Adventure Magazine Cover — page 80: what you’re looking at

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

74 “LIGHT of my life,” he whispered fondly to the trembling bundle of @ white linen, bangles and emotion, “T did but jest with thee.” A long-forgotten story came to his aid. “Thou knowest that whither thou goest I will go, and whatsoever thou takest pleas- ure in will surely be my delight. Let us to- gether look for pictures in the ink. I promise thee that thou wilt see nothing but thine own sweet face in my dreams,”’ She disengaged herself, clapping her hands like a delighted child. “Oh, my Sesson, thou art a poet,” she chirped. This he doubted, annoyingly con- scious of being a fool. At the same time the shadow of a fear, a premonition of danger obtruded itself into his emotions. Manlike, however, he felt committed to his promise— in addition to disappointing Laulee, it would be dishonorable if he did not stare into the ink. “But,” he joked tenderly as they de- scended from the house-top, “‘what, if when we look into the ink, I should see all the men who have loved thee?” “Az, and if thou didst! Such a mob! You would think it an army—of fools. Would it not be more interesting to thee to see a picture of every man I have loved— which is very different?” “Would that be an army, too?” he re- torted with ready jealousy. “Ay, my lord. Indeed, a host in himself. And that—” she lighted the lamp—‘“‘you may see without ink.’ Behold!” She laughed saucily and pointed to his photo- graph. ‘You may say the ink can lie, but I have heard that the camera can not.” Sesson grinned, contented and comfort- able. Here, in this house, he was as abso- lute as some feudal baron. The outer door was barred and no one could enter without fighting the old soldier, his gatekeeper. For privacy in India is sacred. What a crank he had been to make a fuss about the ink. As if any harm could come to him in such a sanctuary, even if the girl did not love him; and he felt sure she did. Why shouldn’t she? Lighting a pipe, he sank lazily into 2 soft couch and watched Laulee making ready for the experiment. To the dimming of the light he made no objection, nor yet to the preparations which told him he would be compelled to sit more upright; but he did complain when the girl decided it was Adventure necessary to stop the electric fan—a modern usurpation of the age-old punkah which made for greater privacy, and relished even by those who considered a punkak coolie as being’ merely furniture—because its spin- ning would irritate the placid surface of the ink saucer. But the girl soothed his objec- tions with a pretty authority, finally sur- veying her arrangements with complacent satisfaction. “Now, my lord, all things being in readi- ness, wilt thou condescend to allow the gods to open the veil?” : “So the gods have charge of this busi- ness, eh?” asked Sesson as he took up the position assigned to him. “Who knows, sahtb?” “Don’t call me sah1b,” he protested. “Don’t mdke fun of what I do, then,” she retorted. “ “T am all obedience,” he avoided the argument. “You must not,’ she protested as he slipped an arm about her waist. “This matter must be approached without any idea of levity.” “Wherein is the levity?” He imitated a reproved schoolboy, and sat very straight. “Nay,” she begged, “please, my Sesson, do thou fall into my mood. Who knows what will happen?” “Tf I don’t fall asleep, I will keep on star- ing at a pool of ink until you grow tired of watching me do it—that’s what will hap- pen. Now!’ And Sesson, to please Lau- lee, imitated her every move—or, rather, lack of movement. For some minutes they stared, and Ses- son was conscious of nothing more than an overwhelming desire to blink his eyes. Presently, this passed and he became sleepy. Then, suddenly, he stared intently —very wide awake! For, deep in the ink apparently—so deep that it seemed impos- sible that the saucer held less than an inch of the liquid, he saw! What he saw at first were cértain things he did not like to look at. Events in his life about which he could never think without a shudder of disgust, of shame—the skele- tons which every man keeps hidden from the world and as far as is possible from him- self. He rubbed his eyes, hoping that what he saw had no objective existence and would disappear. But it persisted. He saw him- self, deep in the ink, doing again what he wished he had never done. CORMICGLOOOKS (C@