THE COBRA IN THE ROOM
Ceylon was a land of wonders to the tourists. Here they were in the very
heart of the Orient. Rare flowers and strange plants grew in glorious
profusion, the air was odorous with a thousand scents, and it was hard for
them to realize that at that very moment America might be suffering from
zero weather or swept by blizzards. Here life moved along serenely and
dreamily, lulled by the sound of birds and drone of locusts, wrapped in
the warm folds of eternal summer.
"It's an earthly Eden!" murmured Clara, as she and Jim walked along one of
the main streets of Colombo, followed at a little distance by Joe and
Mabel.
"Yes," replied Jim with a laugh, "and not even the snake is missing."
He pointed to a group of natives and Europeans on the other side of the
street who were gathered about a snake charmer.
"Ugh, the horrid things!" exclaimed Clara with a shudder.
"Let's go over and take a look," suggested Jim.
Clara demurred at first and so did Mabel. They were used to seeing snakes
behind a network of wire and glass, and they did not relish the idea of
standing within a few feet of the crawling serpents in the open street.
But curiosity, added to the urgings of the young men, finally conquered,
and they joined the throng on the other side.
The performer, an old man with bronzed face, was squatting on his haunches
playing a weird tune on a reedy instrument resembling a flute. Before him
was upreared a monstrous specimen of the deadly cobra species, swaying
gently to and fro and keeping time to the music. Its malignant eyes
looking out from the broad head whose markings resembled a pair of
spectacles had lost something of their fiery sparkle, and a slight haze
spread over them, as though the creature were under a spell.
The music continued and two other snakes crawled out as if in response to
a call and joined their companion in his swaying, rhythmic dance. Then the
tune changed, the snakes uncoiled, and the performer took them up without
the slightest fear and put them back in the basket.
"Suppose they should bite him!" exclaimed Mabel.
"He's had their fangs drawn already," returned Joe. "The old rascal's
taking no chances."
"They say that a man lasts about half an hour after one of those fellows
nips him," observed Jim. "Somebody was telling me that over twenty
thousand natives are bitten by them every year."
A little further down the street, another fakir was giving an exhibition.
He placed a small native boy in a basket that was a tight fit and put down
the basket cover. Then after making mysterious signs and muttering
invocations, the fakir drew a long sword and plunged it through the basket
from end to end. A scream of pain came from within, and when the sword was
withdrawn it was red. Again and again this was repeated until the screams
died away. Then the fakir lifted up the cover and the boy sprang out safe
and sound, and, showing his white teeth in a smile, went around collecting
coins from the bystanders.
They wandered further among the bazaars, making purchases of curios as
presents for the folks at home and adding to their personal stock of
mementos. Jim secured among other things a cane made of a rare Indian
wood, which while light was exceedingly strong and so pliable that it
could be bent almost double like a Damascus blade.
But through all the chaff and fun of the day Joe was unhappy and restless.
What he had read in the paper from home about himself poisoned everything
for him.
He had always tried to be perfectly straight and honorable in all his
business relations. His word had ever been as good as his bond. Now, at
one stroke, he saw his reputation damaged perhaps beyond mending. All over
the United States he had been pictured as a contract-breaker. He could see
the incredulity of his friends turning gradually to contempt. He fancied
he could hear them saying:
"So Joe has fallen for that game, has he? Well, they say that every man
has his price. No doubt Joe's price was high, but they found out what it
was and bought him."
Of course he had denied it, but he knew how people smiled when they read
denials. And months must pass before he could get back to America and try
to hunt out the author or authors of the story.
He tried to hide his mood under a cover of light talk and banter, but the
others felt it and sympathized with him, though all refrained from
mentioning what each of them was thinking.
All through the day his gloom persisted, and when night came and he had
retired to the room that he and Jim occupied together he felt that it
would be impossible for him to sleep.
"There's no use talking," said Jim with a yawn, as he set his cane so that
it rested against the footboard and threw off his coat preparing to
undress, "sight-seeing's the most tiring work there is. I feel more done
up to-night than if I had been pitching in a hard game."
"I'm tired too," agreed Joe, "but I don't feel the least bit like sleep."
Jim was asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. But Joe
tossed about restlessly for what seemed to him to be hours. The night was
very warm and all the windows were open to get what breath of air might be
stirring.
A broad veranda ran all around the building, not more than two feet below
the windows, and from the ground to the veranda rose a luxuriant tangle of
vines and flowers.
The moon was at the full and its light flooded a part of the room, leaving
the rest in deep shadow.
Joe at last dropped off into a doze from which he woke with a start.
He had heard nothing, but he had an uneasy consciousness that something
was wrong.
He glanced over at Jim who was peacefully sleeping. Then he raised himself
on his elbow and his glance swept the room.
Nothing seemed amiss in the lighted part, but in a darkened corner the
shadow seemed to be heavier than usual. It was as though it were piled in
a mass instead of being evenly distributed.
Then to Joe's consternation _the shadow moved_, reached the edge of
moonlight, rose higher and higher with a sickening swaying motion. From a
hideous head two sparks of fire glowed balefully and Joe knew that he was
in the presence of a giant cobra!