The Hunters | Page 5

drinking."
She made a face. "Don't talk nonsense. Take your outfit, and let's get ready to go. Unless you want to change here, and walk around dressed as a lion hunter."
"Why not? I've walked around dressed as worse. A drunk."
"Drunks don't attract attention. They're too ordinary."
"But a drunken lion hunter--that's something special." He went into the next room and began to change. "Carol," he called. "Do you like me?"
"At times."
"Would you say that you liked me very much?"
"When you're sober. Rarely."
"Love me?"
"Once in a blue moon."
"What would I have to do for you to want to marry me?"
"Amount to something."
"I like that. Don't you think I amount to something now? Women swoon at the sight of my face on the screen, and come to life again at the sound of my voice."
"The women who swoon at you will swoon at anybody. Besides, I don't consider that making nitwits swoon is a useful occupation for a real man."
"How can I be useful, Carol? No one ever taught me how."
"Some people manage without being taught."
"I suppose I could think how if I had a drink inside me."
"Then you'll have to do without thinking."
He came into the room again, powerful, manly, determined-looking. There was an expression in his eye which indicated courage without end, a courage that would enable him to brave the wrath of man, beast, or devil.
"How do I look?"
"Your noble self, of course. A poor woman's edition of Rudolph Valentino."
"I feel terrified. I don't know how I'm going to face those kids. If they were boys it wouldn't be so bad, but a bunch of little girls!"
"They'll grow up to be your fans, if you're still alive five years from now. Meanwhile, into each life some rain must fall."
"You would talk of water, when you know how I feel."
"Sorry. Come on, let's go."
* * * * *
The lecture hall resounded with giggles. And beneath the giggles was a steady undercurrent of whispers, of girlish confidences exchanged, of girlish hopes that would now be fulfilled. Miss Burton's class was not the only one which had come to hear the famous actor-hunter describe his brave exploits. There were at least five others like it, and by some mistake, a class of boys, who also whispered to each other, in manly superiority, and pretended to find amusement in the presence of so many of the fairer sex.
In this atmosphere of giggles and whispers, Manto and Palit could exchange confidences without being noticed. Palit said savagely, "Why did you tell her that I could act too?"
"Why, because it's the truth. You're a very good animal performer. You make a wonderful dragon, for instance. Go on, Palit, show her what a fine dragon you can--"
"Stop it, you fool, before you cause trouble!"
"Very well, Palit. Did I tempt you?"
"Did you tempt me! You and your sense of humor!"
"You and your lack of it! But let's not argue now, Palit. Here, I think, comes the lion-hunter. Let's scream, and be as properly excited as every one else is."
* * * * *
My God, he thought, how can they keep their voices so high so long? My eardrums hurt already. How do they stand a lifetime of it? Even an hour?
"Go ahead," whispered Carol. "You've seen the script--go into your act. Tell them what a hero you are. You have the odds in your favor to start with."
"My lovely looks," he said, with some bitterness.
"Lovely is the word for you. But forget that. If you're good--you'll get a drink afterwards."
"Will it be one of those occasions when you love me?"
"If the moon turns blue."
He 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