That afternoon our expedition, in two sections, moved forward. The
first section comprised myself and all the mules; the second section
was commanded by Professor Smawl, followed by Professor Van Twiller,
armed with a tiny shot-gun. William, loaded down with the ladies'
toilet articles, skulked in the rear. I say skulked; there was no
other word for it.

"So you're a guide, are you?" observed Professor Smawl when William,
cap in hand, had approached her with well-meant advice. "The woods are
full of lazy guides. Pick up those Gladstone bags! I'll do the guiding
for this expedition."

Made cautious by William's humiliation, I associated with the mules
exclusively. Nevertheless, Professor Smawl had her hard eyes on me,
and I realized she meant mischief.

The encounter took place just as I, driving the five mules, entered
the great mountain gateway, thrilled with anticipation which almost
amounted to foreboding. As I was about to set foot across the
imaginary frontier which divided the world from the unknown land,
Professor Smawl hailed me and I halted until she came up.

"As commander of this expedition," she said, somewhat out of breath,
"I desire to be the first living creature who has ever set foot
behind the Graham Glacier. Kindly step aside, young sir!"

"Madam," said I, rigid with disappointment, "my guide, William Spike,
entered that unknown land a year ago."