Professor Hardin smiled. “I’m sorry. We’re full up.”

“I’d be glad to go in any capacity—”

“Have you special qualifications? Knowledge of the language? Of archæology?”

“No.”

The professor picked up a tray of letters. “These letters—more than three hundred—are all from young men—and women—who would like to join my expedition.”

“I think I should be useful,” Hugo said, and then he played his trump, “and I should be willing to contribute, for the favour of being included, a sum of fifty thousand dollars.”

Professor Hardin whistled. Then his eyes narrowed. “What’s your object, young man? Treasure?”

“No. A life—let us say—with ample means at my disposal and no definite purpose.”

“Boredom, then.” He smiled. “A lot of these other young men are independently wealthy, and bored. I must say, I feel sorry for your generation. But—no—I can’t accept. We are already adequately financed.”

Hugo smiled in response. “Then—perhaps—I could organize my own party and camp near you.”

“That would hamper me.”

“Then—a hundred thousand dollars.”

“Good Lord. You are determined.”

“I have decided. I am familiar with the jungle. I am an athlete. I speak a little Spanish—enough to boss a labour gang. I propose to assist you in that way, as well as financially. I will make any contract with you that you desire—and attach no strings whatever to my money.”

Professor Hardin pondered for a long time. His eyes twinkled when he replied. “You won’t believe it, but I don’t give a damn for your money. Not that it wouldn’t assist us. But—the fact is—I could use a man like you. Anybody could. I’ll take you—and you can keep your money.”

“There will be a check in the mail to-morrow,” Hugo answered.

The professor stood. “We’re hoping to get away in three weeks. You’ll leave your address with my secretary and I’ll send a list of the things you’ll want for your kit.” He held out his hand and Hugo shook it. When he had gone, the professor looked over the roof-tops and swore gleefully to himself.