He had come out for a moment, he said, 'to get a breath of
fresh air. The expression sounded wonderfully odd, with its suggestion
of sedentary desk-life. I wouldn't have mentioned the fellow to you at
all, only it was from his lips that I first heard the name of the
man who is so indissolubly connected with the memories of that time.
Moreover, I respected the fellow. Yes; I respected his collars, his
vast cuffs, his brushed hair. His appearance was certainly that of a
hairdresser's dummy; but in the great demoralization of the land he
kept up his appearance. That's backbone. His starched collars and got-up
shirt-fronts were achievements of character. He had been out nearly
three years; and, later, I could not help asking him how he managed to
sport such linen. He had just the faintest blush, and said modestly,
'I've been teaching one of the native women about the station. It was
difficult. She had a distaste for the work.' Thus this man had verily
accomplished something. And he was devoted to his books, which were in
apple-pie order.
"Everything else in the station was in a muddle--heads, things,
buildings. Strings of dusty niggers with splay feet arrived and
departed; a stream of manufactured goods, rubbishy cottons, beads,
and brass-wire set into the depths of darkness, and in return came a
precious trickle of ivory.
Pages:
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45