The Great Impersonation | Page 4

companion objected petulantly.
"The eternal blackness exists surely enough, even if my metaphor is
faulty. I am disposed to be philosophical. Let me ramble on. Here am I,
an idler in my boyhood, a harmless pleasure-seeker in my youth till I
ran up against tragedy, and since then a drifter, a drifter with a slowly
growing vice, lolling through life with no definite purpose, with no
definite hope or wish, except," he went on a little drowsily, "that I think
I'd like to be buried somewhere near the base of those mountains, on
the other side of the river, from behind which you say the sun comes up
every morning like a world on fire."
"You talk foolishly," Von Ragastein protested. "If there has been
tragedy in your life, you have time to get over it. You are not yet forty
years old."
"Then I turn and consider you," Dominey continued, ignoring
altogether his friend's remark. "You are only my age, and you look ten
years younger. Your muscles are hard, your eyes are as bright as they
were in your school days. You carry yourself like a man with a purpose.
You rise at five every morning, the doctor tells me, and you return here,
worn out, at dusk. You spend every moment of your time drilling those
filthy blacks. When you are not doing that, you are prospecting,
supervising reports home, trying to make the best of your few millions
of acres of fever swamps. The doctor worships you but who else knows?
What do you do it for, my friend?"
"Because it is my duty," was the calm reply.
"Duty! But why can't you do your duty in your own country, and live a
man's life, and hold the hands of white men, and look into the eyes of

white women?"
"I go where I am needed most," Von Ragastein answered. "I do not
enjoy drilling natives, I do not enjoy passing the years as an outcast
from the ordinary joys of human life. But I follow my star."
"And I my will-o'-the-wisp," Dominey laughed mockingly. "The whole
thing's as plain as a pikestaff. You may be a dull dog--you always were
on the serious side--but you're a man of principle. I'm a slacker."
"The difference between us," Von Ragastein pronounced, "is something
which is inculcated into the youth of our country and which is not
inculcated into yours. In England, with a little money, a little birth,
your young men expect to find the world a playground for sport, a
garden for loves. The mightiest German noble who ever lived has his
work to do. It is work which makes fibre, which gives balance to life."
Dominey sighed. His cigar, dearly prized though it had been, was cold
between his fingers. In that perfumed darkness, illuminated only by the
faint gleam of the shaded lamp behind, his face seemed suddenly white
and old. His host leaned towards him and spoke for the first time in the
kindlier tones of their youth.
"You hinted at tragedy, my friend. You are not alone. Tragedy also has
entered my life. Perhaps if things had been otherwise, I should have
found work in more joyous places, but sorrow came to me, and I am
here."
A quick flash of sympathy lit up Dominey's face.
"We met trouble in a different fashion," he groaned.
CHAPTER II
Dominey slept till late the following morning, and when he woke at last
from a long, dreamless slumber, he was conscious of a curious
quietness in the camp. The doctor, who came in to see him, explained it
immediately after his morning greeting.

"His Excellency," he announced, "has received important despatches
from home. He has gone to meet an envoy from Dar-es-Salaam. He
will be away for three days. He desired that you would remain his guest
until his return."
"Very good of him," Dominey murmured. "Is there any European
news?"
"I do not know," was the stolid reply. "His Excellency desired me to
inform you that if you cared for a short trip along the banks of the river,
southward, there are a dozen boys left and some ponies. There are
plenty of lion, and rhino may be met with at one or two places which
the natives know of."
Dominey bathed and dressed, sipped his excellent coffee, and lounged
about the place in uncertain mood. He unburdened himself to the doctor
as they drank tea together late in the afternoon.
"I am not in the least keen on hunting," he confessed, "and I feel like a
horrible sponge, but all the same I have a queer sort of feeling that I'd
like to see Von Ragastein again. Your silent chief rather fascinates me,
Herr Doctor. He is a man. He has something which I have