Aspects Of Science And Tourism

How long are we here for? asks Schopenhauer. Should we book in to the Lodge?

No, no, says Gaius. I suggest we go down to the lake to look for anaspides tasmaniae.

But it's lunch time, says Schopenhauer.

You go ahead and have lunch then, says Gaius. I'll start on my own. Come on, Arthur.

Arthur still has one or two apples in his pocket. He follows Gaius down to the lake.

The door of the Lake St Clair Lodge cafe is open. Smoke is issuing out.

Unni and Schopenhauer walk up to the counter.

I hope you don't want any food, says the manager.

We actually do, says Unni. Where's that smoke coming from?

I can sell you a pre-made sandwich, says the manager. Nine dollars per sandwich.

Schopenhauer and Unnu buy two pre-made sandwiches and wander down to the lake to find Gaius and Arthur.

Gaius and Arthur are talking to a tall man in old fashioned clothing, at the edge of the lake.

Yes, the tall man is saying. That was me. My discovery.

Schopenhauer and Unni appear, with their pre-made sandwiches.

On fire again is it? says the man.

Just a great deal of smoke, says Schopenhauer. Does this happen often?

It's their log fire, says the man. When they run out of soup of the day, they stoke the fire up and drive everyone out of the cafe.

The manager appears from behind a black peppermint tree.

Now then, Chooky! says the manager. That's defamatory.

The manager then smiles disarmingly at everyone.

There are certain people intent upon damaging our reputation, says the manager. We waste far too much time responding to negative comments on TripAdvisor.

But the smoke, says Unni.

There was no smoke, says the manager firmly.

He marches back through the black peppermints and mountain white gums to the cafe and restaurant.

 Gaius makes introductions.

Chooky, says Gaius. Meet Schopenhauer, and Unni Moon. Schopenhauer and Unni, meet Chooky.

My name isn't Chooky, says Chooky. It's C.H.Cook.

I do beg your pardon, says Gaius. I assumed.....

Quite naturally,  says C.H.Cook. But I prefer to be called C.H.Cook. It sounds more like the name of a contributor.

Indeed, says Gaius. It does have that ring.

May I ask to what you contribute? asks Schopenhauer.

It was in 1929, says C.H.Cook. Back in the days of my youth. I collected from this lake several examples of aspanides tasmaniae.

The mountain shrimp? says Schopenhauer.

The very same, says C.H.Cook. I sent them to London, to a certain Mr G. E. Nicholls, D.Sc., A.R.Sc., F.L.S. and he presented a paper on them to the Royal Zoological Society.

Gaius and Schopenhauer nod respectfully.

Arthur and Unni look bored.

Captain Louttit and the recently scraped barnacles, Goose and Wally, however, have a question.

Several small mountain shrimps, who have been lurking in the shallow lake waters under floating leaves and twisted root snags waiting for tadpoles, worms and carrion to feed on, have the same question.

Did they all get to London alive?