped out of the bed. "Let me go to my house. I must solve the riddle as to how to get at the insects. Don't touch me," he raved. He snatched a coat from the rack, ran out of the house, and jumped into Schmidt-Schmitt's automobile which stood at the gate, and went like the wind, to his home. The door of his house was ajar. He rushed up four flights and in delirious haste rushed into his workroom. The telephone bell rang.

 

The Danger Is Over

Meyer-Maier snatched up the receiver. He got the consoling message from the city police-commissioner: "The danger is over, Professor. Our air-squadron has destroyed the swarm with a cloud of poison-gas. Only two of the insects escaped death. These we have caught in a net and are taking them to the zoological gardens."

"And if they have left eggs behind them?"

"We are going to search the woods systematically and will inject Lysol into any eggs we find. I think that will help," laughed the Major. "Shall I send some of them to you for examination?"

"No," cried Meyer-Maier in fright. "Keep them off my neck."

He sat down at his work-table. There seemed a vicious smile on the face of the transfixed dead tse-tse fly. "You frightful ghost," murmured the professor with pallid lips, and threw a book on the insect. His head was in a daze. He tried his best to think clearly. An axiom of science came to him: if the flies are as large as elephants, they can only progagate as fast as elephants do. They can't have a million young ones, but only a few. "I can't be wrong," he murmured. "I'll look up the confirmation."

He took up the telephone and called the city Commissioner. "Major, how many insects were in the swarm?"

"Thirteen. Eleven are dead. The other two will never escape alive. They are fed up with the poison-gas."

"Thank you." Meyer-Maier hung up the receiver. "Very well," he murmured, "now there can be no question of any danger, for each fly can only lay three or four eggs at once,—not a million."

An immense weariness overcame him. He went into his bed-room and fell exhausted on his bed. "It is well that there is a supreme wisdom which controls the laws of nature. Otherwise the world would be subject to the strangest surprises." He thought of the monsters and crept anxiously under the bed-clothes. "I'll entrust Schmidt-Schmitt with the investigation of the creature phenomenon, I simply can't stand further excitement."

And sleep spread the mantel of well-deserved quiet over him.

 

The End