“I hate them, but I have not the fear, which you mistakenly call hatred. I am going to search for Carewe and we will search for that polar country where the brass-hued men lived, and may even find a frozen or fossil spider that will prove that I did not lie to my fellow scientists. But until that day, I tell my story to no more scoffers, nor should I have told you if I had not wished to see how a layman received the theory that all my contemporaries have rejected.”

“What, Boston so soon?” he ejaculated as we pulled into the North Station. “I hope I have not bored you.”

“Indeed, you have not, Mr. Pentreat,” I answered, with a smile. “I wish you good fortune in your search.” And I extended my hand.

“Thank you, I shall need it,” he said gruffly, and wringing my hand, he stepped into the crowd and I saw my last of the man with the beady eyes.

I shall, not include this in my novel, nor shall I change his version of affairs. It is an amazing theory at least, and if it were proved, it would cause havoc to cherished opinions, but if he goes to find his lost city in the North, he goes alone—for I read that Sir Adlington Carewe has disappeared into the jungles of Africa’s West Coast, and as his experiments dealt with great apes and lunatics, I do not think he will be back.

Well, you have read the story. I give you fair warning that I don’t believe it myself. His eyes were just a wee bit too bright!

The Cats of Ulthar

H.P. Lovecraft

It is said that in Ulthar, which lies beyond the river Skai, no man may kill a cat; and this I can verily believe as I gaze upon him who sitteth purring before the fire. For the cat is cryptic, and close to strange things which men cannot see. He is the soul of antique Ægyptus, and bearer of tales from forgotten cities in Meroë and Ophir. He is the kin of the jungle’s lords, and heir to the secrets of hoary and sinister Africa. The Sphinx is his cousin, and he speaks her language; but he is more ancient than the Sphinx and remembers that which she hath forgotten.