Now, papa has proved that this creature lived
entirely in the Gulf Stream, emerging for occasional flights across an
ocean or two. Can you imagine how he proved it?" "No," said I, resolutely pointing my nose at the ocean. "He proved it by a minute examination of the microscopical shells
found among the ribs of the Thermosaurus. These shells contained little
creatures that live only in the warm waters of the Gulf Stream. They
were the food of the Thermosaurus." "It was rather slender rations for a thing like that, wasn't it? Did he
ever swallow bigger food--er--men?" "Oh, yes. Tons of fossil bones from prehistoric men are also found in
the interior of the Thermosaurus." "Then," said I, "you, at least, had better go back to Captain
McPeek's----"

"Please turn around; don't be so foolish. I didn't say there was a
_live_ Thermosaurus in the water, did I?" "Isn't there?" "Why, no!" My relief was genuine, but I thought of the rifle and looked
suspiciously out to sea. "What's the Winchester for?" I asked. "Listen, and I will explain. Papa has found out--how, I do not exactly
understand--that there is in the waters of the Gulf Stream the body of
a Thermosaurus. The creature must have been alive within a year or so. The impenetrable scale armour that covers its body has, as far as papa
knows, prevented its disintegration. We know that it is there still, or
was there within a few months. Papa has reports and sworn depositions
from steamer captains and seamen from a dozen different vessels,
all corroborating each other in essential details. These stories, of
course, get into the newspapers--sea-serpent stories--but papa knows
that they confirm his theory that the huge body of this reptile is
swinging along somewhere on the Gulf Stream." She opened her sunshade and held it over her. I noticed that she
deigned to give me the benefit of about one eighth of it. "Your duty with that rifle is this: If we are fortunate enough to see
the body of the Thermosaurus come floating by, you are to take good
aim and fire--fire rapidly every bullet in the magazine; then reload
and fire again, and reload and fire as long as you have any cartridges
left." "A self-feeding Maxim is what I should have," I said with gentle
sarcasm. "Well, and suppose I make a sieve of this big lizard?" "Do you see these rings in the sand?" she asked. Sure enough, somebody had driven heavy piles deep into the sand all
around us, and to the tops of these piles were attached steel rings,
half buried under the spear grass. We sat almost exactly in the centre
of a circle of these rings. "The reason is this," said Daisy: "every bullet in your cartridges
is steel-tipped and armour-piercing. To the base of each bullet is
attached a thin wire of pallium. Pallium is that new metal, a thread of
which, drawn out into finest wire, will hold a ton of iron suspended. Every bullet is fitted with minute coils of miles of this wire. When
the bullet leaves the rifle it spins out this wire as a shot from a
life-saver's mortar spins out and carries the life line to a wrecked
ship. The end of each coil of wire is attached to that cylinder under
the magazine of your rifle. As soon as the shell is automatically
ejected this wire flies out also. A bit of scarlet tape is fixed to
the end, so that it will be easy to pick up. There is also a snap clasp
on the end, and this clasp fits those rings that you see in the sand. Now, when you begin firing, it is my duty to run and pick up the wire
ends and attach them to the rings. Then, you see, we have the body of
the Thermosaurus full of bullets, every bullet anchored to the shore by
tiny wires, each of which could easily hold a ton's strain." I looked at her in amazement. "Then," she added calmly, "we have captured the Thermosaurus." "Your father," said I at length, "must have spent years of labour over
this preparation." "It is the work of a lifetime," she said simply. My face, I suppose, showed my misgivings. "It must not fail," she added. "But--but we are nowhere near the Gulf Stream," I ventured. Her face brightened, and she frankly held the sunshade over us both. "Ah, you don't know," she said, "what else papa has discovered. Would
you believe that he has found a loop in the Gulf Stream--a genuine
loop--that swings in here just outside of the breakers below? It is
true! Everybody on Long Island knows that there is a warm current off
the coast, but nobody imagined it was merely a sort of backwater from
the Gulf Stream that formed a great circular mill-race around the
cone of a subterranean volcano, and rejoined the Gulf Stream off Cape
Albatross. But it is! That is why papa bought a yacht three years ago
and sailed about for two years so mysteriously. Oh, I did want to go
with him so much!" "This," said I, "is most astonishing." She leaned enthusiastically toward me, her lovely face aglow. "Isn't it?" she said; "and to think that you and papa and I are the
only people in the whole world who know this!" To be included in such a triology was very delightful. "Papa is writing the whole thing--I mean about the currents. He also
has in preparation sixteen volumes on the Thermosaurus. He said this
morning that he was going to ask you to write the story first for some
scientific magazine. He is certain that Professor Bruce Stoddard, of
Columbia, will write the pamphlets necessary. This will give papa time
to attend to the sixteen-volume work, which he expects to finish in
three years." "Let us first," said I, laughing, "catch our Thermosaurus." "We must not fail," she said wistfully. "We shall not fail," I said, "for I promise to sit on this sand hill
as long as I live--until a Thermosaurus appears--if that is your wish,
Miss Holroyd." Our eyes met for an instant. She did not chide me, either, for not
looking at the ocean. Her eyes were bluer, anyway. "I suppose," she said, bending her head and absently pouring sand
between her fingers--"I suppose you think me a blue-stocking, or
something odious?" "Not exactly," I said. There was an emphasis in my voice that made her
colour. After a moment she laid the sunshade down, still open. "May I hold it?" I asked. She nodded almost imperceptibly. The ocean had turned a deep marine blue, verging on purple, that
heralded a scorching afternoon. The wind died away; the odour of cedar
and sweet bay hung heavy in the air. In the sand at our feet an iridescent flower beetle crawled, its
metallic green and blue wings burning like a spark. Great gnats, with
filmy, glittering wings, danced aimlessly above the young golden-rod;
burnished crickets, inquisitive, timid, ran from under chips of
driftwood, waved their antennæ at us, and ran back again. One by one
the marbled tiger beetles tumbled at our feet, dazed from the exertion
of an aërial flight, then scrambled and ran a little way, or darted
into the wire grass, where great brilliant spiders eyed them askance
from their gossamer hammocks.