Adventure Magazine Cover, June 20, 1925 — page 177: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

‘‘“_-and of Gideon!” —accentuated his soft, effeminate appear- ance. With one elegantly gauntleted hand rest- ing lightly on his hip, the other tenderly ‘caressing his mustache, he watched the two men for a moment, a sneer on his face. Presently he spoke— “You must be mad, I think.” The two men looked up with a start, Isaacs springing to his feet. Then they began to laugh again. The horseman frowned, bit bis bottom lip, flicked impatiently at the swarm of flies which hovered about him and, “My name is D’Andra, Paulos D’An- dra,” he said in a cold contemptuous voice. “T am not accustomed to having pigs laugh at me.” Isaacs hid the interest he felt in the slight foreign accent in the man’s voice. “Softly now,” he muttered and put a soothing hand on Miles’ sleeve as that man was about to make a heated retort. The missionary did not like being called a pig; neither did Isaacs, but— “Oy,” he said. ‘Don’t get angry, mis- ter. We vasn’t laughing at you. Nunno! We was a laughing at a bush pig vot got stuck in an ant-bear hole. He vas very foony. You would have laughed yourseif had you see him. First he tried to get into a hole vot already had somebody in it, an’ then he tried to get into a hole vot was too small for him. An he got stuck— an’ he vas very foony.”’ Isaacs beamed at the man who called himself D’Andra, as if hoping to find an answering twinkle of mirth in that man’s eyes. Seeing only suspicious resentment there, he continued in almost apologetic tones, ‘I ain’t jokin’, mister. If you don’t believe me, ask the missioner here. His name’s Miles—Mister the Reverend Miles. Mine’s Isaacs, Joseph Isaacs—though most people call me ‘Big Un.’ That’s because I’m so small, maybe. The English are very foony, ain’t they? You Portuguese, ain’t you? Ona huntin, trip, no? You ‘i D’Andra waved his hand impatiently. “No. We do not come to hunt. We have come on a scientific mission—to locate the lost mines of Solomon. We intend to stay at your store tonight—of course you’re Isaacs, the storekeeper?—and tomorrow we go on to Misongwe to go through the formal- ity of asking the chief—Macombe, isn’t it?—for permission ta dig.”’ have my price—a man must eat. 159 Isaacs nodded and Miles—he had been stubbing his toes in the dirt, trying to over- come his instinctive dislike of D’Andra —now looked up with interest. “And I suppose you will also,” Isaacs said slowly, “go through the formality of asking the storekeeper for permission to stay at his store?” “Oh, you,” D’Andra scoffed. ‘“‘Why should we do that? You, of course, have your price which we will pay. That is all there is to that. You naturally sell hospitality as you sell trade goods to niggers.” Again the pressure of Isaac’s hand on his arm prevented the missionary from making a hot retort. “Sure,” Isaacs agreed complacently. “I How many are there in your party?” “Two other white men and one hundred. and fifty porters.” “__!? Tsaacs looked quickly at the missionary whose lips formed ‘‘fourteen.” ‘““Vot you goin’ to do with all them? An’, anyvay, you don’t expect me to feed all them, do you2” “Oh, no,” D’ Andra said airily. ‘‘Senhor Gonzales—he’s in charge of the expedition— believes in allowing the carriers to live off the country we pass through. They can take care of themselves at some near-by kraal. What they want—they’ll take.” “You mean that you don’t pay for the grain and stuff your porters take from the kraals,” Miles asked hotly. D’Andra looked at him with amused contempt. “Naturally not,” he replied with a shrug of his thin shoulders. ‘‘Why should we?” ‘‘Macombe von’t like that,” Isaacs said gravely. ‘‘Maybe he von’t give you per- mission to stay in his country vhen he hears of it.” ‘We stay whether he gives us permission or not,” D’Andra said indifferently. “We have letters from the British Colonial Office giving us all the permission we need. If Macombe is at all temperamental, why —we shall use force.” “Oy!” Isaacs nodded his head as if in hearty agreement with such measures. “That’s different. A nigger ain’t got no right to say vot a vhite man should do in his country. But how about me?” he added in grieved tones. “If you don’t pay for all the stuff your porters take, how can the COMIGDIOOKSEEO