The Hunters | Page 6

strode to the front of the platform, an elephant gun swinging easily
at his side, an easy grin radiating from his confident, rugged face. The
cheers rose to a shrill fortissimo, but the grin did not vanish. What a
great actor he really was, he told himself, to be able to pretend he liked
this.
An assistant curator of some collection in the zoo, a flustered old
woman, was introducing him. There were a few laudatory references to

his great talents as an actor, and he managed to look properly modest as
he listened. The remarks about his knowledge of wild and ferocious
beasts were a little harder to take, but he took them. Then the old
woman stepped back, and he was facing his fate alone.
"Children," he began. A pause, a bashful grin. "Perhaps I should rather
say, my friends. I'm not one to think of you as children. Some people
think of me as a child myself, because I like to hunt, and have
adventures. They think that such things are childish. But if they are, I'm
glad to be a child. I'm glad to be one of you. Yes, I think I will call you
my friends.
"Perhaps you regard me, my friends, as a very lucky person. But when I
recall some of the narrow escapes I have had, I don't agree with you. I
remember once, when we were on the trail of a rogue elephant--"
He told the story of the rogue elephant, modestly granting a co-hero's
role to his guide. Then another story illustrating the strange ways of
lions. The elephant gun figured in still another tale, this time of a
vicious rhinoceros. His audience was quiet now, breathless with
interest, and he welcomed the respite from shrillness he had won for his
ears.
"And now, my friends, it is time to say farewell." He actually looked
sad and regretful. "But it is my hope that I shall be able to see you
again--"
Screams of exultation, shrill as ever, small hands beating
enthusiastically to indicate joy. Thank God that's over with, he thought.
Now for those drinks--and he didn't mean drink, singular. Talk of being
useful, he'd certainly been useful now. He'd made those kids happy.
What more can any reasonable person want?
* * * * *
But it wasn't over with. Another old lady had stepped up on the
platform.

"Mr. George," she said, in a strangely affected voice, like that of the
first dramatic teacher he had ever had, the one who had almost ruined
his acting career. "Mr. George, I can't tell you how happy you have
made us all, young and old. Hasn't Mr. George made us happy,
children?"
"Yes, Miss Burton!" came the shrill scream.
"And we feel that it would be no more than fair to repay you in some
small measure for the pleasure you have given us. First, a 'Thank You'
song by Frances Heller--"
He hadn't expected this, and he repressed a groan. Mercifully, the first
song was short. He grinned the thanks he didn't feel. To think that he
could take this, while sober as a judge! What strength of character,
what will-power!
Next, Miss Burton introduced another kid, who recited. And then, Miss
Burton stood upright and recited herself.
That was the worst of all. He winced once, then bore up. You can get
used even to torture, he told himself. An adult making a fool of herself
is always more painful than a kid. And that affected elocutionist's voice
gave him the horrors. But he thanked her too. His good deed for the day.
Maybe Carol would have him now, he thought.
A voice shrilled, "Miss Burton?"
"Yes, dear?"
"Aren't you going to call on Carolyn to act?"
"Oh, yes, I was forgetting. Come up here, Carolyn, come up, Doris.
Carolyn and Doris, Mr. George, are studying how to act. They act
people and animals. Who knows? Some day they, too, may be in the
movies, just as you are, Mr. George. Wouldn't that be nice, children?"
What the devil do you do in a case like that? You grin, of course--but

what do you say, without handing over your soul to the devil? Agree
how nice it would be to have those sly little brats with faces magnified
on every screen all over the country? Like hell you do.
"Now, what are we going to act, children?"
"Please, Miss Burton," said Doris. "I don't know how to act. I can't
even imitate a puppy. Really I can't, Miss Burton--"
"Come, come, mustn't be shy. Your friend says that you act very nicely
indeed. Can't want to go on the stage and still be shy. Now, do you
know any movie scenes? Shirley Temple used to be a good little actress,