The Adventures of Kathlyn

"Why do you risk your life for us?" she asked suddenly.

"Adventure is meat and drink to me, Miss Hare."

The prefix sounded strange and unfamiliar in her ears. Formality. She

had been wrong, then; only comradeship and the masculine sense of

responsibility. Her heart was like lead.

"It is very kind and brave of you, Mr. Bruce; but I will not have it."

"Have what?" he asked, knowing full well what she meant.

"This going back with us. Why should you risk your life for people who

are almost strangers?"

"Strangers?" He laughed softly. "Has it never occurred to you that

the people we grow up with are never really our friends; that real

friendship comes only with maturity of the mind? Why, the best man

friend I have in this world is a young chap I met but three years ago.

It is not the knowing of people that makes friendships. It is the

sharing of dangers, of bread, in the wilderness; of getting a glimpse

of the soul which lies beneath the conventions of the social pact.

Would you call me a stranger?"

"Oh, no!" she cried swiftly. "It is merely that I do not want you to

risk your life any further for us. Is there no way I can dissuade you?"

"None that I can think of. I am going back with you. That's settled.

Now let us talk of something else. Don't you really want me to go?"

"Ah, that isn't fair," looking out to sea again and following the

lights aboard the Simla.

It was mighty hard for him not to sweep her into his arms then and

there. But he would never be sure of her till she was free of this

country, free of the sense of gratitude, free to weigh her sentiments

carefully and unbiasedly. He sat down abruptly on the wreck of an

ancient hull embedded in the sand. She sank down a little way from him.

He began to tell her some of his past exploits: the Amazon, the

Orinoco, the Andes, Tibet and China; of the strange flotsam and jetsam

he had met in his travels. But she sensed only the sound of his voice

and the desire to reach out her hand and touch his. Friendship! Bread

in the wilderness!

* * * * * * Ahmed was lean and deceptive to the eye. Like many Hindus, he appeared

anemic; and yet the burdens the man could put on his back and carry

almost indefinitely would have killed many a white man who boasted of

his strength. On half a loaf of black bread and a soldier's canteen of

water he could travel for two days. He could go without sleep for

forty-eight hours, and when he slept he could sleep anywhere, on the

moment.