"Yes, yes," he went on, "to take them out one by one and show them to -- -- and -- --," and he mentioned by name officials of sundry great museums with whom he was at war, "and see them tear their hair with rage and jealousy, while they wondered in their hearts if they could not manage to seize the lot for the Crown as treasure-trove, or do me out of them somehow," and he laughed a little in his old, pleasant fashion.
"Of course I never shall," he added sadly, "but perhaps one day some other fellow will find them here and get them to Europe, and if he is a decent chap, publish my notes and descriptions, of which I have put a duplicate in each box, and so make my name immortal.

Well, I'm off again.

There are four more cases to fill before the oil gives out, and I must get that great gold head into one of them, though it is an awful job to carry it far at a time.

Doctor, what disease is it that makes your legs suddenly give way beneath you, so that you find yourself sitting in a heap on the floor without knowing how you came there?
You don't know?
Well, no more do I, but I've got it bad.

I tell you I'm downright sore behind from continual and unexpected contact with the rock." Poor old Higgs! I did not like to tell him that his disease was starvation.
Well, he went on with his fetching and carrying and cataloguing and packing.