"I am afraid we are playing it rather low down on that jumpy old boy,"
said Stephen remorsefully.
"The white woman, the white woman and her daughter," muttered Brother
John.
"Yes," reflected Stephen aloud. "One is justified in doing anything to
get two white women out of this hell, if they exist. So one may as
well have the orchid also, for they'd be lonely without it, poor
things, wouldn't they? Glad I thought of that, it's soothing to the
conscience."
"I hope you'll find it so when we are all on that iron grid which I
noticed is wide enough for three," I remarked sarcastically. "Now be
quiet, I want to go to sleep."
I am sorry to have to add that for the most of that night Want
remained my master. But if I couldn't sleep, I could, or rather was
obliged to, think, and I thought very hard indeed.
First I reflected on the Pongo and their gods. What were these and why
did they worship them? Soon I gave it up, remembering that the problem
was one which applied equally to dozens of the dark religions of this
vast African continent, to which none could give an answer, and least
of all their votaries.
Pages:
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395