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C REC  PAGE   DESCRIPTION
C00001 00001
C00002 00002	                     My Life In The Savage Wild
C00014 00003	               Chaapter the Fourth            
C00024 00004	                Chapter the Sixth   
C00031 00005	to see him. He insisted on seeing me at once, refusing to
C00040 00006	               Chapter the Ninth
C00058 00007
C00059 00008	delightful as to hire me even though I don't have any references.
C00085 00009
C00086 00010	
C00099 ENDMK
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                     My Life In The Savage Wild

As I stepped all unsuspecting through  the  verdant  growth  of  tive
bearers  cutting  huge  swathes  of  foliage  from the im- penetrable
forest ahead of  us  as  we  traveled,  I  little  sus-  pected  what
unforeseen  thrills  lay before me in that steam- ing wilderness with
its innumerable pitfalls for the unwary. When, seven  months  before,
an  innocent  'white man', I had come to this untamed wild, attracted
by the whispered leg- ends of 'adventure' that  worldweary  travelers
exchanged  in  the  smoky illicit bars so dear to the denizens of the
under- world from Singapore to Oslo, I little  suspected  what  might
befall  me.  If I could have indeed foreseen...well, perhaps it would
have made but little difference, for the pull of the exotic is strong
in  the  blood  of  a  few  Englishmen,  in whom perhaps the blood of
Vikings runs: who can say? not I, for all my Saxon forbears...anyway,
there  I was. Suddenly, from behind one of thosetussocks' of verdiage
so common to the African jungles, so den with  myth  at  the  evening
firesides  of  the simple blackamoors, who have always lived in fear,
as their fathers did before them, of every  unknown  menace  held  by
their  fearful  surr?und,  there  darted  a  tiny  man  of singularly
repulsive aspect, someat akin to those 'kobolds∨, 'nixies', 'trolls',
and  other  hideous  leg- endary half-humans found in the folklore of
every nation, be it high,  or,  as  in  this  case,  lowly,  panting,
gasping,  with  strings of saliva (stained red by the juice of the u-
biquitous  kola-nut)?pendant  from  histwisted  mouth,  mutter-   ing
feverishly   "Bwana...Bwana!",  as  the  simple  darkies  styled  all
Europeans. How can I describe to you, my  gentle  reader,  curled  as
per- haps you are by one of those dear homely English firesides, your
hrt mayhap beating a little quicker as you peruse these modest pages,
how I, at that moment, an Englishman born and bred, a true son of the
Empire, felt in that bi- zarre place, confronted by  this  figure  of
the  grotesque?  Well, I just cannot do it, that's all. I might as we
just quit right now in fact. Whatis the use, I ask  you?  what's  the
use?

Chapter?he Second

Darkess  was  falling around our small and intrepid band, yet the lud
menace of the region was not one  whit  a-  bated,  and  my  ignorant
heathen bearers clustered together, crossing themselves, with no true
conception yet othe One in whom their all rest, of One whose backward
child-  ren  they were, and muttering 'Praise Allah' and 'Ztangi save
us', but in no wise concious of the growing  danger  of  our  exposed
position was the dwarfish little man. "Bwana ...oh, Bwana!" gasped he
all heedless of the blood, sweat, and spittle  which  eddied  on  his
wrinkled ebony hide, "Bwana help us!", and with those enigmatic words
in the shrill as- pirant voice of the  native  made  halting  by  the
inte?se  tropic  humidity which some aver brings on premature rot and
dec?y of the vocal 'crds',  he  collapsed,  nay,  dissolved,  into  a
piteous  and  nonetheless disgusting heap at my very fe, clad as they
were in safari boots, a piece of gear I would reccommendo European in
these  desolate  parts  to  be  with-  out. What a sight! Cautious my
primitive lackeys with  new-lighted  torches,  which  the  child-like
native  loves  and  cannot  be trusted alone with, lest he should set
himself alight, or worse,  burn  do  the  entire  enclosure  and  its
contents,  human  or  otherwise, moved forward in order to get a more
than distant glimpse of thiss strange apparition which at  first  had
frightened  them  so,  and  athom,  indeed, still could catch nervous
looks and those archaicc and perhaps as some speculate, inborn, signs
used  by so many cultures to ward off the 'Evil Eye', being directed.
A feel- ing of the most primitive fear and ennui swept over  me.  In-
deed,  as  I sit here writing←in the security of my oaken hequarters,
it again, in no wise lessenes, sweeps over me. Especially the  ennui.
Enough is enough, as the Arab said. Fuck this shit.
               
               Chapter the Third   
 Words failing me in my fruitless attempt,
dear reader, to try and express for your understanding
and edification the 'gestalt' of that most primitive of
feelings, or perhaps I should say 'states of mind', for
surely that is slightly the more accurate mode of expression, futile as it is,
I shall continue in my humble narrrative in the hopes that
it may prove of even small interest to those of you who have
never come to know some of the deeper mysteries of the 
so-called (and aptly so) 'Dark' Contint/ent, and yet have
wanted to do so. Had I the tongue or pen of- but
no matter!- (dear
reader, continue if you can to bear with me) realizing that the
little man, if 'man' he can indeed be justly termed, so
dwarfish and repellent was his aspect, was in no state 
to be humoured or to have his, apparently, to him at least,
vital account drawn out of him, such was the degree
of his exhaustion and agitation, I dire
cted my trusty coal-black head-bearer, Ambrose [born
Ngilla or some such, but rechristened in the True Faith
Ambrose Abed-Nego Saint Clementin],to truss the 
diminutive darkie and hand him into the care of
his (Ambrose's) son Gabriel, a stalwart lad not one whit
lighter than his father, but with perhaps a sharper
understanding of our European, o,r, I
should say, Anglo-Saxon, ways and means while the rest of 
us proceeded to set up camp.
 That this was swiftly done, aye, in the space of an hours
time, including the gathering of combustibles for the 
evening's bonfire, so necessary to security in the dense
tropical wilderness, may surprise the gentle 
perusers of these pages, thinking as one so naturally
and immediately does, of the comparatively barren English
heaths and woodlands, not that I, in any way, would
slight my native land, quite the contrary, 
but one who has never seen with his own faithful eyes the
incredible, the unbelievable richness and abundance of
supply of every human need, albeit in somewhat
crude form, in the African jungle:firewood,
strange fruits, oddly shaped husky vines, the peculiar
and teeming undergrowth, the trees big enough for seven
grown men, even Swedes, to stand in comfort inside of, 
the Bush chock-full of indiginous wildlife, cannot
in any way conceive of it. So it goes.

               Chaapter the Fourth            

 Not until later when the thick menacing 
tropical night with all its peculiar and unforgettable
foreboding, the distant or not so distant roar of the
majestic Lion, unlike any other sound this earth can 
offer inits terrible splendour, which instinctively
sends a shudder down the spine of every man,
be he native hunter or Queen's subject, the
perpetual ludicrous hoots of the itinerate ape-tribes, 
strange parodies of the lower races of Man, as they
seem to be, as though mmolded in inferior clay by our
Maker's hand, the screams of the gaudy jungle birds
so unlike our English tits and throstles, the melancholy
twangs of the froggies and all the lesser fauna of
the wild places who venture only out at night in
stealth to find their sustenance, and the far-off slow
murmur of some turbid river had fallen around us did
I again turn my thoughts to the miniscle stranger,
though one cannot help but reflect that I, 
myself, may, perhaps, have seemed 'strange' to his
queer sight. My faithful Ambrose and Gabriel
brought forth the miserable creature, who,
though he was still gasping and weeping, seemingly
not havinf stopped since I had first seen him, had,
I noticed, not been too distraught, judging by the
state of the skimpy tunic in which my bearers
had kindly clad him, to dine with the other darkies on
that revolting mess of rice, quibah beans, and kola oil
that the natives can subsist for so long on:
I myself even when in the deepest wilds cling to civilized
ways, having dined, I see by my journal, that night,
on a pleasant Madeira, fish, a salad, scalloped taro,
roast haunch of hartebeest, new peas, Stilton and mangoes,
finishing with a sweet Port and a cigar (stogy,
or cheroot, in the American parlance): believing as I 
do that culinary appreciation and cleanliness are two 
of the first things to 'go' in the wilds, and that this
denotes a certain regression that no white man should
allow himself, and I composed myself to ascertain the details,
sordid as they might be, of his strange tale. 
 And, as he told, indeed, my amazement and my astonishment
grew and grew: as the night grew blacker, the little mans
eyes glowed stronger and his voice caame faster, 
until...well, you may judge, dear reader, if I may
so address you, for yourself. Here follow his exact words, 
just as Gabriel set them down that night (in 'shorthand'
a strange heathenish script in which he proved to be 
proficient), and as I have preserved them. 

                 Chapter the Fifth      

 "My name [said the ebon runt in hypnotic tones] is
ffinch-Tocas. Mr. George Farleye ffinch-Tocas, M.D.
to you. You stare. You raise your eyebrows. I assure 
you that I speak the truth. I was not always
as you see me now. I am in fact a Fellow of the
Royal College of Surgeons and an Englishman born and
bred, though my old nurse Bridie was from Ireland. She
instilled in me a tolerance for the 
fiery Celt unusual in your average John Bull. I was born
and brought up in Lancashire. Lesser Bramley-on-the-Carmichael
is my natal town. At an early age my parents sent me, 
their only child, to Eton to hobnob with the jetset while
acquiring an education. Ah, those were some of the happiest
days of my life. The ready cameradie, the playing-fields
so green...! But to continue. My father was a well-to-do
country practitioner, sprung
from the younger branch of an old Lancashire
line fallen on bad days. My mother was of Sussex stock
but no one ever held it against her. I went to University
and as was my father's desire, I followed his path into 
Medical School. There I went into the more prestigious

(I am the co-author of the Childs Little Golden
Book of Tropical Diseases) Until a little while ago
I was never required to leave Albion's white shore in 
the course of my work. So far-flung is our Britannic
Empire that I have been amply supplied with returning
Diplomats and Army Officers who so often bring
strange 'germs' or 'bugs' home with them from foreign
climes. Listen closely. I have never married. Five years
ago my sainted mother passed on and since then
I have lived quite alone. A year and a half ago at a
professional meeting I happened to fall into conversation
with a fellow-specialist. He invited me to his home
and there I had the privelege of meeting his only
child, a daughter, named Clotilde. Just eightteen 
years of age and straight out of a convent school:
totally unspoiled. Even the fact that this convent
upbringing had been in County Kerry affected me not a whit.
Need I say more? It was Love, and for both
of us the first time we had ever experienced those sweet
pangs. For she, in her shy way
could not help but be aware of my feelings. Never
would she say that she loved me but I could not
help hoping. Her eyes...(blue)...her hair....(golden)...ah,
Clotilde! After many months had passed I brought myself
to ask her for the answer to one question. Might I ever
dare to think of aspiring? Ask me tomorrow, she said.
Arriving at her house early the next day, imagine my
horror to hear that she had been taken ill and could
see no one. The house was filled with gloom. I rushed to
the study of her distraught father. He groaned to see me. 
"Will she live?" I cried. He shook his head...!"
  At this point I was forced to have this anomaly
clapped in chains again, as, in his savage way, he was
becoming agitated. I did not devote any thought to
his story, preferring, in that cautious way peculiar to
the Northern races, to wait until I had, so to speak,
heard all, if indeed we can ever hear 'all'
on any one subject, or does not that idea denote a certain
unEnglish narrowness of outlook? and then decide. One
way oor another. As it might be. Besides, I was pooped.

                Chapter the Sixth   

   "I perceive [continued the little Lascar after an
hour's time had elapsed] that you, Sir, still retain some
doubts as to the veracity of my admittedly odd tale. Sobeit.
I shall endeavor to convince you of my complete truthfulness.
To make a long story short, her father, Sir Laurence T-
(I dare not reveal his name more fully to some one
who, begging your pardon, is still a stranger and a none too
hospitable one) told me that my darling had been aiding 
him in his laboratory and had inadvertently picked up a tropical
disease for which there was no known cure. This disease, he
told me, produces a swoon in its victims lasting 
for between six months to two years: then, for two weeks a
raging fever: then...death! I was in despair such as I had
never in my life known. I had never hoped to experience  such
violence of feeling either, I assure you.
I am a quiet man. I sometimes fear that I and my colleagues
have lost something of our temperate English composure from
our  even so distant connection with the Torrid
Zones. Irregardless. Strraightway I begged Sir Laurence to
tell me whether there was no hope whatever for Clotilde.
And I cannot tell you adequately of the leaping heart within me
when I heard him say; "There is one hope for her, I hope,
and yet it it so little hope that I hesitate to speak it..."
"You must tell me, Sir!"I cried, "I should tell you
now that I have always cherished the fondest regard for your
daughter. I would give up my  life that she might live!"
"That won't be necessary. I hope. Probably." said he.
"Well, my boy, I must confess that I have not been entirely
unaware of this. Its only natural...let me tell you
all. I blame myself..." "Oh, do not blame yourself, Sir!" I
cried. "be quiet!" said he. "Let me go on. I was saying- yes.
I blame myself. Clotilde, I realise so clearly now, should
never have been in my laboratory. But since my dear wife died,
she has been my only consolation, the only ray of gold in my
dreary academic life. (Clotilde means 'golden flower' in Thai)
So when she so cutely expressed her innocent desire to help me
in my studies, I rejoiced. Yes, I rejoiced
to see her golden head bent over a crucible, her
lily fingers holding a hypo (Clotilde means 'plantlike hands'
in Tagalog), her blue, oh how blue!, eyes scanning a data sheet.
I realise now that I should never have allowed it.
Especially since it was in an accident in that same laboratory
that I lost my dear wife and first baby...but I consoled my
conscience with thought that I do not as a rule work with
anything more dangerous than Angolan Acne, which there is of
course no danger of my English rose contracting. (Clotilde means
'body without detectable blemish to naked eye of tundra hawk' in
Aleut) How came it, then, about, you may ask, that this terrible
thing which has occurred, did occur? Well,
last night after you left us, I had an odd visitor who told
a strange story..."
   Here Sir Laurence paused to select a cigar. He didn't offer
me one, I might add.

                   Chapter the Seventh

   Sir Laurence puffed slowly and then resumed his tale:
"I was working late, having dismissed my man and sent Clotilde
off to tidy the laboratory before taking her beauty sleep, when
I heard a tapping at my door. Ah, distinctly I remember, what my 
surprise, which I flatter myself I did not betray, was to behold
my long-lost great-nephew Egfurt Quogue.
This was my sister's only grandson. Two years ago, while
shooting Fouebirds in Darkest d'Nigo, he had mysteriously
disappeared, and although we dispatched no less than seven
pukka sahibs after him, he was never found...[In fact, none of
the pukka sahibs were ever seen again either, wwhich posed
a ticklish problem with regard to their fees. We finally
made a substantial donation to the 'Relicts of Sahibs'
fund for their dependents.] So nnaturall I was surprised
to see him. He insisted on seeing me at once, refusing to
wait until business hours on Monday. He has always
been an impetuous youth and Time had only succeeded in giving
him a slight sunburn, insofar as I couldd
determine. He would not sit down, would not accept a
glass of cognac, would not have a smoke, would not allow
me to call the tweeny for a small tray of munchies.
After several minutes pacing backa and forth,
however, he sat down, accepted a drink, and spoke as follows:
 
                  Chapter the Eighth   

   "I suppose you've probably been wondering where I was all this
time, what? I suppose I should, like the poet chappie says, begin
at the beginnng, what? May I have another glass
of this jolly wine first, guvnor, to wet the old whistle as
it were, hey? Thanks. Well, you'll remember that me and Fats
Cebestershire were shootin in good old
Darkest d'Nigo? Well we never did see h. nor h.,
you might say, of those foosh or what-d'you-may-call-em
birds, and things began to drag, don't y'know, so we
just thought we'd just pop up to Biarritz, and see what
Pongo Twistleton-Twistleton was up to. Well, on the
steamer to Biarritz from Nairobi Fats and I happened to see
a Girl. I said to Fats, "Do you see that Girl, Fats?"
And he said, "What girl?" because he was sea-sick.
So I hung around all day, hopin some mutual acquaintance
would come along and introduce us, but no dice. So when
the steward came by that evening I said to him, "I say, boy,
who is that dashed beautiful girl on A deck?" and he said
to me, "Perhaps you have reference to the unaccompanied
young lady with the new alligator handbag, who has been
engaged in a series of games of Patience (with a marked
deck) since five bells this morning, despite
the motion of the ship?" And I said "Rather." and he
said "She is listed on my passenger roster as Lady Sarah
Palindrome." And so I gave him another five quid
and went in and told Fats, but he was too sick to listen.
So I went and played darts. The next day I thought
I would go see if I could fall into conversation with
her, but first I got sick too, and I came to from ravin
delirium two  ays later and she was gone! But as it happened
the steward chappie was able to tell me, for a few
more quid, that she'd taken a train to the casinos at the
last dockin, so I told Fats that I thought a
little dice-shakin would be jolly, and sincehe
wanted to get off ship, he said right-ho, 
and we took the next train. Well, guvnor, when we
got there Fats was all hot to play this game the
Frenchies have, called roojienewar, and so I was watchin
him, tellin him what a fool he was (I
have this system for whist), and all of a sudden I saw her!
and I said to Fats (I'd told him all about her),
"There she is!" and he said "Where?" and
I said "There!" and he said "Where?" and I
said "Just there!" and he said "Where?" and I said
"There, you ass!" and he said "Don't be silly." And so
I said "What do you mean silly?" And he said "That's
my cousin Georgina's school-friend Sally." And so I asked
him to introduce me and he said he was just about to
start a winning streak and I said it wasa matter of
the old life-and-death variety and he said he would after
one more spin and I said I thought we went
to school together after all and he said oh, all
right. She was sitting in a corner and she seemed kind
of sad, so I was very, don't you know, admiring, thinking
that that might get her spirits up, and I heard her whisper
to Fats "Who is that awful ass, Freddy?" so I knew
she noticed me at least. So Fats popped off to play some more,
and I must say I didn't mind awfully. She seemed to be
worried about something, and I said "Penny for your thoughts,
what?" and she said "I beg your pardon." and I said
"Oh, quite all right, quite, quite, what?" and she said
"Um." and I said "Lovely evening, what?" and she said
"Quite." and I said "Yes, quite, what, what?" and she
said "Must you keep saying what? all the time?" and I said
"What?" and she said "You keep saying 'what?'." and I
said "'What?'?" and she said "Quite." and I
said "Oh, I am sorry, I say, I must endeavor to  correct
that, what?" and she said "Oh, never mind...oh, I'm sorry
to be so picky, you must excuse me, but..." and I said
"Picky?" and she said "Yes, I..." and I said "Oh,
I wouldn't call you picky, no, I wouldn't, picky? oh no,
I..." and she said "Thanks awfully, I'm afraid I am being
picky, but you see I've a great deal on my mind just
now." So I said "Is there any way I can be of service,
I mean to say, what?" and she said
"Perhaps it would do me good to get it off of my mind.
Oh dear, I don't know that I should bore..." and I
said "Not at all. Look here, you haven't been losing
money at the tables, have you? Because if that'≥ all,
I-" and she said (and she blushed just like a rose, I
mean to say, a rose!), "Oh no, well, hardly at all, but
you see that's not the real problem, now do you promise
not to interrupt? Good, now, its like this..."
and she stopped and thought for a second.

               Chapter the Ninth


"I don't know what Freddy's told you about me.(s
[said Lady Sarah after a moment] No, hush, please
don't interrupt. I'm an orphan-sshh↔!-at least
I thought I was an orphan until quite lately. My
mother was the Right Honorable Marie Pringle til
she married my father, Lord Sandwich Palindrome, after
a two-weeks whirl-wind courtship that was the talk
of London. The happy couple were to take a Cook's Tour
round the world for their honeymoon, but as they
were passing through Darkest d'Nigo-don't jump around
so!-my father was taken deadly ill with a strange
tropical malady. My mother stayed by his bedside night and day,
never sleeping, nursing him constantly. For a little
over eight months he remained in an oblivious torpor, then
for two weeks he had a raging fever. She was told
that at the end of the fortnight he would surely
die. The doctors could do nothing. It was said that there
was a native doctor who might be able to cure it, but that
he refused to come into town or treat white men. Towards the end
of the second week...my mother...experienced discomfort...she
slipped away for two hours and I was born...when she returned
to the sickroom, my father was nowhere to be found! They
searched everywhere; my mother personally dispatched
seven pukka sahibs to look for him, they never
returned; all efforts were to no avail; it was thought that
in his weakened state (having taken nothing but pureed
quibah beans and cod-liver oil for the last eight months)
he had been probably snatched up and eaten by a mosquito-hawk.
When this was borne in on my poor mother, her grief overcame
her and she died of a broken heart. I was raised by distant
relatives in London and have always believed myself to be an
orphan. Then one day a strange thing happened. What? Yes,
I would, rather."
   At this point I thought Sally looked, don't you know,
pale. Peaked, what? So I offered to fetch
her an orange squash.

                      Chapter the Tenth

   After Sally'd sloshed the orange squash down the old hatch
she seemed to feel a little perkier. "Thank you very much, Egfurt."
she said and I said "Oh, here now, mustn't call me
Egfurt, what? Call me Ferdy. All my friends do. Ferdy, y'know?
Ferdy this and Ferdy that, but Ferdy. So- Ferdy? Oh, smashing,
what, what, what?" and she said "Of course. And you must call
me Sally." (Been calling her Lady Sarah, y'know) So I
said "Charming name, what? Once knew a man had a wizard
greyhound named Sally Riley. No relation, of
course, I mean, no comparison, what, what?" and she said
(laughed like an angel) "Yes, quite." And I said "Most
sistressin story, this. I mean to say very sad. Tragic and
so forth." and she said, "You're very understanding. Let me
finish, I'll explain quite briefly. I'd gone to visit
Iarne Cosifussimmons, another old school-friend of mine, at
her house, Kushings, in Wessex. We'd fallen into each
others arms at a party for sponsors of the 'Relicts of
Sahibs' fund, not having seen each other for six months,
since we'd graduated. So I went to stay with her for a week.
She was telling me all about how she'd been traveling since
she'd gotten out: she'd gone to all sorts of marvelous places,
Matanuska, and Kurdistan, and Mustang, and Minas Gerais,
and Rapa Nui, and Munza-Mulgar, and Pickle Crow, and
Novosibirsk, and Alice Springs: and she happened to
tell me about this safari she went on. It was only $70 a
head for the afternoon (Iarne is fearfully rich. That's why
she got into school, even though the Cosifussimmonses
made their money in trade.) and there'd been this darling
man leading the safari, with piercing blue eyes and a
strong chin, and a fascinating romantic scar shaped like a
heart on his left hand. She said they asked him how he
got the scar, and he said he thought he could recall having
been struck by a brick when he must have been only a
tiny child, but of course Iarne was sure he'd gotten it
from a charging cameleopard, or an Assyrian Koskesh
or something. I nearly fainted dead away. My father had had
a heart-shaped scar on his left hand, from, when he was four
years old, having been struck by a brick! I questioned Iarne
like a policeman. She could tell me nothing more, as
she'd spent most of that afternoon flirting with one
of the bearers. And that was all. As soon as my week was
up, I bid Iarne a fond farewell, and flew to the tourist
agency where she had taken her patronage. They referred me to
their branch office in Nairobi. I took my christening money and
flew to Nairobi the next day. There they referred me to their
branch office in d'Nigo City so I took my graduation money and
took a train, and then a 'bus, and then a bushplane,
and then a lorry, and then a palanquin, to d'Nigo city.
There a skinny old man named Elijah Foot, of all things,
told me the following tale.

                    Chapter the Eleventh

   "A heart-shape scar? Funny you should ask. Yes, I know the
feller you mean. Major Biggar. Buck, they call him. Oh, he's
an odd one. Ayuh, he's been doing the occasional tour for us
since I don't know when. HHe could be the best whitehunter
around since Jim 'Tigerbane' Corbett died. Of course, that was
in India...Weel now, let me think. Lord how it takes
me back! Must have been, oh, eighteen, twenty yeats back we first
heard of him. Workin outa Quahaug Falls with two Waziri.
Free-lance. Heard folks saying some mighty nice things about him.
Finally reckoned I'd better go see for myself. Ayuh. Watched him
work, went outwith him on one of his little look-sees, decided
he was a man worth hiring. Put it to him straight. Don't
believe in pussyfootin around. No mam. He was
agreeable. Asked him for references. He was quiet a
minute, then he says, "Elijah, I'm much afraid I cannot supply
you with what you ask." And hen before I could so much as
swaller my tbaccer he tells me the following story the
like a which I ain't never heard before er since.

          Chapter the Twelfth

  "Oh dear, Elijah, don't look so sour, or I will be quite too
frightened to tell you my story. That's better, I suppose.
I have no references. I have no references, Elijah darling,
because I have no past! Yes, I am a man without a past!
Isn't that dramatic? The very first thing I can recall except for
some very hazy things that don't count, is waking up and
finding myself to be a full-grown man, about twenty years of age,
with a rather nice body, though a bit thin, and being tended by
all these lovely black people. It seemed I'd been very sick.
Well, I took stock, so you might say, to see what sort of a
person I was? And I found out I was English, and a very good
shot, and quite fond of animals, and I could dance divinely,
and all sorts of fascinating little facts like that (did you know
I'm left-handed?), but I couldn't make head nor tail of anything
else! And it seemed as though I remembered something very terrible
had happened with someone named Marie, but you'll agree, that's not
really much help! And the natives were absolute darlings, but
all they could say was that I'd crawled out of the jungle one day,
deathly ill, and they'd taken care of me. So I decided, that it
didn't much matter, since I was perfectly happy here, and the
Waziri were teaching me all these enchanting facts about the jungle
and the animals! so I just haven't worried about my mysterious
past up until now, because of course, Elijah dearest
I can quite see your wanting references, only I haven't any!
Though, if you could see your way clear, not that I ask it, of
course, to hiring me occasionally, I'd be everlastingly
grateful, because I do need the money. Oh dear, that does sound
so mercenary, but its not really, bcause I don't mean the money for my
self! You see, Elijah, only a few weeks ago, I met this 
fascinating old man, who's just given me a whole new direction
in life! You see, I'd just shot this enormous
big he-lion, when suddenly, suddenly, suddenly, this wizened
little man stepped out from nowhere, and said in the funniest
little voice, "You should be ashamed of yourself, young man!
You aren't going to eat that lion, are you? You aren't going
to wear his skin, are you? And yet you wantonly slay this
magnificent creature!" Well, my goodness gracious, I was surprised!
So I asked him who he was. "I am Sir Maurice Searle, K.G.B. retired.
You may have heard of my son Kamuela who first interested me
in the jungle. But I am not here now to talk of that. You do not at
first glance appear to be a vicious and bloodthirsty young man."
Well, naturally I said I wasn't. And I told him I didn't see
any harm in shooting lions, since they eat the cattle, after
all. And then he spoke, as follows.

                        Chapter the Thirteenth   

    "Cattle! What are cattle when compared with a lion, when
compared with Panthera leo? Nothing! Young man,
until the coming of the white man, Africa possessed, in all
her fairness, the most wonderful, the most richly varied,
wildlife anywhere on God's green earth! And what is becoming
of it? It is being destroyed! It is being shot, for rugs, for
coats, for hats, for trophies, for rhinocerous-foot
waste-paper baskets! And which are the animals being killed?
The common, rapidly multiplying rats, mice, bats, bugs, rabbits?
No! The glorious predators are being shot, the mightiest foragers
are being shot! The lion, the leopard, the elephant, the giraffe,
the gorilla! The balance of nature is upset! The population
of vermin will zoom out of control, die of starvation, and join their
mighty cousins in the oblivion of extinction! Africa will be a
wasteland! And you talk of cattle! Pah! Do you think God
put the elephant here on this Earth so that tiny children from
here to hell could be forced to play scales on
pianos? Do you think God put the Alligator here on this Earth so
that fat old bags could have bags? Do you think that God put
the Lion here on this earth so that you could have your picture
taken standing over the corpse of one, looking remarkably
stupid? Well, I'll tell you! No! He didn't! No! Put
that in your pipe and smoke it! Barbarian!"
   And he turned and started to walk off! Well, I tell you,
I was absolutely stunned! You could have knocked me over with
a feather! A tiny feather! I mean, I'm just not
used to being addressed that way! No, indeed. But, all
the same, what he said seedmed to make a certain sense. So
I asked him to wait, and I made him explain it all to
me very carefully, and it did make sense. I asked him to tell me what
I could do, and he said thatwas entirely up to
me, and then he had to go off, looking for material for his son's
next movie, since there wasn't much in the way of local color around
there. Well, Elijah, I thought about what he had to say, and it
was all so true! And I've decided to start a wildlife preserve,
only of course thats going to take simply tons of money, and thats
why I'd appreciate it so much if you were to be so
delightful as to hire me even though I don't have any references.
And these darling Waziri of mine could come too, of course.
Ever since the rest of them were stolen by the white slavers, they've
been simply devoted to me. Oh, Elijah, do sy something! This
suspense is killing me!"

                          Chapter the Fourteenth

   Now, I told him then that I didn't give a hoot in hell if
about his references, so longs he did  days work for
a days pay. And he's worked for me ever since, up to just a
little while ago. Now, the only trouble I've ever had with
that boy, seein as how he don't drink, or cuss, or spit, or
chase women, is that he won't shoot animals. Now, thats somewhat
of a handicap, when you come to think on it. He only got
the tourists with children, and the Ladies Day parties,
and those folks from National Geographic what just wants a take
pictures. So we couldn't pay him much, and lately he's been actin
kinda sulky, been in the business all these years, and still
ain't got his game farm or whatever t'hell it is. So now,
one day he comes to me, and says he's goin off to the
WWilds surrounding Darkest d'Nigo, and see if he can find the
fabulous Idol's Eye Ruby, and would he be able to get his job back
if it was a washout? And I said he sure would, and he shook my hand,
and made a little speech, and took off like a bat out of hell.
And I ain't heard nothing of him since that day, miss. But he's
the feller you mean, all right, with that scar. Sorry I can't be of more help,
miss.

                  Chapter the Fifteenth    


      I questioned Mr. Foot closely, but he said that there
was knowing when and if Major Biggar, and of course I was at once
sure that he was my father and suffering from amnesia, was going
to come back. So I asked him about the Idol's Eye Ruby, and he
said that somewhere in the very deepest depths of the fervid
wilderness surrounding the colourful but tiny outpost (he
showed me a pamphlet) of d'Nigo City, there is the ruined temple
of some grotty old vanished civilisation. And inside there
is this huge statue, an idol, I forget what this one is called,
anyway, in the centre of its forehead it has an enormous
eye, which is actually a ruby. And it must be just about the
biggest ruby known to man, so its worth ever so much. Only the
trouble is, there's this cult of worshippers, who make human
sacrifices to it, and kill anyone that tries to look at the Idol
or come anywhere near it, and besides, no one knows exactly
where it is because its very well hidden, and as a
general rule, people who find their way there don't
come back. But of course Daddy must have decided to try his
luck and see if he could get the ruby and sell it and use the
money to start an animal-park and I'm so afraid
something's happened to him! Well, I went back to my hotel in
Nairobi, and I was trying to thinkwhether I should try to find him,
when I got a wire from my lawyers. It said that some distant
i*
when I got a wire from my lawyers. It said that some old
school-friend of Daddy's had died and left him thousands and
thousands of pounds, except that if he was really dead, it
was all to go to the 'Relicts of Sahibs' fund. And, the thing
is, I feel odd saying this to a stranger, I'm frightfull
poor. I told you I was raised by relatives, well, that's my
Aunt Victoria, and she's only got her pension now, and I
can't take anything more from her, and though I've
got a job (as a counter-girl at Wimpy's), it costs so
awfully much to keep up one's position, which, as
I'm either the last, or the next to last, of the
Palindromes, I simply must do. And to top it all off in the
most disagreeble way, I got a second wire saying Aunt
Victoria had contracted Angolan Acne, and would have to go into
a sanatorium in Geneva and undergo three year's treatment. So
I knew I just had to get in touch with Daddy. So that's why I'm
here."

                  Chapter the Sixteenth    

    I asked Sally if she wouldn't like another orange squash
and she said she'd already imposed too much, and I said she
hadn't imposed at all and it was quite hot and she said she'd
taken up a great deal of my time and I said it'd been the
pleasantest two hours of my life and she said as
a matter of fact she wasn't really thirsty. So I said I
hadn't quite understood one thing about her story and
she said what was that? and I said I didn't quite follow why
she was here, not that I meant to complain. She blushed again!
The loveliest colour. And she said "Oh, Ferdy [she called me
Ferdy!] I thought I explained that! I've got to have some money,
just a little stake so I can hire a sahib and some bearers and
go look for Daddy. And this nice old man I met at Ascot last
year told me this infallible system for winning at roulette.
Only it hasn't begun working yet. But I expect it will. He
told me it was sure-fire, whatever that means. And like
taking candy from a baby. And it only cost me a tanner." And
I said "Oh, ah, here now, Sally! I'm afraid you've been taken
for a ride, don't you know." and I explained to her about
there being no such thing as an infallible system (except at whist,
and that's not a lady's game, but I didn't tell her that.)
and she seemed almost to droop like a flower, or a dog you've
spoken harshly to. And I said "I say, Sally, how much of the
old green do you need? Because I'm simply loaded. I mean to-"
and she said "Thanks ever so much, Ferdy, but I couldn't do
that." and I said "Oh, ah. I quite see that. Noblesse oblige,
what?" And she said "Don't worry about me, I'll manage. Thanks so
much for listening to me go on." and I said "Here, don't go!
So soon, what? I've just had a simply ripping idea. I've just come
from d'Nigo, don't you know, Fats and I. Know the area like
the back of my hand. Could nip back down and have a look round
for your pater, what, what?" and she said Oh no and so forth,
but I finally wore her down, what? Told her I needed something to do,
she insisted on coming. I said it was too dangerous, she said it
was her right. Had to give in. So. Bringing her
Aunt Vistoria's old school-friend Honoria as chaperone. Leaving
next week, don't you know. She's been packing. Fats' been
packing. Innoculations and so forth. I've just come back
from spying out the land. Think I have a pretty good idea where
the jolly old temple is. Plan to have Sally and so forth wait in
d'Nigo City while I nip in and look for Lord Palindrome and
maybe the ruby too, what? Suddenly found out, dropped by the Drones
Club to pick up my sword-cane, found out I'm supposed to have shoved
off. Shuffled off this mortal coil, what? Alas, poor Ferdy, I
knowed him well, and so forth. Kicked the bucket as it were.
Handed in my potatoes and all that rot. Thought I'd stop in and
give you the good word, guvnor., next of kin,
blood is thicker than, what? Eh, what?"

                    Chapter the Seventeenth   

    Upon the end of this outlandish tale, I knew not what to think.
Repressing my only too natural surprise, I cionsidered the
story. A scientist, my boy, is trained to seek for flaws in
the smoothest-seeming of theories. So it was that my attention was
directed unerringly to the principal weak point in young Egfurt's
saga. Why was he here? His tale of familial connetions was all very
well, and in another case I might have accepted it without
demur, but young Egfurt, even before he attained his majority, has
always been notoriously lax in such matters, 
to the extent that it constituted a major failing. He is the only
person to my knowledge, ever to have forgotten to attend his
own birthday-party. He is not known to have sent a single
card in his entire career. And my late sister once told me that
he never once remembered to take off his hat when speaking
to his female relatives on the street. So of course I was suspicious.
Ceteris paribus, I knew that Egfurt would never have come
to call on me. I at once charged him with this, and he had the
grace to admit it, somewhat sheepishly. I demanded at once
to know his true motivation. Said he: "Well, guvnor, the fact
is, didn't want to go into this temple of the Idol biznai
all unprepared, fools rush in and so forth, what? Happened
to meet this nice old chappie in the 'Denizens of the
Underworld' pub in d'Nigo City, gave me a sleeping-draught
for a tanner (first he tried to put it in my kahlua&cream,
but I was too quick for him)), said it puts anyone that
drinks it, or even gets a good whiff of it, into a swoon,
y'might say, for the longest time. Tried it on a canary back
at the Raffles, keeled right over. Works all right.
Thought I might get you to put it in an atomizer kind of
thingummybob for me, seeing as how you do all
this chemistry stuff. Spray it at the temple guards, rescue
Lord Palindrome from durance vile (if they haven't already
eaten him or what-have-you), maybe try glomming the ruby,
rush out, and bob's-your-uncle! Sound plan, what, what?
Mostly Sally's idea. (Course it has a few flaws)
Thinks I'm going to let her come." Frowning as I of course
did on my young kinsman's levity, I will
confess to you that I was fascinated. By an incredible stroke
of luck, my foolish great-nephew had laid his hands (or
so my deduction ran) on an extract of that rarest and
most incurable of all Tropical Diseases, Rocky Mountain
Spotted Terman! If I could only get my hands on it, it
would probably in all actuality be but about half a year's
work before I could stand before the Annual Conference
on Fevers, Blights, Agues, and Spazzattacks, and announce
my discovery of a Cure! A crowning acheivement fit for my life
of hard work in the area! I would
be showered with all kinds of honours! I would even be permitted
to select the Latin name for the disease! All kinds of
fancies flitted through my brain; Insensibilis laurencius!
Delirious clotildis! But then it was that an unworthy
thought first crossed my mind. At first I thought
that we should split the extract between us, but
then I thought that, though, judging by its virulence,
the stuff should not be too hard to culture, having
more of it would allow my work to progress much
faster. Perhaps I could fob off the flippant Egfurt with
some liquid substitute. And, alas, that was
the beginning of my tragic downfall.  

                Chapter the Eighteenth    

    Recalling how my young relative had detected his
supplier's initial effort to drug him, I determined to make
the substitution out of his sight. I pretended to be eager
to be of assistance to him, and taking the little
bottle of ochre-coloured fluid he proffered, I hurried
off towards the laboratory located behind my office. To my
chagrin, however, I had not gone more than a few steps
down the hallway when I heard Egfurt coming after me; "I
say, guvnor, may I watch?" At that moment I collided with
my lissome Clotilde, who was carrying a jar containing a
preserved Guinea-pig. I hastily whispered to her to
prepare an atomizer full of water, and add three drops of
Burnt Siena #4 (for colouration), and she at once went
docilely off to do my bidding. I turned to deal
with Egfurt. I must say, it says a great deal for that
young man's feeling for Lady Sarah Palindrome that he did
not even notice Clotilde as she sashayed down the hallway
in her form-fitting laboratory-coat. I at once agreed
that he might watch, in order to allay his suspicions, if
he had any, but suggested that we go back and cork the
cognac-bottle first. Though somewhat bemused by this
thought, he was amenable. When we reached my office, I
stalled a little longer by insisting on showing him a
snapshot of Clotilde and myself on the pier at Brighton.
(Which he was almost rudely uninterested in, despite the
fact that it showed Clotilde wearing her scantiest 
bathing-dress.) Then we together adjourned
to my laboratory. Wearing a gas-mask, before his very
eyes, I transferrd the contents of the vial to a clean
atomizer. Then, pretending to fear that I had spilled a
drop, I requested him to fetch me a sponge, from the sink
behind him. And as he did so, I quickly switched the
atomizer withthe one Clotilde had left, as I had
instructed, by the small pipette-stand. I flattered
myself that he had noticed nothing. And, ah! would that
he had! For, no sooner than I had shown my visitor out of
the door, still thanking me and uttering febrile
ejaculations of what?, did I return to my laboratory,
congratulating myself on the success of my excursion
into dishonesty, only to find my darling Clotilde
stretched senseless on the floor! What more can I say?
To pile horror upon horror, the vial from which she had
inhaled had shattered on the floor, andthe
dregs had been slupped up by my darling's Pekinese, Potemkin,
who lay supine beside her. I told you that there was
one hope. It is that, in the time remaining before
my darling lapses into that final fatal fever, some cure
can somehow be uncovered. Unfortunately,
my heart precludes my ever leaving England."
    Here Sir Laurence opened one rheumy eye and peered
at me.

            Chapter the Nineteenth   

      My feelings at that moment were stronger than I had ever
before experienced. I lost no time in assuring
Sir Laurence that I would do anything in my power to help
Clotilde. For this I gave him my word. I was somewhat chagrined
to discover thatt Sir  Laurence had no other
plan in mind than that I should travel to Africa and somehow
obtain more of this ochre extract, or, better still, a ready-made
cure. In fine, his attitude was, 'Let George do it'. But an
Englishman's word is his bond. That very day, I notified my solicitors,
set my affairs in order, and wrote an affectionate note
to my only surviving relative, a cousin thrice-removed of my
grandmother's, an Honoria Thrapstissle, in Kent. I booked
the next flight to Nairobi, with connexions to
d'Nigo City. The next morning, before leaving, I paid a last
call to the T- domicile. Sir Laurence made a rather offensive
little farewell speech, giving me to understand that he did not
consider himself liable for any of my expenses, which I
tolerated in silence since it came from the father of my
hoped-for intended. He let me see Clotilde one last time.
She lay, pale, radiant, and unconcious, upon a couch.
How fair she was, and what a heart-breaking sight! Sir Laurence
begam to discourse upon her many charms, and I knew that
I could not retain my equanamity nuch longer. Shaking
Sir Laurence's hane, I cast a last glance at my unhappy
Clotilde, and departed. I hailed a taxi for the airport,
and arrived the next day 
(there were some delays) in Nairobi. I made my way thence to
d'Nigo City. Depositing my belongings at the Hotel Raffles,
I asked the town constable for directions to the 'Denizens
of the Underworld' tavern. Regarding me closely he
reluctantly gave me the desired information. I entered
and to my dismay discerned that half the contents of the
establishment were elderly men. Beginning at one end, and moving
towards the other, I commenced to question each in turn.
They were only too eager to talk, I discovered, but since most
were English vacationers attempting to collect local colour,
they were more hindrance than help, especially as I found
it difficult to courteously detach myself from them. Finally,
however, I met one rather wrinkly gentleman who appeared to be
what is commonly known as a 'downy one' and who knew the d'Nigo
area. At once I asked him if he could supply
me with Rocky Mountain Spotted Terman extract. He gave me a
quizzical glance. "I don't quite get your drift,
young man." he said "Reds? Bennies? Uppers? Haile Selassie
Gold? Clear Light? STP? MDA? Hash oil? Chocolate Mescaline?
Kumiss? Hashish?" "Pardon me." I said. "I fear I don't understand.
Specifically, I am looking for a substance which was at one time
obtainable here, which causes prolonged coma, high fever, and
ultimately death, over a period of between six months and two years.
Or a cure, if such is extant." The old man stared at me. "You
remind me of an ape, young man." he said. "Come back tomorrow.
Its closing time."

                   Chapter the Twentieth   

   nce at that momt the constable came in and glared ferociously
around, I returned to my hotel. I spent the next morning in the
waitinroom of the town doctor, who, after a four hours' wait,
proved to be squiffed as an owl. He was unable to give me any
information about the malady in question, as he had not seen a
patient in the last seven years, only having let me in in hopes
that as a medical man whose brain had not been affected by two
decades of single-minded consumption of unreasonable amounts
of palm beer, I would be able to advise him about a persistent
sweatiness of the palms. I advised him to stop drinking. Then,
(after lunching) acutely concious of having done nothing all day to
help Clotilde, I returned to the 'Denizens of the Underworld'. A
darts tournament was in progress. To pass the time until the old
gentleman should return, I joined in. Having spent some time at
the Drones Club perfecting this art, I came out the winner. As
I was partaking of my reward, a pint of what the locals alleged
to be ale, but which was actually fermented quibah juice, I
noticed the wrinkly old man watching me. I forgot myself so far
as to drop my tankard and hurry to his side wh questions
thronging to my lips. The oldlow regarded me. "You play a
good game of darts." he said, "Do you shoo" "No sir, I do not.
I am opposed to blood-sports." said I. He beamed. His face became
yet more prune-like. "Good, good! You appear to be a deserving
young fellow. You remind me of my son, whom I haven't seen in
donkey's years. Therefore I will tell you this: The only way to
find that which you seek is to go to the temple of the Idol."
I was somewhat downcast by this news. I continued to question
him. He stated that he had attempted to drug young Lord Egfurt
Quogue because he had admitted to having attempted to shoot an
endangered Fouebird. He further said that he had obtained the deadly
elixir in an episode which he refused to retail to me, which
had occurred while he was searching out local colour at the
Temple of the Idol. Morhe would not say. In response to all my
queries he replied, "You'll get in very bad trouble, young man,
if you ask questions of the wrong people in this town. The
servants of the Idol are everywhere. But enough of this nana!
Here I have a picture of my son Kamuela astride a bull-eland
named Stong." and he attempted to show me an entire portfolio
of snapshots of his son and various specimens of aboriginal 
fauna. Finally giving up, I returned to the Raffles to ponder.
It was clear that I must search out the Temple of the Idol.
Donning my topee, I stepped out and aske  the constable where
this edifice was located. This gentleman told me to go away or
he would arrest me. Somewhat worried by his uneasy air, I walked
along and next addressed a tall young coloured gentleman
who was leaning on a lamppost on the corner of the street. He
whisled softly and pointed silently to a pathway leading
into the we heart of an adjacent vacant lot. I thanked him.
He made no response. I set off. To my surprise, after five
minutes I still had not reached the other side of the lot,
which, though thickly overgrown, had appeared quite small.
I walked on for three quarters of an hour. The path grew ever
narrower, the surrounding jungle ever thicker. Suddenly I
became aware of soft footsteps behind me. Then I knew no more.

                  Chapter the Twentyfirst

    When I regaid conciousness, it was daylight, but whether more
than one night had passed, I could not y. I s trussed and bound
to a pole which was being carried into a low stoney cave surrounded
by thick vegetation. To my surprise, I was thrnwn down on the floor next
another white man, similarly bound. My captors then departed with nary 
a backwards glance. I turned to my erstwhile companion. "Where am I?"
I inquired. He turned to me (as best he could, hampered as he was
by the bonds) and exclaimed, "Hey! You speak English! Far out. At
last, someone to talk to! I was beginning to go crazy!"
Patiently I replied, "That I can well understand. This cave has
a turbidly distressing air to it. But, where is this place?"
"Search me." said the young man, whom I adjudged to be an
American. More patient questioning revealed him to be a young
gentleman from Detroit named Kevin Krushkov. When I politely
inquired about his incongruous presence in Equatorial Africa
(I simply stated that I was a medical resarcher, not wishing
to drag Clotilde's name through these sordid surroundings), he
hemmed a bit and then said, "Ah, well, y'know, I was looking for
psilocybin mushrooms. They're suppos to be really righteous
smokes. And all of a sudden these wierd little spades bopped
out of the woods, y'know, and grabbed me. Really fast, and I
didn't get to use my Karate. Strange." I then broached to him
the subject of escape, since he professed to believe that we
were shortly to be fed to the Idol by his devoted acolytes.
Though I myself envisioned something on the order of ritual
sacrifice, I was bound to agree that things did not look too
rosy. He stated, on what authority I was not quite clear,
that we would be bound until we were in the outermost inner
fastness of the temple. We would be unbound in a sort of
anteroom, where we would be anointed and otherwise prepared
for the final ceremonial offering to the Idol: and it was
here that our only chance of escape lay, since afterwards we
would again be trussed, as chickens for the spit. He further stated
that in this anteroom there was a small window high on the
lefthand wall. At this point, our machinations were interrupted
by the reentry of our captors, all of whom were of a singularly
dusky black shade, almost as if they had been painted. Uttering
savage cries, prominent among which was the word 'Ztangi!'
which my companion informed me was one of the names of the Idol,
these wildmen seized us, and holding us high above their heads,
and holding their noses, rushed us out through a series of
subterranean passages, shrieking and kicking out rhythmically.
True to Master Krushkov's word, they took us to a small stone
room: and high up on the lefthand wall, was a tiny window, with
through whose paneless gap a little greenish daylight straggled.
Before, however, one could make any attempt at escape, I was hurled 
rudely and crashingly into an enormous iron cauldron or
cooking-pot full of a strange dark liquid. Luckily for us it was
no more or less tepid than London bath-water. Still, igave off
eerie fumes, which swam through my nostrils so that my senses
reeled and my eyes seemed to perceiva thousand giddy shapes
whirling in the spiral smoke. Strange bodily sensations gripped
me, and my brain went spinning as they lifted us from the drunken
brew with enormous tongs. But an Englishman should be the master
of himself in any situation, and the moment my feet touched the
for I tsted from the arms of my captors (the bonds having
dissolved) and crying, "For the Queen! Kevin,ollow me!" I attained
the window's narrow sill in one mighty bound. I turned and looked
at the exotic scene unfolded in the dizzying mists. A strangely
shrunken and swarthy Kevin waved at me, cheerfully: "I think I'll
stick around for the show! Good luck, Georgie!" as a new host of
natives gripped him yet more firmly, and bore him off. I was
stunned. What was this folly? Had the unhappy youth's mind become
so drug-sapped that he cared nought what became of him? I thought
of going backOfor him, but I had a higher duty-to Clotilde. With
a heavy heart I stumbl on through what appeard to me a dank,
thick, featureless, jungle. Thus have I been doing for three days
and three nights, until I fortuitously came upon your party.
I, at first, I fear, mistook you for the famous French explorer,
Gerard Tombereau. (That is why I greeted you with 'Bon soir')
Had I but realised that you were a fellow-Englishman, I]would not
have objected so vehemently when your flunkeys here tr to
force-feed me on that revolting bean-mess. I fear I must throw
myself upon your mercies, Sir, in asking you to give me
directions to d'Nigo City."

                     Chapter the Twentysecond