"Who? Mrs. Batt? Do you think I'd name such an important lake after
_her_? Anyway, she has declined the honour."
"Very well," he said, "I'll accept it. And the fish shall be known as
_Minnius Smithii_!"
Too deeply moved to speak, we bent over and shook hands with each other.
In that solemn and holy moment, surcharged with ecstatic emotion, a deep,
distant reverberation came across the water to our ears. It was the heavy
artillery, snoring.
Never can I forget that scene; sunshine glittering on the pond, the
silent forests and towering peaks, the blue sky overhead, the dead trees
where thousands of bats hung in nauseating clusters, thicker than the
leaves in Valembrosa--and Kitten Brown and I, cross-legged upon our
pneumatic raft, hands clasped in pledge of deathless devotion to science
and a fraternity unending.
"And how about that girl?" he asked.
"What girl?"
"Angelica White?"
"Well," said I, "_what_ about her?"
"Does she go with the lake or with the fish?"
"What do you mean?" I asked coldly, withdrawing my hand from his clasp.
"I mean, which of us gets the first chance to win her?" he said,
blushing.
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