Adventure, February 1917 — page 45: what you’re looking at

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

Nobody’s Island heaven, that was Jamieson of unpleasant notoriety. The answer gave her a shock. She had - expected him to say three days or so, but _ instead— ‘Somewhere about two weeks,” he an- swered. “Of course, I might be back be- fore.” : “But if you aren’t?”’. “Well, don’t worry.” “When should I worry?” “Never.” “Tell me, really, when should I begin to feel anxious, if you didn’t return?”’ “Oh, not for a month at least. ITIll be back long before that, in all probability. You never can count time in this country.” “How is thate”’ “Tf you’d ever been inland, you’d know,” said Slade with a chuckle. Neither guessed how soon, and in what strange, tragic fashion, Edith was to know all about it. Vil (i NEXT morning the swags were got WV, Vy out, and Edith made her first ac- quaintance with packing as it is done in Papua. Sacks of coarse canvas, painted to make them waterproof, and fur-, nished with tying-cords, and arm slings for the carriers, were laid out on the veranda and filled with Slade’s clothes and personal belongings. A folding camp bed went into one, a pillow, blankets, flannel shirts, spare boots, filled a second. A tent fly was packed into another. Medicine chest, a very small array of cutlery, cooking things and cartridges, filled the next. Edith offered a razor, but was repelled with scorn; soap and a couple of towels were accepted. Two or three books, small In weight and print came next. Tea and sugar in tins, with the lids tied down, a bottle of whisky for emergencies, followed. The swags were packed, tied up at the mouth by two strong natives straining one against the other, and set aside. “Why do you have to tie so tight?” asked Edith... —— “Because everything’s wet.”’ “Everything?” She did not understand, but refrained from asking questions. The tinned goods were made up into thirty-pound loads, placed in common sacks, and sewn tight, arm-slings being added. Edith, knowing that a native could trot 43 under a load of eighty, began to have some idea of. the work that was probably ahead. But she said nothing and went and sat down with some sewing. “T always hated that scene in ‘Vanity Fair’ where she follows him round all night, trailing a belt or something in her hand, © while he’s packing. How he must have cursed her!’ thought Edith, putting in stitches that were crooked, and folds that ran the wrong way. “S She was obsessed with a sae us desire to sob: Ben made nothing of it, but he was going alone into a dangerous island full of fierce cannibals, to be away for weeks. All the same she must not be a fool. “Joan’”’ had _ to be brave. Slade left early in the morning. He did not take the launch, but a smart free-going cutter that would run over to Jamieson in a day and a night. He explained to Edith that Daga-Daga, whom he was leaving be- . hind, together with three or four others, knew how to run the launch and could take her anywhere she liked. ~ “Tt’s the bad season, though, ” he warned her. ‘Don’t go out for fun.” Then there was good-by, and Edith real- ly did cry a little, to her great shame. Slade only laughed and patted her on the back as he kissed her. “Murua’ll teach you not to mind things,” he said. “God be with you, girlie. Don’t forget your quinine.”’ “T am pretty sure God will be with her, for she is very good, and as to the quinine, that’s all right, Mr. Slade, for I shall see to that myself,” said Murua, with an odd sug- gestion of impiety that sent Slade off with a chuckle; he enjoyed Murua. Edith went back into the sago cottage, sucking at her quotations as a baby sucks its thumb, and for the same reason, Mrs. Browning flitted through her mind. Then one stands at the door, then one looks, then one kneels, God, how. the house feels! “Tf you like,” said Murua, “‘you can go and have your cry now, Mrs. Slade, while I get afternoon tea.” “How did you know I wanted to?” asked Edith, almost inclined to laugh through the’ coming tears. “Oh, Mrs. Slade, when Pups goes off without me, I always go and have a cry; partly because it’s lonely without him, and EOPMIC OOO KES Eom