Adventure Magazine Cover — page 151: what you’re looking at

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

The Edge of the Simitar an expectant but detached air. As soon as it appeared that the soup was done, Hamid returned with a plate of crisp panfish. This was succeeded by a pilau of chicken, tenderly cooked and carefully shredded through a pile of rice and almonds and raisins. Afterward there was an orange- colored sherbet made from mangoes which had arrived that day by the rarest of luck straight from Bombay. “It is all excellent, Hamid,” said Cohusac; and the big Arab, profoundly gratified, mur- mured appreciatively. He lighted a cigaret for the young Frenchman and poured the sweet Mocha coffee, which foamed in the cup like rich chocolate. | “Tt is all excellent; but it lacks one essen- tial to a perfect meal. Where are the guests?”’ “Effendi, between the cook and myself we may serve a meal; but guests are the gift of Allah!” ‘Good, Hamid! Do you remember the guests who used to sit at this table—the the English, the Germans, the French, the Americans, the Italians? Sahibs and mem- sahibs? Do you remember the music? We used to dance there in the moonlight when a mailship came in! They were gay, those people! “You were the gayest, effendi! The laughter in your heart made merriment for all! You were master of their hearts— you were master of their wit—you were master of their courage!”’ ‘Thank for Hamid!” murmured Cohusac, but with a disparaging gesture. Aloud he said: “Well, what is it that has done this? Why is it that the object you see before you is nothing but a wreck—an incapable wreck —and of all those people you used to see dancing, laughing, calling — there — and there — and there! — nothing remains but shadows? No! Nothing but a memory!” “It is fate, effendi!” declared Hamid, moistening his lips. “No! It is this cursed war!” exclaimed the Frenchman wildly. “It is this cursed, incomprehensible war! If I could get my hands upon the throats of those who are responsible! It is the result of a selfish madness. If I could for one moment meet face to face the instigator! “Pah! You see, Hamid, sickness makes us cowards! I talk like a fool! There is no . I4I power that can bring back the day that is gone—there is no power that can recall the friend that has passed!’ At this moment an Englishman appeared at the doorway—thin, burned by wind and sun, quick, almost furtive, in his move- ments. He hesitated only to see if Cohusac were alone. Then he advanced quickly, slinging a battered sun-helmet into a chair. “Hello, Cohusac!” he said crisply. “Hello, there, old boy! Bismillah, Hamid! Get me something to drink.”’ Hamid gave a hissing sound and recoiled a step, jerking his hand up to his lips. Co- husac rose straight out of his chair, top- pling it over backward; stared with wild eyes for an instamt as the sandy-haired Englishman moved toward him; choked over the words that crowded to his tongue for.utterance. Finally be managed to stam- mer over and over again: “Hickson! Hickson! Hickson!” “You look as though you heard the shrieking of the bamshee,’”’ said Hickson. “Come out of it! I’m no blinking ghost! Hamid! For Heaven’s sake! My throat’s powdered with resin! . You didn’t keep me waiting like this the last time I was here!”’ Cohusac rushed forward with awkward, shambling strides and seized him by hand and shoulder, crying out: “IT was entertaining ghosts! Hickson! You are a manifestation! You are soaking wet—your legs caked with mud— Look, Hamid! He needs a shave—the immacu- late Hickson! Sit down—oh, my old friend, sit down! What has happened? Some- thing has happened! Quick! There is something in the wind! Hamid! IJmbpshi, yhomarl* Don’t stand there like a donkey! Bring Hickson effendt something to eat!’’ “Bring me something to drink!” yelled Hickson with sudden exasperation. Cohusac gave a shout of hysteric laughter and fell into his chair. “It is the real Hickson,’’ he said, splutter- ing. “To the life!” “Yes,’”’ said Hickson, sitting down and emptying the dregs from the various glasses on the table. “Yes; it’s meall right. Half- dead! Old boy, Cohusac! Think of it! My , you look as though they’d skinned you and stuffed you with Camem- bert! Heard you’d got a knockout; but you act spry enough. Where the dickens has Hamid gone with that drink?” * Clear out, you donkey. Go NOOK 1 @)