Part 1 (2/2)

Nor did his form belie his face I have never seen wider shoulders or a deeper chest Indeed, Sir Henry's girth is so great that, though he is six feet two high, he does not strike one as a tallwhat a curious contrast rand face and forine to yourself a small, withered, yellow-faced e brown eyes, a head of grizzled hair cut short and standing up like a half-worn scrubbing-brush--total weight in et a very fair idea of Allan Quatermain, commonly called Hunter Quaterlice, he who keeps a bright look-out at night, or, in vulgar English, a sharp felloho is not to be taken in

Then there was Good, who is not like either of us, being short, dark, stout--_very_ stout--with twinkling black eyes, in one of which an eyeglass is everlastingly fixed I say stout, but it is a ret to state that of late years Good has been running to fat in a raceful way Sir Henry tells hi, and Good does not like it at all, though he cannot deny it

We sat for a while, and then I got a match and lit the laan to grow dreary, as it is apt to do when one has a short week ago buried the hope of one's life

Next, I opened a cupboard in the wainscoting and got a bottle of whisky and sos forto h I were an eighteen-month-old baby All this while Curtis and Good had been silent, feeling, I suppose, that they had nothing to say that could do ive me the comfort of their presence and unspoken sympathy; for it was only their second visit since the funeral And it is, by the way, from the _presence_ of others that we really derive support in our dark hours of grief, and not from their talk, which often only serves to irritate us Before a bad stor

They sat and smoked and drank whisky and water, and I stood by the fire also s at the is it since we got back from Kukuanaland?'

'Three years,' said Good 'Why do you ask?'

'I ask because I think that I have had a long enough spell of civilization I a back to the veldt'

Sir Henry laid his head back in his arhs 'How very odd,' he said, 'eh, Good?'

Good bealass and murmured, 'Yes, odd--very odd'

'I don't quite understand,' said I, looking from one to the other, for I dislike mysteries

'Don't you, old fellow?' said Sir Henry; 'then I will explain As Good and I alking up here we had a talk'

'If Good was there you probably did,' I put in sarcastically, for Good is a great hand at talking 'And what may it have been about?'

'What do you think?' asked Sir Henry

I shook ht be talking about He talks about so s

'Well, it was about a little plan that I have for we should pack up our traps and go off to Africa on another expedition'

I fairly jumped at his words 'You don't say so!' I said

'Yes I do, though, and so does Good; don't you, Good?'

'Rather,' said that gentleman

'Listen, old felloent on Sir Henry, with considerable ani nothing more except play the squire in a country that is sick of squires For a year oras restless as an old elephant who scents danger I a Solomon's Mines

I can assure you I have beco I aes, and want to have a go at so--when one has once tasted brandy and water, ether up in Kukuanaland seeether I dare say that I ao, and, what is ain 'And, after all, why should I not go? I have no wife or parent, no chick or child to keep o to e and his boy, as it would ultimately do in any case I aht you would come to that sooner or later And now, Good, what is your reason for wanting to trek; have you got one?'

'I have,' said Good, sole without a reason; and it isn't a lady--at least, if it is, it's several'

I looked at hily frivolous 'What is it?' I said