The night was stiflingly hot, and as Hans Breitmann and I passed
him, dragging our bedding to the fore-peak of the steamer, he roused himself
and chattered obscenely. He had been caught somewhere in the Malayan
Archipelago, and was going to England to be exhibited at a shilling a head. For
four days he had struggled, yelled, and wrenched at the heavy iron bars of his
prison without ceasing, and had nearly slain a Lascar incautious enough to come
within reach of the great hairy paw.
"It would he well for you, mine friend, if you was a liddle seasick," said Hans
Breitmann, pausing by the cage. "You haf too much Ego in your Cosmos."
The orangoutang's arm slid out negligently from between the bars. No one would
have believed that it would make a sudden snake-like rush at the German's
breast. The thin silk of the sleeping-suit tore out: Hans stepped back
unconcernedly, to pluck a banana from a bunch hanging close to one of the
boats.
"Too much Ego," said he, peeling the fruit and offering it to the caged devil,
who was rending the silk to tatters.
Then we laid out our bedding in the bows, among the sleeping Lascars, to catch
any breeze that the pace of the ship might give us. The sea was like smoky oil,
except where it turned to fire under our forefoot and whirled back into the
dark in smears of dull flame.
Pages:
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264