BY
ROBERT GORE-BROWNE
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1926,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
NOTE: No white character in this novel is drawn from life.—R. G.-B.
THE CRATER
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
THE CRATER
"Her story," said Ross, aiming his cigar-end ata phosphorescent patch of ocean, "wasdiscreditable enough to be true." He drew animmense red handkerchief from the pocket of hispyjamas, and wiped his extensive forehead, muttering,"As far as a woman ever tells the truth aboutherself."
I sat on in silence waiting for the epigrams to endand the narrative to begin.
It was a stifling night off the East Coast of Africa.A wind that blew from the Equator and followed acrowded ship made sleep impossible. Nightly itdrove Ross and myself on deck to spend theintolerable hours in talk.
I did not know much about Ross; no one on boarddid. A big man with a walrus moustache and a baldhead, he had joined the vessel at an unusual EastCoast port with few possessions—a rifle or two, anda green kit bag. His preposterous opinions wereenunciated with the precise utterance of a spinster,and punctuated by pulls at a virulent black cigar.He knew men and cities; he knew Africa at its heart,where are neither men nor cities.
Our mutual acquaintanceship exhausted, we haddrifted to anecdotes of the improbabilities thathappen daily in that improbable continent.
"You can never tell what the most normal folkwill do," he had said. "One of the most charminggirls I know—in three weeks she and her husbandhad reduced the Decalogue to ribbons...." Hebroke off, and I had difficulty in inducing him tobegin again.
"The girl," he said at last, between puffs of hiscigar, "came to me for advice. This implied noparticular compliment to my wisdom, since I wasthe only disinterested white man for a hundred miles.I told her that only fools gave advice, and only wisemen took it.
'God knows I'm not wise,' she said, 'but I'd doanything to...'
'My dear, I'll do my best,' I said when I saw thatshe did not mean to finish her sentence, 'but evenfor that I must hear a bit more.' She looked at mea little startled, then threw up her chin and plungedinto her story. And, as I said, by most standards,it did her little enough credit. Unless courage coversas much as charity. Courage is even needed for aproud woman to tell a man whom she'd met half adozen times the full story of her ... 'indiscretions'shall we call them?" He paused and seemed toponder the qualities and failings of his heroine."Still, most of the other animals have courage," headded. "And no doubt if she was to stay sane, shehad to get things clear in her own head. Anyhow,she spared me no detail or digression in the tellingof her deplorable history."
Ross got up and walked heavily to the rail wherehe stood staring down at the sea, which partedbefore our bows with the sound and motion of splitsilk. His voice came to me a little muted by thenight.
"I didn't know the Sinclairs well," he continued,"but by using my eyes at our occasional meetings,I had a pretty correct idea how matters stood. AndArchie told me as much as he told any one. More,while I was nursing him through three days ofdelirium."
I ventured to suggest that it would be more interestingfor me if he began the story at the beginninginstead of the