CHAPTER XXXI

Larry and the Frog-Men


Long had been her tale in the telling, and too long, perhaps, have I
been in the repeating--but not every day are the mists rolled away to
reveal undreamed secrets of earth-youth. And I have set it down here,
adding nothing, taking nothing from it; translating liberally, it is
true, but constantly striving, while putting it into idea-forms and
phraseology to be readily understood by my readers, to keep accurately
to the spirit. And this, I must repeat, I have done throughout my
narrative, wherever it has been necessary to record conversation with
the Murians.

Rising, I found I was painfully stiff--as muscle-bound as though I had
actually trudged many miles. Larry, imitating me, gave an involuntary
groan.

"Faith, _mavourneen_," he said to Lakla, relapsing unconsciously into
English, "your roads would never wear out shoe-leather, but they've
got their kick, just the same!"

She understood our plight, if not his words; gave a soft little cry of
mingled pity and self-reproach; forced us back upon the cushions.

"Oh, but I'm sorry!" mourned Lakla, leaning over us. "I had
forgotten--for those new to it the way is a weary one, indeed--"