Adventure Magazine Cover, October 1911 — page 54: what you’re looking at

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

TOOO “But ‘you had better read up the trea- ties,’ said Mr. Marshall. Then he told me to go out and stop the tom-tom dance in the compound, as otherwise we wouldn’t get any work out of the natives to- morrow. I went across to the dancers. I went quietly, for I like to watch the pirouetting forms, to watch the mammies’ twistings and bouyant tip-toeing, and to listen to the throb of the tom-toms by night. So it was that, as I was sneaking toward the torch-lit group, I heard chesty sobs coming from a giant baobob that stands in the center of the compound. _I jumped back, for the tree has all kinds of superstitions woven round it. The sobs sounded like the expiring breaths of some wounded monster. Then I saw a great black shape huddled at the gnarled roots of the tree, and peering close, I saw Tiny, the whipper. I could just make out his badge of office, which was a vicious ‘‘hippo” thong, stuck care- lessly in his loincloth. I felt sorry for Tiny, but I told him it was his own fault that he lost the girl; that he should save up his wage-slips, instead of blowing them in on pombe. I told him to quit sulking—said there were plenty more girls in the village. He shook his great bullet head. ‘‘T done hab feelings for dat gal, an’ she done hab feelings for me,”’ he groaned, and added impassionately, “‘I sure done go kill dat Mohara.”’ And that is just what he would do, not in jealous rage or viciousness, but simply because it seemed to his unimaginative mind the easiest way to gain his end. Of course I gave it to him sharp. “Get up!” I kicked him in the ribs. ‘‘Be one big man. Forget it! Get up! Shake yourself!” , He got up and shook himself literally and listlessly. It was most comical, only it was tragic, too. I tell you, it made me feel bad; and there was the girl, too, who “‘ done hab feelings.”” I suddenly made up my mind to help him out. You see, Mr. Mar- shall had said that Mohara was not to have the girl until he was able to deliver all the purchase goods, which could not be until he got his monthly wage-slip. Sol told Tiny that if he would get me a blue- and-gold butterfly—I’ve got a rare collec- tion—I would give him the goods by which he would beat Mohara to it. Adventure “‘Q-o-h aye, massa!”’ hecried out. “TI sure done get you dat butterfly!” “All right,” I said, ‘‘That’s a trade.” Then I went over and scattered the negroes to their huts and returned to the house, putting my head into Mr. Marshall’s room to call out my discovery that Attalia did have a preference. I said, ““Oh, Mr. Mar- shall, that girl does like Tiny.”’ ‘What girl? Oh yes, of course.”’ But I knew he was thinking of the photo under his pillow and trying to feed three people on the products of one cow, a few chickens and a truck-garden, which in turn led to intricate figuring of balance-sheets. I could see his bent head all the morning from where I worked with my Kroomen, lightering three Illorin trade canoes into barges, ready to ship to the delta when the rains came and the river rose high enough. Every now and then I found myself looking over to the big store and wondering if one of the rascally clerks was thieving at that moment. And it was fun to see the crowds that accompanied any negro who was the fortunate possessor of a trade-slip, just as the kids at home dance round a boy with a penny to spend at Mother Jones’ sweetshop. So it was that I saw Ogo come out, wear- ing a plumed helmet and‘a frock coat with a collar and dicky. I called out to Mr. Marshall that his hoodoo was gone, for we called the frock coat his hoodoo because it had been sold scores of times, only to be traded back each time at a discount, which was the Company’s patient way of dealing with the negroes’ changing fancy. But suddenly I noticed that the tail pockets bulged. I acted on an instant’s inspiration; I yelled to a watchman to close the gates and dashed for Ogo. He started running for the walls, but a mental vision of the mother-and-baby photo gave speed to my legs and I caught him just as he was about to climb the wall. I caught him by the coat-collar, and next moment I held the coat in my hand, while Ogo clambered over the wall in his dicky and nakedness. I took the coat up to Mr. Marshall. ‘““What’s the matter?” he asked. For answer, I began emptying the tail- pockets on the chop table. There were two razors, one alarm-clock, three gilt rings, two packets of fishhooks, one glass of pomatum, two harmonicas and a mammy’s CO MICLOOKS C©