Cupid and the Entomologist A SCIENTIFIC LOVE STORY

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 25, 22 June 1907, Page 39

Cupid and the Entomologist A SCIENTIFIC LOVE STORY

By

T. W. WYNDHAM

PROFESSOR SMOOT'S eye was glued to a microscope, under which squirmed a tiny green beetle. He had been absorbed in watching the insect tor a good halfhour, and every now and again he made notes on a little slip of paper at his side. At last he raised his head, and, dipping a very small sponge attached to a stick in a bottle, he lifted the microscope and held the sponge over the insect. When the chloroform had done its work, he lifted the beetle by a pair of delicate forceps, and prepared to mount it in a case at his side. At that moment there came a knock at the door. The professor went on with his wort:. -Father!” called a musical voice.’ “Humph!” grumbled the professor. “Father, I want to speak to you.” “Go away; I’m busy,” snapped the professo r. A very pretty head had been thrust roufld the door; now a girl of eighteen, dainty and blue-ribboned, stepped into the room. In that musty old den her presence was like a ray of sunshine across a dungeon. “But it is important, father." “Go away,” said the professor, still eyeing his beetle. She looked at him under her long lashes, and went on: “It is about Mr Tilson. I met him at the dancing-class.” The professor took no notice. “He collects bee! les." “Humph! Every fool collects beetles,” said the professor. “But he has a Blaps paniceium.” The professor’s head jerked round like, an automaton. He raised his heavy eyebrows and stared at her incredulously. “Where did he get it?” “I don’t know.’’ The girl had seated herself in a leather chair, and her brown head-was bent over a book. She pretended to be deeply interested in the pictures, for she was well aware that her father would be on pins and needles to see this rare “Who is this man —er —er what’s his name?” ‘'Mr Tilson.” “Yes, Tilson; who is he—l never heard of him?” “He has only been collectirg for four years,” said the girl. “Four years! and he’s got a Blaps paniceium? Why, I have been collecting for forty years, and haven’t got one.” “He says he’d like to see your collection, father.” Miss Smoot was still looking at the pictures with a tremendous appearance of interest. The professor was regarding her carefully now. Someone had once told him that she was pretty; he know nothing of such things himself, but the sudden appearance of a young man with a splendid collection of beetles looked suspicious. “Says he’d like to sec my collection? I'd like to see. his.” This was the professor’s trump card. One or two young men before had hung around his house under pret nee of being vastly interested in entomology, and when it came to the point they know nothing about it. Now, if this young man really loved beetles, and had this collection, here was his eha nee of communing with the greatest entomological enthusiast of the day. If he had not—well, he was to stay away, that was all. “I’m sure, pa, he would be pleased to bring his collection to show you.” The next day a. bright young man sat nt home with two books before Tiiin; one was “The Elementary Text-Book of Entomology,” by Jones; the other was Professor Smoot's own book of rare beetles. He was studying the subject for dear life. To use his own expression ho did not know a cockroach from an ichthyosaurus, but he was determined to

know all there was in these books before the week was out. He had studied for scholarships and for a degree, but he had never studied as he did now for love. For three days he pored over the hooks, morning, noon, and night. He lived in a maiz» of beetles, lie talked beetles, he dreamed beetles. The walls, the ceiling, the carpets were alive with them. Even the pretty eyes of Miss Smoot, he said, reminded him of twin Seipies azulorum. It is easy to guess that the bright young man who did this was Jay Tilson, and that he was in love with the professor’s daughter. Now, it is one thing to eram up a subject for the sake of deluding a poor old scholar, but it is quite a different matter to produce on the spur of the moment a valuable collection of beetles, and to have in that collectiolT a Blaps paniceium. Here, again, however, this versatile young man was equal to the occasion. He possessed a father. There is nothing remarkable in that, but in this case the father was Mayor of Muddletown, and Muddletown was the place in which resided all the persons in this incident. Well, this large town boasted a public museum, and therein was a collection of beetles, and among them a Blaps paniceium. Young Tilson had seen it ofte.n reposing in a separate enamelled casket. The janitor of the museum was an obsequious person with a small salary, and for £‘s young Tilson made the man's slow brain grasp the fact that he wanted to borrow soine of the public beetles . for one night. , The janitor was very dubious at first, and it was when Tilson confessed that he wanted to show them to Professor Smoot as his own that he pretended to see the joke and yielded. Besides, the young man was the son of his worship the mayor. Friday was the day Tilson had fixed on, for the museum was closed then for the purposes of cleaning. The young man intended to select, with the aid of his books, those beetles which were the best in the collection. Afterward he would place these in throe separate eases he had ordered, and his entree to Professor Smoot’s house would be secured. Miss Smoot was only half in his confidence in the matter, and he did not wish to tell her more, or she might bother her pretty head unduly; though for his part he thought all was fair in love and war, and he would have dared a great deal more for the chance of a smile from those dimpled cheeks. On Friday night, when Professor Smoot was bothering over the classification of a specimen sent from Rangoon, in Burmah, there came a vigorous ringing at the front bell. “He is not a shy man. that is certain,” said the professor to himself. A minute later the door opened, and a handsome, self-possessed young man entered, carrying three large eases. Professor Smoot looked at the cases and was effusive on the instant. He rose from his ehair with outstretched hand. “I'm very glad to meet you, Mr Tilson. They shook hands cordially. The young man at the moment was considering whether the Cincindelu campestris was light green with whitish spots, or whether it was Cincindela sylvativa that had these peculiarities. “Good collections are very rare nowadays,” said the professor, his eyes on the three cases. Professor Smoot was hugely pleased with Tilson's splendid collection, especially with tlie Blaps paniceium. The young man's entomo'ogieal knowledge was fresh in his mind, and ho talked beetles as if they had been the hobby of his life.

When the profes-or sighed, and said what a pity it was that no collector nowadays had a Caraims natator, Tilson sighed too. though a Carabus natator had not been mentioned in his hooks, and he wondei.'.l what on enith it was like. When he went away with his cases under his arm, the profe.sor urged him to come as often as lie liked for a little entomological chat. And the young man, as he lit his cigar in th? cib, eongratn’ated himself on having been able to squeeze Miss Smoot’s hand three times that night under the very eyes of her father. On Saturday morning the Muddiet own collection of beetles was again in its usual place in the museum. Young Tilson became a regular visitor at the professor’s house. For a month they were great friends, and the young man talked entomology to the father and made love to the daughter with an enthusiasm that was de-.erving of so good a cause. in a month, however. Tilson’s small knowledge of entomology began to grow dangerous. He was shrewd enough to know* that his ideas on the subject were becoming hazy, not to say chaotic; then, like the rash young man that he was, he called his imagination into use. At any cost he must keep the conversation from becoming too technical. He tried to interest the professor in the history of each beetle he possessed. “You know, profes-or,” he said one night, “it was very curious the way 1 caWfe across-that Apion bacchus. Three years ago, when I was in Manila, walking down the Prado, a man passed me driving a spider-wheeled buggy. lie wore a white I mt*, and stuck in front of it was a beetle. I ran along ns fast as my legs could carry one till I overtook him. Alter much parleying 1 manage,! to get it for a couple of dollars. It seemed the beetle had been given him by the skipper of a sailing vessel who brought it from Madagascar.” The admiring way in which the professor received this anecdote delighted 'Tilson. He wondered why he had not resorted to this sort of thing before. Presently he repeated the experiment. “That Searabus aurietus,” he said, “that you admired so much. I nearly lost once by running away. I had just captured it and was riding hack over the desert.” “Desert?” said the professor. “Yes, de-ert,” answered the young man mildly. “Where were you?” asked the profes- “[ was in Arabia.” The professor’s eyes went large as he looked at the young man. ”Iu Arabia,” he said to himself. “Oh.” “Yes; you see, I was coming back" when four thieving Arabs dashed up ho hind me in full pursuit. I just got to the caravan in time, but on the way L nearly dropped my beetle.” During the remainder of Tilson’s anecdotes the proft ssor watched him with a curious blank look on his face which the young man mistook for admiration. When Tilson said good night he felt particularly pleased with himself. But the professor, when the door had cloved behind him, walked to the radiator dnd turned on the steam a little more. “Imposter!” he muttered. That was all he said for a very long time. He sat down and looked at the door. “And to think I thought that man knew something about beetles.” The fact of the matter was Tilson had overstepped the mark. There is no Searabus aurietus in Arabia; and as for finding an Apion bacchus on a man’s hat in Manila, the idea was idiotic. Professor Smoot was nn easy-going man in some things. But for a stranger to delude him for a whole* month on the subject of entomology was n little toft much. He sat in his chair tor a couple

of hours, and the, more he thought, the angrier he grew. When he went to lied his temper was at boiling-point; when he lose it wasn't a degree cooler. Then to crown all, his daughter cam«* in late that morning and said: “Pa. dear. Mr. Tilson proposed to me last night, and I accepted him—of course wit'i your consent.*’ he professor looked at her with as much pure astonishment in his gaze as if one of his own beetles had started fu<l hmly to sing a comic song. i he scoundrel was not satisfied with deluding the father: now he wanted to niainy the daughter. For a moment he thoiiuht then* might perhaps be a better way < f getting even with the awful impo t r. Ih* remained quiet; but that night when Tilson came, the professor had matured a plan calculated to more than pay back the young man in his own coin. TiKon was seated in his usual place. Suddenly the professor changed the conver- ation. “I understand that you wish to marry m\ daughter?" he said. “Yes, sir.” As he said the words, Tilson actually blushed. Professor Smoot looked astonished.

Here was the most unblushing liar (when on the subject of beetles) blushing over a simple thing like a love affair. *1 admire your taste,” said the professor at last; “Milly is a good girl.” “She is an angel, sir.” The professor nearly got angry at this absurd remark, but recovered himself; he must remember he was about to punish this charlatan, and it would spoil it to precipitate matters. “And you. Mr. Tilson,” he said, soothingly. “are a clever man. Your knowledge of beetles has raised you in my esteem about most other men.” The youth began a seraphic smile of deprecation. The professor was a very decent sort, after all. “Yes. for so young a man. your entomological knowledge is profound and accurate—strictly accurate.” There was a curious emphasis on the last two words. “I am afraid I know very little, professor.” “Don’t be modest. Those things you told me about the Brachinus nemoralis and the Carabus nitens inhabiting the wastes of Syria were a revelation.” It would have been a revelation to the young man if he had known that the

professor was at that moment enjoying t)ie finest piece of sarcasm of his life. •’But to return to the subject of my daughter,” continued the old man. “She is a girl worth winning.” “She is indeed,” murmured Tilson fervently. “But 1 want to be classical,” said the professor, speaking in a dreamy tone. “Men like you and me, Mr. Tilson, who are deep students of any one thing, always have our little peculiarities. It is only natural. Now, I want to set you a task. Hercules had his twelve labours, Telemachus sailed a terrible voyage in search of his father, and Perseus took the Medusa’s head.” The old man took off his spectacles now. As he wiped and replaced them, he went on: “A few night ago, Mr. Tilson, you told me that the Sulsirostris still existed in Algiers, and you thought you could get one. Scientists say that this particular species of Bostrychidae has been extinct for thirty years. Now, sir, that is your task; you must go to Algiers and get me a Sulsirostris; when you bring it to me you shall marry my daughter, not otherwise.” The professor looked at him. The task had had the desired effect. Tilson

was very white, for technically he (JM not know a Sulsirostris from a eoela roaeh. The look in the professorTf eye, however, told him that it would b* no good to protest. He sat meekly on the edge of hi* <hair, while the old man took down * heavy book and turned over the leave* till he came to a coloured plate occupy, ing a whole page. “This,” he said, “is a drawing froM the only Sulsirotris in existence.” The young man took the book and looked at it for a long time; he wa* trying to think how he could get out of going on a wild goose chase to Algiers. The professor chuckled with glee at his apparent discomfort. “May I borrow this book?” said young Tilson at last. “Certainly,” answered the professor sweetly. Young Tilson went; home with the book under his arm in a very disconsolate mood. But by morning, being a resourceful youth, he had already; thought of a possible way out of th* difficulty. He rang the professor’s door bell with as much assurance as on th* day of his first call. He carried

A few minutes be bad iahi to the professor and Miss Hilly Smoot, and was off to the ■tation on his journey to Algiers. He did not go straight to Algiers, however, for ■when he reaehed the station he got out of his cab and walked home. For four months Professor Smoot heard nothing of him. “ Nothing like giving a fake entomologist a dose of his own medicine,” said the professor. “ 1 don't think he will turn up again.” More than this, the old gentleman was delighted to find that his daughter did not pine away as love-sick heroines in books generally do.

One evening there came a vigorous rin£ at the bell, which made the professor rub his chin thoughtfully with his pen. Jay Tilson entered the room. Considering that he had been for three months in the broiling sun of Algiers he was not very brown. Under hie arm he carried a box a foot square, wrapped ip paper. Professor Smoot looked at it; it could not contain the Sulsirostris, for that insect was extinct. He felt very curious as the young man unfastened the wrapping and finally took out a small case of Indian workmanship. He opened this and placed it under the professor’s eyes. “ There is the beetle, sir,” was all he sa id. Sure enough, on eotton wool in the middle of the box there reposed a genuine Sulsirostris—the insect that was extinct —of which only one specimen was in existence! The professor stared at the beetle and turned it over with his forceps. All the time he murmured: “Quite right, quite right.” For fully a quarter of an hour be looked at it, then rose and shook Tilson by the hand. You are the most remarkable young maul ever met.” He could, not take his eyes from the beetle, for it was a specimen perfect in every particular. When Tilson left that night he was in high favour. Later, Professor Smoot sat in his chair deep in thought. His eyes were on the beetle, resting in its case on the table. He knew’ that the young man had not secured the only specimen extant, for that was unsaleable, and he eould not borrow it, the old man thought grimly, for he knew now that Tilson had previously palmed off as his own the public beetles- of Muddletown. For a long time the professor considered the ease from all sides; then he rose, and, taking up a sharp penknife from the table, leaned over the beetle. Very carefully’ he scratched at the beautiful red lines on its back. Slowly they began to fade away. The professor tried again in another part, then deliberately inserting his knife into the middle of the insect, split it into halves. The beetle was made of wood! The professor gave a deep sigh. “ I thought something of the kind,” he muttered. When young Tilson called that evening he did not know that his beautiful enamelled beetle, with its dainty wire antennae, had been found out. Milly’s father looked at him for a long time, then rose and spoke oracularly. “ Young man,” he said, “ I have had my < pinions about you. Five months ago you brought here as your own a public collection of beetles. You might have got imprisoned for that. Later, you lied about your experiences in various parts cf the world, when you knew you had never been farther than New York.” He paused. Tilson had already wilted. “ Last night you foisted on me a beetle, Baying it was a specimen of the extinct Sulsirostris. You made that beetle yourself out of wood! Now’, what do you think of yourself?” said the professor rising. At that moment Tilson thought very little of himself; he was sitting with his head down. It was all over; he had been found out. “ Don’t you think I am justified in showing you the door?” asked the professor. “I did it because I loved your daughter, sir,” murmured the young man. “ Of course, I know that, and since you foisted that fake beetle on me, I nave changed my mind about you. I admire your audacity as much >.s I used to despise your untruthfulness. You will get on in the world, sir. I should like my daughter to marry a successful man.” The professor rose and rang the bell. A maid appeared. “ Tell Miss Milly to come here.” he ■aid.