Adventure, August 3, 1919 — page 178: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

a 168 - Adventure i the hehe stings after so long. r. *m.”’ “Have a cigar?” added the doctor. “Good Lord!” Heartiness was creeping in to the voice. “That’s awfully good of you! No, don’t bother for a match.” He bent forward, picked a firebrand with delicate fingers and sighed at the first puff. He sat back seemingly absorbed in the joy of the inhalation. The doctor began to note details: that the shirt was soft and yellow, frayed; -the parched skin drawn tightly over an acquiline nose, and the care bestowed on the hands; even the beard had been trimmed. “Yes,” began Warren-Dukely reflec- tively. “I’m the King of the Wood.” Again the doctor was conscious of the thrill imparted by insanity. “No, I’m not insane, Doc. I—am exactly what I say. Let me see. Confound it, there is something the matter with my mind. Difficult of—er—grasping what I want to say. You ought to understand that, eh?” “Perhaps you haven’t spoken English for along time. Do you think in English?” “No, that’s it, by God! Good Lord, I never realized it until now. Never realized that I was so far gone. H’m. Now I will get started! Are you listening, Doc?” “Yes, yes, of course.” “Well, I was—or am, I suppose—am Warren-Dukely—I told you that, didn’t I? Yes, All right. Now I’m the King of the Wood. it! Do you hear that drum?” The doctor listened and was aware of the faintest possible vibration. “Yes. It’s the drum in the village, isn’t it?” “Oh yes, the drum all right. Only—”’ Me sighed and suddenly placed one hand over his eyes as if shutting out a vision. “T beg your pardon, I’ll try to get on— and tell you what a mess you’re in.” rofl 3 am?’ “Oh, Till tell you. Er—about three years ago—or was it four? What's the date, old man?” “Date? Oh—er—about the fourteenth of February, I think.” “God, yes, my stick’s right. That’s the drum ”? “My drum. But never mind. Er— well—oh yes. —— it, I wish d give me something. But, of pak fia conte here. I mean I boggle so. Don’t you notice it?” “A little. ‘Take your time, old man,” “Malaria, I suppose. And my quinine ran out some time ago.” “Oh, I shall be glad tolet have some,” “Let me have some?” eyes stared at the little doctor. “That’s good—all right. I'll go on. By the way, did you say you were Jesus?” “No; Magdalen.” Warren-Dukely smiled at the fire and puffed at his cigar, seeming to have forgotten his guest. The pulse of the drum was so faint that it appeared like the strokes of an invisible baton conducting the noc- turnal anthem. A cricket shrilled piercingly and ceased. A distant prolonged - yow! was just audible. The doctor was watch- ing Warfen-Dukely with professionally keen eyes; he observed certain spasmodic twitches of the bare toes and a persistent scratching at the chair arm with one polished’ finger-nail. . “IT guess I must have been before your time, anyway,”’ he said conversationally, “Eh?” The start was convulsive. He stared at the doctor; then the eyes smiled. “Oh, 1 beg your pardon. One gets to dreaming—more or less, Er—what the mischief was I gassing about?” “You were going to tell me how you became King of the Wood.” “King of the Wood? Did I say that— really? This cigar seems awful strong, by the way. Still, years since I smoked one.” Suddenly he sprang to his feet and, bending over =the doctor’s chair, touched his bare hand as he picked up the calabash. He stood with the water in his hand and smiled down at the visitor in a relieved manner. “T wonder whether you could spare?” he insinuated. “T don’t think you had better,” observed the doctor quietly. ‘‘A little later perhaps. You’re not accustomed to it, y'know.” “Quite right! Quite right! And you'll need it yourself. I’d forgotten that.” “T’]l need it? Oh, you mean—it isn’t that. I’ve a good supply with me.” “So had I, old boy; so had I,” muttered Warren-Dukely as he turned away with the calabash of water in his hand. By the chair he stopped, glanced at it and threw z comicbooks.cor