Part 7 (1/2)
But he wasn't, it was part of his language--little clicks and ticks He comes from somewhere in Central Africa, and one of the TB's told ot one wife, nurse”
He is very proud of his austerity, for he has somehow discovered that he has hit on a country where it is the nutty thing only to have one wife
No one can speak a word of his language, no one knows exactly where he co, Sister!” and ”Christmas Box!” and ”One!”
Directly one takes any notice of hi, ”One!”
Then a proud TB (they regard hi-bird) explains: ”He ot one wife, nurse”
Then he did his second trick He came to ering it Its whiteness slipped between his fingers He dropped it and, holding up the hand with its fellow, ducked his head to watcheyes
”He means,” explained the versatile TB, ”that he has ten piccaninnies in his village and they're all dressed in white”
It took my breath away; I looked at Henry for corroboration He nodded earnestly, coughed and whispered, ”Ten!”
”How do you know he means that?” I asked ”How can you possibly have found out?”
”We got pictures, nurse We showed 'iirls and four boys We showed 'im pictures of kids”
I had never seen Henry before, never knew he existed But in the ward opposite the poor TB's had been holding conversations with hi hi a communion with hih they showed him off with conscious pride, I don't think he really appeared strange to theine his wife as appearing much as their oives, his children as the little children who run about their own doorsteps They do not stretch their ieness about his hoeness
To thenity of a man and a householder, possibly a rate-payer
He see a bucket so its handle with a flushed TB They carry on ani the e o of a shi+pone day”a nigger for Central Africa”
”Where's his unit?”
”Who knows! One nigger and his bundlefor Central Africa!”
The ward has put Mr Wicks to Coventry because he has been abusive and violent-tempered for three days
He lies flat in his bed and frowns; no more jokes over the lemonade, no wilfulness over the thermometer
It is in these days that Mr Wicks faces the truth
I lingered by his bed last night, after I had put his tea-tray on his table, and looked down at him; he pretended to be inanimate, his open eyes fixed upon the white rail of the bed His bedclothes were stretched about hih he had not moved since his bed was made, hours before
His worldly pleasures were beside hiars, his _Star_--but his eyes, disregarding the around the bedrail
He began a bitter conversation: