I
I WAS not so much conning the specimens in the Zoölogical Garden as
idly basking in the agreeable morning sunshine and relishing at leisure
the perfect weather. So I saw him the instant he turned the corner of
the building. At first, I thought I recognized him, then I hesitated.
At first he seemed to know me and to be just about to greet me; then
he saw past me into the cage. His eyes bulged; his mouth opened into
a long egg-shaped oval, till you might almost have said that his jaw
dropped; he made an inarticulate sound, partly a grunt, partly the
ghost of a howl, and collapsed in a limp heap on the gravel. I had not
seen a human being since I passed the gate, some distance away. No one
came when I called. So I dragged him to the grass by a bench, untied
his faded, shiny cravat, took off his frayed collar and unbuttoned his
soiled neckband. Then I peeled his coat off him, rolled it up, and put
it under his knees as he lay on his back. I tried to find some water,
but could see none. So I sat down on the bench near him. There he lay,
his legs and body on the grass, his head in the dry gutter, his arms on
the pebbles of the path. I was sure I knew him, but I could not recall
when or where we had encountered each other before. Presently he
answered to my rough and ready treatment and opened his eyes, blinking
at me heavily. He drew up his arms to his shoulders and sighed.
“Queer,” he muttered, “I come here because of you and I meet you.”
Still I could not remember him and he had revived enough to read my
face. He sat up.
“Don’t try to stand up!” I warned him.
He did not need the admonition, but clung to the end of the bench, his
head bowed wagglingly over his arms.
“Don’t you remember,” he asked thickly. “You said I had a pretty good
smattering of an education on everything except Natural History and
Ancient History. I’m hoping for a job in a few days, and I thought I’d
put in the time and keep out of mischief brushing up. So I started on
Natural History first and----”
He broke off and glared up at me. I remembered him now. I should have
recognized him the moment I saw him, for he was daily in my mind.
But his luxuriant hair, his tanned skin and above all his changed
expression, a sort of look of acquired cosmopolitanism, had baffled me.
“Natural History!” he repeated, in a hoarse whisper. His fingers
digging in the slats of the bench he wrenched himself round to face the
cage.
“Hell!” he screamed. “There it is yet!”
He held on by the end iron-arm of the bench, shaking, almost sobbing.
“What’s wrong with you?” I queried. “What do think you see in that
cage?”
“Do you see anything in that cage?” he demanded in reply.
“Certainly,” I told him.
“Then for God’s sake,” he pleaded. “What do you see?”