Bellefonte, Pa, November 13, 1931.
EE ——
GOOD TIMES
Think ‘good times" —
It is the state of mind
That brings prosperity
And puts dull days behind.
Talk ‘good times"
No matter what they say:
Sane, optimistic talk
Will drive the clouds away.
Act “good times''—
Be equal to the test;
Compel “good times” to come,
Resolve to do your best.
Spread “good times" —
By thought and word and deed;
With sturdy faith and confidence
Know you will succeed!
—By Grenville Kleiser
— —————————
TIGER-SNAKE
“Geoffrey married! Well, I'll be
boiled!” Philip Winsby ran a brown
hand over his nice light hair, now
bleached in rusty streaks by the
tropic sun. “Bringing his wife out
here! Good Lord! The man is
crazy!” He spoke aloud and then
held the letter closer tothe kerosene
lamp.
But there it was, set down in
Geoffrey's minute, impeccable hand-
writing. He and his wife would ar-
rive by the next steamer, a month
later. Would Philip have the
bungalow made shipshape: walls
painted, new matting put down, and
the like. He knew Philip wouldn't
mind moving his kit into the as-
sistant’s bungalow.
“Sorry to lose you, old thing, but
you understand. Much as I dislike
doing it, I'll have to claim Mara for
my own house boy. He is quiet
and experienced and understanding,
and inasmuch as Evelyn Rnows
nothing about housekeeping out
there she can't very well get: along
without him. You c#n easily break
in another boy for yourself.
«Please send Ali to Dobo with the
launch to meet the Van Baalen and
above all things see that Mineh
packs up and gets out immediately.
Give her some money—be liberal—
and send her back to her mother.
She mustn't be hanging about the
place when I get back. No need
to impress upon you the importance
of this.”
There followed certain instructions
concerning the tapping of young rub-
ber trees, details of a proposed ad
dition to the latex shed and the
name of the new London agents to
whom the copra was to be consign-
-
Philip leaned back in his chair
and gazed into space. Geoffrey
Carleton married! That was almost
funny. And a trifle tragic, too—
for the girl, whoever she was. Geof-
frey was forty-five,
the senior of his assistant, and the
most notorious philanderer in the
Islands.
On his way out from home to
take this job, Philip had heard him
referred to as the worst woman-
hunter in the Federated Malay
States, and from some planters he
had learned thet his chief had
chucked a job in Ipoh as a result of
certain amorous entanglements. La-
ter, he had been driven from Sing-
apore by an irate hushand with a
six-shooter.
Then, too, there was Mineh, Geof-
frev's housekeeper. Even during
Philip's time here on Bukit Satu,
there had been other Minehs, other
“housekeepers.” Certainly Geoffrey
never had curbed his inclinations in
the least. Philip wondered if Mrs.
Carleton by any chance suspected
how thoroughly shopworn her hus-
band was.
He assumed she did not, but—it
was no business of his. He liked
Geoffrey pretty well and they had
rubbed along satisfactorily these two
years.
Married? Well, the fellow was
infernally good-looking in his way,
and women liked masterful men.
They didn't seem to mind their pre-
nuptial histories, either. No doubt
they derived a satisfactory pride in
plucking brands from the burning.
But whatever micht be said about
Carleton's reputation as a ladies’
man, there was no denying his abil.
ity as a planter, and he had nerve,
too. It took nerve to combat a
horror of snakes such as his in a
place like Bukit Satu. Philip him-
self had the average man’s aversion
to serpents but Geoffrey's fear of
them was abnormal; it amounted to
a fixation.
It was more than fear: the mere
sight of one, no matter how small
or how harmless, threw him into a
painful condition midway between
paralvsis and hvsteria. Even the
picture of a snake provoked a
strange physical rigor. a mental
numbness, and one of Philip's first
duties. upon his arrival, had been to
go through all the books in the
bungalow and nin together the
pages upon which were snake pic-
tures.
If by chance Geoffrev encountered
such a picture, he wou!d stare at it
in fascinstion, unable to turn the
page or to drop the book: he would
hold it, gasping and shuddering, un-
til somehody took it out of his
hands. and then he would suffer a
complete collapse. To hew a plan-
tation out of an East Indies jungle
infested with everv sort of crawling
thing reauired something more than
ordinarv physical courage on the
part of a man accursed with a
prenatal fear of this sort, but that
is nreciselv what Geoffrev had done.
And now he was bringing his wife
out to live on the place!
That took courage. too.
Geoffrev wholly selfish and indif- |
ferent to his bride's happiness?
Bukit Satu was on Penambull.
one of the Aru Tslands just west of
New Guinea, and while it was all
very well for a man it was a ohast-
ly spot for any civilized woman.
rattan chair was empty,
month.
twenty years 8
Or was red
ed either on their schooners or in.
Dobo, where the steamer called once
a month. And Dobo was a half-
day's journey by launch.
‘A woman on Penambuli! She'd
six months. It
go off her bean in
was inhuman of Geoffrey to bring
her.
The tall glass in the circular
receptacle in the arm of Philip's
so he call-
ed: “Boy!”
“Tuan!”
in a deep voice and a house
padded softly into the room.
was clad in a red-and-blue sarong
and an immaculate white coat.
“Whisky-soda, Mara.”
“Saya, tuan.” The glass was
taken and Mara disappeared. When
he returned Philip said:
“] have a letter from the tuan
pezar and it has big news. He is
married.”
“So?”
“He's bringing his wife out next
We're going to have a
white woman here in Bukit Satu
and you'll have to wait on her. I'm
going to lose you, Mara.”
The boy listened with his custom-
ary inscrutable expression; he bow-
ed and said: “It is as Tuan Allah
wills.”
“I don't mind saying I'll miss you,
Mara. You're a perfect servant and
I'll never get another like you.”
“1 do my work,” the Malay
agreed simply.
“You'll probably have double the
duties when she comes. But this
is a lonesome place for a white
woman; you must make things as
easy and pleasant for her as pos-
sible. I'm sure you'll do that,
eh?" Again the native bowed.
“And another thing, I'm going to
ask you to break in a new boy for
me."
There followed some discussion as
to candidates for the position; then
Mara retired noiselessly to the rear
of the bungalow and resumed his
work of inlaying with the brass the
grotesque pattern which he had
carved upon the handle of a murder-
ous looking Kris.
A perfect “boy,” Philip told him-
self again with some regret; he
hated the thought of losing him.
To be exact, Mara was not a boy,
for he was well past forty, nor was
his name Mara, which means angry.
That appellation had been applied to
him because of his equable temper
and unbelievable placidity, this in-
version of nomenclature being a
popular form of Malay humor. As
another example of it, the one-leg-
ed storekeeper was known as Kaki
Sipasan (‘‘centipede.”)
Mara's lack of emotion was a
source of constant amusement to
the more excitable coolies and his
philosophical habit of accepting eith-
er calamity or good fortune with a
raising of the shoulders and a re-
spectful tribute to his deity invari-
ably provoked laughter. When he
ambled and won heavily or lost his
last kipping, he expressed neither
joy nor regret—it was Allah's do-
ing; when a razor sharp parang
with which he was splitting wood
glanced from a knot and neatly sev-
ered his left little finger he merely
said wistfully:
“It is as Tuan Allah wills!
This very imperturability, coupled
with an uncanny efficiency in what-
ever he undertook, made him an ex-
ceptional servant. He was never
fussed, never bothered. When Geof-
frey and Philip were too busy to
shoot meat, he would disappear into
the jungle and return with a wild
boar or a deer.
He was an excellent barber; he
could mend and launder clothes ex-
pertly; he could cook, wait on the
table, mix cocktails or lead you to
the haunts of birds of paradise. He
was on call at any hour of the day
or night—he seemed never to sleep
—and best of all, he knew how to
anticipate wants. Mara it was who
made life at Bukit Satu bearable.
It was late that night before
Philip fell asleep. The mosquito
netting over his bed shut out the
air, the sheet underneath him felt
‘as hot as an ironing hoard, and the
perspiration from his hair soaked
his pillow slip.
Just outside his room a night bird
was calling in a maddening monot-
ony; frogs gurgled among the man-
groves and the mournful sound of a
native stringed instrument came
from the coolie lines. The sea
barely whispered against the shore.
Geoffrey and his wife would soon
be on that sea, bound thither. Her
name was Evelyn. A pretty name;
and, knowing Geoffrey as he did,
Philip assumed that she was pretty,
too. But would she be happy in
this forsaken place?
Happy! Would she even find con-
tentment here? The assistant man-
ager doubted it. mot so much be-
cause of Bukit Satu as because of
Geoffrey Carleton. Carleton had
never been constant to any woman;
he tired quickly of his conquests; he
was a philanderer at heart. Can
such a man change his nature any
more than a leopard its spots?
Philips pondered the question.
Love works miracles, of course, but
—_It must be wonderful to love, and
to be loved. Evelyn! A sweet,
simple name. Some sweet, simple
country girl, no doubt—Philip slept.
The days sped swiftly. Geoffrey's
bungalow was thoroughly cleaned
and renovated at last and Philip
| moved into his smaller
Mara had painted the other place:
‘he had scrubbed and swept and
‘dusted it; he had made new white
| curtains and bright cushion covers
for the mem-sahibs coming. He
'would have looped up the curtains
| with enormous hows of blood-red
| ribbon but had regretfully abandon-
led that project when Philip demur-
| Little Mineh had been disposed of,
| too. She had not heen able to see
(that Goffrey's marriage
{her in the least, put when Philip
| had insisted that it did and that it
{meant her immediate banishment
| she had lowered her limpid brown
came the prompt reply rongs,
concerned |
§
tingly busy around
to the evening before the expected
arrival of the bride and groom, and
early the next morning he shot a
dugong, the meat of which he knew
was pleasing to the tuan besar. He
likewise shot some pigeons for the
mem-sahib in case she should not
like the taste of dugong:
Every piece of furniture had been
rubbed down; Geoffrey's pipes were
cleaned, polished and laid out on a
brass tray; the bungalow was gay
with orchids; every vase was crowd-
ed with blooms of bright red, pale
green, mauve, pink, purple and yel-
low, for he knew that mem-sahibs
love flowers.
When, some time after sundown,
the whistle of the motor launch
sounded, Mara appeared, fresh from
his evening bath and dressed for the
gala occasion in a handsome sarong
of silver and blue, with cap and
slippers of the same material and a
short coat of snowy white. Aftera
hurried visit to the cookhouse—he
invariably supervised every meal—
he prepared cocktails.
“Hello there, Philip!” It was
Geoffrey speaking. “This is Evelyn.
Give her a hand up, will you?
Evelyn, this is Phil Winsby."”
In the dusk the launch had nosed
in to the dock, its propeller churning
the water into myriads of phos-
phorescent bubbles; there was a
noisy chattering among the coolies
as they helped with the craft.
Philip heard himself speaking to
the bride and realized when he lift-
ed her to the pier that she was a
tiny thing, scarcely larger than a
child, but in the uncertain light he
could not well make out her fea-
tures. They were delicate and reg-
ular-—he saw that much; she had a
nice voice and a nicer laugh; the
grip of her hands was warm and
friendly. Then he and Geoffrey
were greeting each other with
British restraint.
On the way up to the bungalow,
Geoffrey did most of the talking
and Philip had no opportunity for
appraising the newcomer further
than to note with renewed surprise
how tiny and how youthful she ap-
peared.
Their entry into the large living
room, comfortable with its rattan
furniture, was Mara's cue to appear
with a tray of superlative cocktails.
He bowed and smiled with a-dig-
nity that instantly won Evelyn, and
her enthusiastic appreciation of his
efforts to beautify the place in her
honor as promptly won his liking.
Like a humming bird she skipped
daintily from one bouquet to anoth-
er, from orchid to orchid, and for
the first time Philip had a chance
to observe her closely. She was a
revelation.
Mechanically he drank to her
health and happiness; he voiced the
customary felicitations but with a
strange feeling of dismay. She
was much lovelier than he had ex-
pected, lovelier even tian those deli-
cately tinted blooms that so delight-
ed her. This child the wife of
Geoffrey Carleton! How incredible!
How-—tragic!
Dinner was a perfect meal and
Mara served it with dexterity. The
talk was of the Derby, Ascot. Hen-
ley, the voyage out and the planta-
tion. Evelyn was no country girl.
Not until the coffee and llquers ar-
rived did it occur to Philip that he
and the bride had hit it off instantly
and that they had practically mon-
opolized the conversation while Geof-
frey had done most of the drinking.
Three or four whiskies with din-
ner, on top of as many cocktails,
was rather ctiff even for him and
rather more than a home-coming
called for. As a matter of fact,
the husband seemed absent-minded.
almost bored. Nor did he brighten
up during the evening.
As Philip lay awake in his own
bungalow, deeply stirred, unaccount-
ably excited by the incidents of the
past few hours, he told himself it
was rather rotten of Geoffrey to
fling a wet blanket over his wife's
first evening on the plantation. But
probably he was tired. That was a
long, dull trip on the Van Baalen.
Evelyn, too, had seemed tired;
there were faint crescents of weari-
‘ness under her eyes. Lovely little
birdlike creature: frank and clean
and ingenuous. Surely she couldn't
know her husband's history.
To Mara, the beautiful mem-sahib
soon became a goddess. The mo-
ment she had entered that living
room and smiled at him he had be-
come her slave and as time went
on his devotion grew. Evelyn en-
tered into the life at Bukit Satu!
‘with an admirable zest. In boots,
| khaki shirt and sun helmet she
went shooting crocodiles or deer with
! y and Philip.
she fished for sharks,
pink parrot fish; not
With them |
rock cod and
once did she
. complain of the heat, the mosquitoes |
or the torrential rains.
| good little sport and
| companion. Oft
on taking Mara along on these trips,
|to his great delight. |
| Despite Evelyn's bouyancy of |
| spirits, however, Philip was not slow |
|to realize that she was unhappy. !
| Frequently there was a look |
in her eyes, a look of bewilderment
|and of fear; often she was unnat-|
|urally quiet and a plaintive, inquir- |
ing pucker fixed itseif between her
brows. |
Geoffrey, too, had changed.
was no longer the genial pal Ph
|had known. Frequently he was bit-
|
She was 2
a charming
| saw these
‘he suspected the cause,
‘ter and
older
‘pretending
‘tract calls for
la man awak
ter and morose. Around the bunga-
ow there was more than a hint of
Philip felt rather than
evidences of trouble and
but neither
wife mentioned them. |
Oriental brain.
As time went on, Geoffrey's dis-
position grew worse rather than bet-
without apparent reason.
He appeared to take a malevolent
satisfaction out of making life un-
pleasant for on the place,
and more than once Philip and he
came close to quarreling.
Evelyn's gayety had given way to
a pensive listlessness and she avoid-
ed Philip when she could do so
without risk of hurting his feelings,
a fact for which he was both sorry
and glad. His mind was ceaseless-
ly preoccupied with thoughts of her;
when he beheld her wandering alone
along the beach, a tragically lonely
and pathetic figure, he had to fight
down an almost irresistible impulse
to run after her and—and take her
in his arms.
Yes, he was wild about her. No
blinking the facts, he was a traitor
to his chief, and he hated himself
for his treachery.
Whatever the nature of Geoffrey's
grievance against his bride, he was
behaving like a swine. It was a
confounded shame, the assistant told
himself, and Geoffrey needed a good
hiding. Evelyn was a prisoner
here; this was her Devil's Island,
and her brutish husband actually
gloated over her misery.
Then, one day, Philip saw Mineh
near the coolie lines and u gasp of
amazement escaped him. she could
not have returned without Geoffrey's
sanction. The man was out of his
mind; he had cast off his last shred
of decency and, row or no row, he
was due to be called.
Philip found his chief finishing the
inspection of some new fish traps
down by the lagoon and together
they walked back towards the house.
“1 got a bit of a shock just now,”
Philip began. “I ran into Mineh.
Did you know she was here?”
A flush of annoyance rose to the
man's face. “Naturally I
knew, since I sent for her.”
“Sent for her!”
“Exactly! What of it?”
“I—rather imagined you were
through with that sort of thing now
that—"
“Look here.” Geoffrey controlled
his anger with an effort. “Where
do you come in to meddle with my
affairs? D'you imagine I'll ever be
through with that sort of thing,’
as you put it?”
“Lord knows you should be.”
«It shows how little you know.
You could be happy with one wom-
an; I can't Now mind your own
business, will you?”
“All right!” The assistant's voice
shook with rage. “But first let me
tell you that you're a dirty rotter.”
‘f've been called worse,’ Geoffrey
said with a shrug. “Really, I'm not
interested in your opinion of me.”
“Hang it all!” Philip swallowed
his resentment and sought to Munch
a frank talk that might lead to
some good. “I don't understand
you, any more. You've entirely
changed since you went on leave.”
“Yes 2m
“Evelyn is a wonderful woman;
she's far too good for you. She's a
game little sport and you brought
her out here to this jumping-off
place. Now—" The speaker's in-
dignation rose again and choked
him. “Well, your behavior smells
to heaven.”
“If the odor offends you—"
“It does.”
“Then why don't
that smells better?"
“D'you mean that?”
“It's up to you. I don't propose
to be crossed. Frankly, I'm not a
one woman man and there's no use
I am. As a matter of
fact, if I were the usual jealous
husband I'd have fired you long be-
fore this?"
“Indeed ?"
“Don't you think I've noticed how
you feel towards Evelyn?”
“That's a—lie!” Philip exploded.
“If that's how you look at me, to
the devil with you and your job.
I'm off today.”
“Oh, no, you're not! Your con-
three months’ notice.
You'll stay till I get a man to re-
you get a job
place ~
“Very well! Three months it is!”
The younger man turned and strode
away.
This scene had reached its cli-
max as the two were crossing a
patch of long lalang grass near the
plantation boundary; heedless of the
direction he took Philip made
through it. But he had not gone a
hundred “eet when he heard a chok-
ing cry behind him and whirled
about to behold Geoffrey rigidly in
his tracks, his eyes fixed in a horri-
fied stare, one hand clutching his
collar as if he were strangling. A
rigor had seized him, his face was
ghastly; all he could do was call
feebly to his assistant.
p knew the meaning of this
phenomenon and his fury died; it
was succeeded by pity and by a
swift apprehension for Geoffrey's
safety. Involuntarily he shouted
and charged back whence he had
come.
The rush of
ened the serpent upon which Geof-
frey's eyes had been hypnotically
When he arrived at the
stricken man, only a rustling in the
grass betrayed the direction the
snake had taken.
out of his daze as
ens from a hideouf
hypnotic spell: he shook, his muscles
jerked, he seemed about to faint.
«Jt was—coiled!” he stammered.
«Another step and—I would have
been on it. Good Lord!”
“pull yourself together, old man.
He | No danger now.”
flin |
“One of those
snakes—"'
infernal tiger-
i
i
his approach fright-
one in months.”
«“Confounded things attack when
weakly
‘a hand, will you? Up to the house.
Thanks
Rotten luck for a chap to
‘have such a failing. Out here, of
‘all ! Paralyzed! Can't move!
Utterly helpless.” He was trying
to apologize for his behavior.
«I was born that way, and it
makes no difference whether the
cursed things are venomous or not.
Or how small they are. My mother
was the same. Voice leaves me—
eve ! I'm petrified.
“Jt's—worse than a physical
fright. It's something abysmal; it
goes down into my soul. Now I'll
be done up for days. Lord! I need
a drink.” With uncertain hand the
speaker wiped his face.
He gabbled on hysterically while
Philip helped him to the bungalow; |
then he collapsed into a chair and
called for Mara.
The boy appeared instantly.
“Whisky, quickly,” Philip direct-
ed. “The tuan besar nearly step-
ped on a tiger-snake.”
Mara disappeared and returned in
a twinkling with glass and decanter.
It was some time before Geoffrey
allowed Philip to leave, and then it |
was only after he had mumbled al
half-hearted apclogy for his part in
their recent quarrel.
“pry to forget it,” he said. “We
can manage to get along somehow.”
Philip made no comment.
In the days that followed, the
younger man ceased to drop in at
the Carleton bungalow and only
went there when definitely asked.
At such times he treated Evelyn
with the most rigid formality, for
her husband's words rankled in his
mind. |
It was true that he loved her,
madly, passionately, hopelessly, and
it did no good to deny it. He was
impelled to flee the place, but under |
the provisions of his contract he
was chained there fur another three
months and while the situation was
almost intolerable there seemed to
be no escape from it.
Philip was sitting in his smal}
mosquito-proof porch one night,
when he heard the screen door of
the large bungalow slam. He look-
ed up in time to see Evelyn flying
down the path towards the beach.
It was a moonlight night; there
was no mistaking her figure as it
fitted through the shadows. Strange!
Why was she out at this hour? It
was nearly midnight. And running!
Uurged by some disquieting fear
of he knew not what, Philip arose
and hastened after her. He breath-
ed more easily when he found her
crouched upon a fallen palm tree
near the water's - |
At the sound of his voice she turn-
ed her head in his direction, then
stared out to sea again. Philip
‘ooked down at her with a feeling of
boundless compassion; it was a mo-
ment before he could trust himself
to inquire:
“Is—anything wrong, Evelyn?"
She raised her head; their eyes
met. “Everything's wrong,” she’
said.
“I'm so sorry. Can I—help?”
“Thanks, old boy.
ing anybody can do. It's all my
fault for—" She stopped suddenly
with a catch in her voice.
“For what?"
«For marrying him in the face of
of everything. My people warned
me, but I wouldn't believe them.”
There was a silence; overhead the
feathery palms whispered; there was
a soft hissing as tiny wavelets ran
up the hard sand and drained away.
“Geoffrey's a mystery to me,”
Philip confessed at last. “I can't
understand him these last few
months.”
«1 understand him. He's bored.”
“Bored ?" i
«Maddeningly. Insufferably. He's
that sort. He couldn't love one.
woman—not more than a week or
two, anyhow. Possession!
Boredom! That's the
runs. Rather humiliating to a wife,
isn't it?" Evelyn's lips twisted in a
brave effort at a smile. “He's not
to blame for it, I suppose, any more
than for his terror of snakes. It's
a part of his make-up.”
“Does he know you left the
house?” Philip inquired.
The wife shook her head.
asleep now, drunk as usual. He
was beastly. Said things that—
drove me out. I'm about ready to
chuck it."
Evelyn's meaning was plain and
Philip protested gruffly: “Don't talk
like that.”
“You see, I was utterly inexperi-
enced,” the woman resumed after a
while. “It may do me some good
to tell you how it all came about.
I met him when he was on leave
the time before Pe and we a?
around together; , tennis, ea-
ters and night clubs. Father is hard
up and it was a great treat for me.
“When he came home this time
we took things up where we'd left
off. I was flattered by his atten-
tions. He proposed one night af-
ter we'd been punting on the river.
A night like this.
«Father was a bit upset, I thought
when I told him; spoke about Geof-
frey's age, the life out here and all
that. I assumed he'd be relieved to
be rid of me, with three other
daughters coming on, and T told
him so. Poor old pater has only a
few hundred a year and a bit of a
pension and it's hard to make ends
meet. But he wasn’t relieved.
“He told me finally that he'd had
a report on Geoffrey from an old |
¢riend who used to be a planter in
‘the Federated Malay States and—it
was awful. Affairs with women and |
scandals by the hatful; he'd kept |
mum about it, hoping Geoffrey |
wouldn't propose or if he did that
I'd refuse him.
“We had the usual row; in fact,
‘the whole family came down about |
| my ears in a swarm. There's no,
‘use going into all that. I taxed |
| Geoffrey and he pleaded guilty. He |
| held me in his arms and promised |
it would never happen again; he'd
never look at another woman; I was |
There's noth- pal
“He's Y°
BOL ag Ny = wendarful--to a
while; up for eve
and I adored ey Then Yering
I refused to see it at first. I pre.
teaey to Jove Bib attentions to
0 women. t—something ha
pened on the way out. P
“There was a married woman on
shipboard—I thought I'd die.
“Geoffrey and I had a scene, the
first of many, and he told me that
I wasn't his jailer; he’d spend his
time in his own way. He ordered
me to mind my own business.
was horrified, stunned. He began
drinking, after that clash, which
made it worse; he was saturated
every night. Oh, it was horrible!
“You know how things have gone
on here. Everything was smashed
before we arrived and now—Mineh!
I can take a wallop without crying
but—' Her voice died away in a
hopeless sigh.
“You can divorce him,” Philip de-
clared savagely.
“How? By naming Mineh? In ¢
court thousands of miles away’
Where is my proof?”
“At least you can go back t«
your people.”
“I'd rather be burned alive af
ter the way they behaved! An
besides, I couldn't come down oI
Father's allowance. Tonight Geof
frey told me that you were leaving
1
(and why.”
“Yes. He said you loved me."
“The—unspeakable swine!”
“He accused me of loving you
too.” When her listener explodes
incoherently Evelyn gestured list
lessly. “What of it? It's true.”
“Evelyn!” gasped the man.
“Oh, yes! I've known how yoi
felt for a long time, and of cours
Geoffrey read me. He's no fool
It wasn’t an accusation exactly; h
rather enjoys the situation, in som
perverted way. This solitude, o
something, has made a devil out o
him; his love for me, if he ever ha
any, has turned to hate. Men hat
their jailers, you know."
“By heaven, this can't go on!
php cried. “I'll take you awa)
I tt
“Don't be silly, dear. There ar
some things that just can't be done.
“There's one too many of us o
Bukit Satu!” the man cried sullenl)
“And I'm the one. Not you; nc
Geoffrey. That's why I was starin
at the water when you came. Bu
—it takes nerve. You and he wer
friends until I came; I spoiled it a
I spoiled my own life. Oh, my dea
why wasn't it you who came hom
on leave instead of—?"
‘Evelyn's wail of protest was inte
rupted by a voice which issued fro
the inky shadows of the cocom
ms, and Mara materialized.
“Please!” he said quietly. “I hay
brought the mem-sahib's coat. The:
is fever in the night mists.”
“Thank you, Mara.” Evelyn too
the coat and smiled at him. “I"
going back in a moment. You"
very thoughtful.”
“Mara thinks always of the men
sahib's health and happiness.” Wil
a bow that was almost a salaam, tl
speaker turned and shuffled awe
into the gloora. When the so
“clack, clack” of his toe slippers hs
died away, Evelyn said:
“What a jewel he is. I couldr
have held together this long exce)
for his devotion. He loves me lil
a dog.”
«Mara is priceless,” Philip agree
«wonder if he overheard whatv
1 were saying.”
The woman shrugged indifferent
“Suppose he did? He knows ever
thing, anyhow. Mara has brair
Good night, dear.” She rose al
put her small hand in Philip's; hb
eyes looked up wistfully into h
“It's a wretched situation and ther
no way out that I can see. We'
all in a trap, Geoffrey as well
u and L"
Philip pressed his lips to the cc
fingers that lay in his; huskily
said: Good night, Evelyn. Be bra
we'll find a way out, somehow.”
He turned away, for he could n
trust himself to look longer intoh
e A moment and she was go!
The next week was the most tr
ing period that Philip had ever €
dured. He scarcely knew where
how to turn. Geoffrey's behavi
to his wife provoked in him a mi
derous resentment; his own love 1
her and the knowledge that s
loved him were maddening: life he
in daily contact with each ott
was a torture to both of them, a
Geoffrey gloated malevolently ov
their misery.
He was utterly inhuman, utte
unlike himself. Incapable of lovi
Evelyn to the exclusion of otl
women, he nevertheless resented !
change of feeling towards him; £
bored him and yet he could 1
give her up. He had been free
his life and she had stolen his 1
erty, and this was his reven
Doubtless he was a bit unbalanc
for no ordinary man, no white m
at least, can endure life in a pl
like Penambuli for six years ¢
retain his mental and moral pois
As for Philip he brooded over
situation hourly. His time
Bukit Satu was limited, and yet
could not bear to contemplate le
ing; his departure would doom E
lyn to a living death. Neverthe:
she steadfastly refused to go aw
with him: neither would she lis
to his offer to send her home ¢
provide for har.
Pride and inherent decency 1!
something to do with her attite
and besides, she was too crust
too hopeless to make a determi
revolt. Philip dreaded to cont
(Continued on page 3, Col. 3)