Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1930-01-05
This Story, by a Master Of the Short
Story Technique, Is One Of a Series of
Complete Tales Published Exclusively in
Washington in The Star s Maga2ine.
The Stories Are Representatives. of
america s Best Fiction.
AmeyIcu s Best Fiction.

straits saw the coast. and knew that it was
it."
''What?"
He gave funny shivery look and turned
his eyes away.
When was lad" he said, "a curious
thing happened. don't know a great deal
about it. I only know that must have been
taken to the theater by some person who ought
to have known better, at an age when taking
me was wicked crime I don't even know
what the play was about. All can remember
is one scene, and I can remember that as
plainly tonight as-as If 1t were tonight. On
one side there was a moonlit city wall with
half Of a vast gate filled with shadow Before
the gate was square all white dust in the
moonlight. Across it, parallel with my sight,
a row of palm trees filed away along a road
running as straight as a ruler to the end Of
the world across a dry, pale plain with little
Wrinkled hills against the sky. -. Glue and
cardboard and painted canvas? Yes, but how
was I to know?
"And the camels-I suppose there were three
or four moth-eaten chaps that came out Of the
wings-but always after remembered Them in
those nights lay awake or dreamed, coming
by hundreds out of that distance down that
painted road grunting and bubbling And the
hooded men that came with them, the yelled
woman the backamoor humping q drum
under the arch, the ragged old beggar that
supers IN muslin, yes. yes-but how was I to
know"
He was silent moment.
Yes. must have been Ill when saw the
thing, for always afterward when the night
mare came Sneaking to take me remember the
same sensation OF discomfort, the same itching,
gnawing wailing wretchedneSs It weighted
me down with terror cannot name-the
same terror. I suppose, that any English lad
would feel for thing heathenish, diseased and
unclean. And the worst of that loathing was
that wanted to go-go and creep into the
silly scene and lie in the dust under one of
those cardboard palms and crinkle my toes
and hear the camels grunting. I wanted it,
craved 1t, craved the sweet stink of the incense
In my noStris again-lusted for it! I was
so terrified cried out loud-and all the while
lusted!"
He had hold Of the rail, trying to twist it
of the ship.
'Id forgotl Till tonight Till now! HIS
voice had gone to a whisper. There was sweat
on his forehead and somehow knew he was
nauseated again
I'D forgot" I heard him saving to him
self. "Forgot!"
1t particularly wanted diversion, that moment
did. Something light. It got it, too, and from
quarter where no one looked-under our very
noses, that Is to say. 1t was Perez and the
ape on the forecastle head. The funny old fool
had got his carcass balanced on the capstan
drum (and not balanced too WELL at that with
the monk on his shoulder aloft, and there he
swayed In kind of berry majesty with an
oratorical arm ahead.
"Hafrica!" we heard him solemnly pro-
nouncing. Hold Hafrica-ome of shplendor
and delightful shlute thee!"
It was ridiculous enough; I didn't know
though, whether to laugh or not. I didn't have
to wait long to find out.
Get below!" heard Diplo roaring. He had
his body three feet over the bridge rail- Get
below, you drunkard!" he yelled.
But Old Perez didn't go below. He got him.
self and Happy Days off the forecastle head all
right, and fast enough, but it was only to hide
out under the bridge. I know, because I was
the first that happened to go down, and was
the one to catch it in the neck. His gin
picked dignity had been tempered with; his
booty pride was hurt; he had words to say;
he chung; he pulled; he dubbed in my face.
Called me drunkard did e? Called me
a drunkard, did e? Wyte! Just you wyte!
Wyte till is gracious ighness gets a taste o.
bokha into his coffee cupl Wyte till is prunes
an-prisms has a Whit o. the incense in the
striped SIOUX! Wyte till he sees the girls In
Bou Kader's shop up there! :. Called the
hold man q drunkard did e! Wyte! =. ..
Wyte!'
You'd think then that should have known.
But didn't
another 20 hours we were all ashore and up
to our necks in Islam.
I've lived twenty-odd years in Barbary ports,
first and last IL Of them in that same screech-
ing, scratching, ioStling, jumbling dress re.
heArSa1 Of three-colored moving picture of O
highly perfumed circus of White Tunis but
I've neveh forgotten that day.
We drifted There were three of US: Diplo