Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 75: what you’re looking at

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

RED DARKNESS. a woman to divert his mind from the big- gest job he had ever tackled—a spoiled, self- centered creature. “ Hell’s bells!” growled Javalie. The sun climbed up out of the ocean like a toy balloon—or a light on the mast of a ship. He turned from the window and looked longingly at the bed; then, much less long- ingly, at the Chinese prayer rug beside him. With a baffled sigh he settled down on the rug and stretched out flat on his back. CHAPTER XV. BRIMSTONE, MILK, AND HONEY. AN MARTIN was standing over him with a glistening silver tray when Javalie, only a minute or two later, it seemed, awoke. The sun was shining hotly on his face. <A scarlet tanager shot past the window like a passionate thought. A mockingbird in a camphor tree began patiently to practice the call of a bobwhite. The colored butler recalled him to a sense of his responsibilities. Javalie stood up with his face to the sun and stretched out his arms. His lips moved silently, as if he were saying a prayer. The Rev. Dan Martin continued to stare at him with the profoundest respect and approval, and, one might almost say, with envy. ‘“‘'Yo’ breakfast, holy man,” he murmured tremulously when Javalie had done with his mute address to the mid-morning sun. “T been in heah, suh, three or fo’ times dis mawnin’, but you was sound asleep. It’s pas’ ten now, suh. You ’member, you promise las’ night to preach dis mawnin’, suh.” “ And I had not forgotten, my brother,” Javalie reassured him with a smile. He was ravenously hungry. He would have enjoyed sitting down to scrambled eggs, a thick, pink slice of ham mellowly browned, a pot of coffee, and rich cream, a platter of waffles deliciously crisp and golden, and maple syrup from Maine. The silver tray bore one Florida orange, one Oregon apple, and a comb of Ohio honey. What a blessing is rapid, refrigerated trans- portation! 5 A 545 Javalie lifted his eyes, and again his lips moved in silent prayer. Dan Martin sup- ported the tray while Javalie peeled and ate the orange. He ate it with relish. It was an Indian River orange, solid juice. Oranges were rich, he understood in vita- mine-A. He hoped that vitamine-A would diminish that painful gnawing in his stomach. ‘“* De Good Book say, ‘ Man shall not live bah bread alone,’ ”’ Dan Martin murmured. “St. John de Baptist lived on locusts and honey. Seems to me lak you favor St. John, holy man; de sackcloth, de sandals, de honey and all.” ‘* St. John the Baptist,” Javalie corrected him severely, “ wore camel’s hair and a girdle of skin. You must be thinking of Hezekiah.” “Yassuh, holy man, da’s right—Heze- kiah.” Javalie slowly masticated a walnut, then dug into the honeycomb with a grapefruit spoon. ‘“‘ Holy man, c’n I ask you a simple ques- tion? I wants to know, does you preach from de Good Book or f’m yo’ life?” “ Both,” Javalie replied. ‘‘ Have you your Bible?” ‘* Vassuh.” Dan put the tray down and produced from his hip pocket a worn and glossy Bible. Javalie thumbed through it to Isaiah. He knew the Bible well. A thor- ough study of it had been deemed @ neces- sary part of his preparation. ‘““My text this morning will be taken from the first verse, thirty-seventh chapter of Isaiah. And I will call your sinning brethren from the darkness of iniquity into the white and blazing light. Cry out and shout, thou inhabitant of Zion, for great is the Holy One of Israel in the midst of thee!” “ Aye, Lawd!” Javalie’s deep-set blue eyes were blazing fanatically; his skin was flushed. Whether he consciously realized himself to be the vilest of hypocrites or not it would not be easy to say. To Javalie, a role was a role. He played his parts with the zeal of genu- ine sincerity; he was an artist to his finger- tips. Having agreed to deliver a sermon in - é ~ ae * commichooks<comne tem +