The Land of Mist Chapter 3 - In Which Professor Challenger Gives His Opinion

**Arthur Conan Doyle** (0:23)
In which Professor Challenger Gives His Opinion.
Enid had stepped into the cab, and Malone was following, when his name was called, and a man came running down the street. He was tall, middle-aged, handsome, and well dressed, with the clean-shaven, self-confident face of the successful surgeon. Hello, Malone, stop!
Why, it's Atkinson. Enid, let me introduce you. This is Mr. Atkinson of St. Mary's. About whom I spoke to your father. Can we give you a lift? We are going towards the Victoria. CAPITAL! The surgeon followed them into the cab. I was amazed to see you at a spiritualist meeting. We are only there professionally. Miss Challenger and I are both on the press.
Oh, really! The Daily Gazette, I suppose, is before. Well, you will have one more subscriber, for I shall want to see what you made of tonight's show.
You will have to wait till next Sunday. It is one of a series. Oh, I say! I can't wait as long as that. What did you make of it? I really don't know. I shall have to read my notes carefully tomorrow and think it over, and compare impressions with my colleague here. She has the intuition, you see, which goes for so much in religious matters. And what is your intuition, Miss Challenger? Good! Oh, yes, good! But, dear me, what an extraordinary mixture!
Yes, indeed. I have been several times, and it always leaves the same mixed impression upon my own mind. Some of it is ludicrous, and some of it might be dishonest, and yet again some of it is clearly wonderful.
But you are not on the press. Why were you there? Because I am deeply interested. You see, I am a student of psychic matters, and have been for some years. I am not a convinced one, but I am sympathetic, and I have sufficient sense of proportion to realize that while I seem to be sitting in judgment upon the subject, it may in truth be the subject which is sitting in judgment upon me.
Malone nodded appreciation. It is enormous. You will realize that as you get to close grips with it. It is half a dozen great subjects in one, and it is all in the hands of these good, humble folk, who in the face of every discouragement and personal loss, have carried it on for more than seventy years. It is really very like the rise of Christianity. It was run by slaves and underlings, until it gradually extended upwards. There were three hundred years between Caesar's slave and Caesar getting the light.
But the preacher, cried Enid in protest. Mr. Atkinson laughed. You mean our friend from Atlantis. What a terrible bore the fellow was! I confess I don't know what to make of performances like that. Self-deception, I think, and the temporary emergence of some fresh strand of personality, which dramatizes itself in this way. The only thing I am quite sure of is that it is not really an inhabitant of Atlantis, who arrives from his long voyage with this awful cargo of platitudes. Well, here we are.
I have to deliver this young lady safe and sound to her father, said Malone. Look here, Atkins, and don't leave us. The Professor would really like to see you.
What, at this hour? Why, he would throw me down the stairs. You've been here in stories, said Enid. Really it is not so bad as that. Some people annoy him, but I'm sure you're not one of them. Won't you chance it?
With that encouragement, certainly. And the three walked down the bright outer corridor to the lift.
Challenger, clad now in a brilliant blue dressing-gown, was eagerly awaiting them. He eyed Atkinson as a fighting bulldog eyes some canine stranger. The inspection seemed to satisfy him, however, for he growled that he was glad to meet him.
I've heard of your name, sir, and of your rise in reputation. Your resection of the court last year made some stir, I understand. But have you been down among the lunatics also?
Well, if you call them so, said Atkinson with a laugh. Good heavens! What else could I call them? I remember now that my young friend here— Challenger had a way of alluding to Malone as if he were a promising boy of ten— told me you were studying the subject. He roared with offensive laughter. The proper study of mankind is spooks, eh, Mr. Atkinson? Dad really knows nothing about it, so don't be offended with him, said Enid. But I assure you, Dad, you would have been interested. She proceeded to give a sketch of their adventures, though interrupted by a running commentary of groans, grunts, and derisive jeers. It was only when the Summerly Episode was reached that Challenger's indignation and contempt could no longer be restrained. The old volcano blew his head off, and a torrent of red-hot invective descended upon his listeners. The blasphemous rascals, he shouted, to think that they can't let our old Summerly rest in his grave. We had our differences in his time, and I will admit that I was compelled to take a moderate view of his intelligence. But if he came back from the grave, he would certainly have something worth hearing to say to us. It is an absurdity, a wicked and decent absurdity upon the face of it. I object to any friend of mine being made a puppet for the laughter of an audience of fools. They didn't laugh. They must have laughed when they heard an educated man, a man whom I have met upon equal terms, talk in such nonsense. I say it was nonsense. Don't contradict me, Malone. I won't have it. His message might have been the postscript of a schoolgirl's letter. Isn't that nonsense coming from such a source? Are you not in agreement, Mr. Atkinson? No, I had hoped better things from you.