"We have time for a game or two yet, Doctor, and let us make it a
Jack-pot," said the major.
"All right. I'll open it for a pound," said the doctor, looking at two
cards.
"How many cards will you have?"
"I'll stand pat."
"I'll take three."
"Major, I think these are worth a fiver."
"Mine are worth ten."
"Well, let me see. I'll see that ten and raise you twenty."
"Kilters won't work in a Jack-pot. I think you're bluffing with that
pat hand."
"It will only cost you twenty pounds more to find out."
"I'll see that twenty and raise you fifty," said the major.
"There is your fifty, and one hundred on top. Now your curiosity may be
more expensive. I think it will take all that to make me even,"
rejoined the doctor. The Englishman hesitated, and raised it another
hundred.
"Well, here goes; I'll call you. I don't like high play among friends,
Major. What have you got?"
The major dropped three kings and two aces. The doctor showed four
sixes.
"I thought you played with sand, and not with cards, Doctor," remarked
the major, sarcastically.
"They are both useful in the game of poker," replied the doctor as he
tipped back in his chair.
The major's face showed signs of annoyance, but with a forced calmness
he said:
"It is early yet; shall we not continue?"
"I think we have played long enough for one sitting," responded the
doctor. "It is eleven now; recollect my consultation. I trust you may
have better luck next time."
"I hardly think it quite square to quit, and I so heavy a loser."
"I am not accustomed to having my squareness questioned, Major. My
record here and elsewhere shows no entry of unfair play; but we will not
continue this line of conversation. Gentlemen, you are my guests."
"Herr Schwatka is your friend, and mine. He shall settle the question,"
continued the major, turning to Schwatka.
"I beg you, gentlemen," said Schwatka, "to arrange this matter without
any quarrel."
"Herr Schwatka," said the doctor, slowly, "there will be no quarrel. It
takes two to make one, and I shall not be a party. I merely say, that
long play, and high play, tends to mar friendship, and we cannot afford
to be other than friends."
"Dr Fox, I regret that I have met a card sharper, instead of a
gentleman," cried the major, choking with rage.
"Major, do not lose your temper so cheaply. Name your loss and I will
return the sum to you."
The brow of Kildare clouded as black as night, and he fiercely
exclaimed:
"Do you mean to insult me, sir? I am no beggar to ask alms. You add
insult to injury, and shall answer for it."
He and Schwatka had risen to their feet during this heated colloquy.
The doctor alone remained seated.
Leaning his arm on the table he said, in a low and firm voice:
"Major, you and I cannot afford to fight. All know you are a brave man.
Your courage, as the world interprets that sentiment, no one would
question."
The quiet, unimpassioned tone of Dr Fox seemed to subdue the fiery
major, who resumed his seat as the doctor proceeded: "My definition of
the word `courage' differs widely from the general acceptation of its
meaning. Why does the commander of a regiment rush to the front, and
lead his men to the charge? Paradoxical as it may seem, fear, fear is
the impelling force; fear lest he be thought a coward. I have looked
down the barrel of a shot-gun, in a country where men go gunning for
men, as you do for chance hits at fledgelings at the game of poker."
Here the doctor rose, and proceeded to the sideboard; as he mixed a
drink, he continued:
"I am alone in the world, with no family ties. You have a wife and
family. Would it he a heroic act for me to accept a challenge from you
and perchance kill you? No, Major, I confess I am too much of a coward
to meet the anguished looks of those whom my hand had widowed and
orphaned. If you will drop in here any evening, I shall be pleased to
give you the opportunity of getting even."
Before Kildare could reply, a terrific roar and cannonading smote the
air. The three men gazed in silence at each other, with astonishment
depicted on their faces. As the cannonading continued, they rushed to
the door, and there in the bright moonlight perceived a column of smoke
rising to the height of near a thousand feet.
Looking at it, Schwatka exclaimed: "The unexpected is constantly
occurring in this town. Earthquakes shake the mine, causing the reef to
fall, thereby covering up valuable ground which must be laboriously
unearthed again. Explosions in the mines follow on the heels of some
accident caused by machinery giving way, and so it goes on, _ad
infinitum_. What's this last infernal noise about, I wonder?"
This disturbance was beyond the understanding of those men, who had
forgotten all their differences of the evening, in gazing at that
strange and monstrous cloud rising in the air, and hanging over them
with threatening aspect, as if it would descend upon the town and
destroy it.
As the noise continued, they went out into the compound, and walked in
the direction of the sound.
The midnight hour is devoted to blasting in the mines, but it was not
yet midnight. Hastening on their way to the scene of the cannonading, a
man approached, leading Mrs Laure's favourite servant, Bela. He was
covered with blood, and, holding his hand to his face, moaned piteously.
The doctor perceived that the boy's face had been terribly torn by a
flying missile.
"What is the cause of all this noise?" asked the doctor.
"The powder magazines are blown up," replied the man.
"Which ones?"
"The whole thirty."
"What do you say? Not thirty tons of dynamite?"
"Yes, together with the gelatine and the cartridges. You needn't go any
further, this boy needs your attention. I will leave him in your care,
Doctor, and return to the scene of the disaster."
"I will go with you," said Kildare. Dr Fox, accompanied by Herr
Schwatka, returned to his office with Bela. On examining the boy, the
doctor found it necessary to use his surgical skill on the boy's eye,
which had been torn from its socket.
"Well, Bela," said Schwatka, "this is a sorry piece of business, but as
one of your most interesting characteristics is lack of beauty, your
value may be enhanced by the loss of an optic! Your mistress will be
sorry to lose you, for she could not endure to see you around her
disfigured in this way." He left Bela with the doctor, and sauntered
out. After Schwatka had gone, Dr Fox gazed some time at Bela, then sat
down and wrote a letter to a London oculist, ready for that day's
English mail, ordering a glass eye for Bela, to be sent to him
immediately.
"Yes," mused the doctor, "I can place an artificial eye in that socket,
that will make you again presentable," and taking the boy by the hand,
accompanied him to the hospital, and placed him in charge of those
self-sacrificing women, who devote their lives to the alleviation of
human pain, utterly forgetful of self, in the divine love which shines
through them.
Although Bela was called "boy" by many, he was nearly forty years of
age. It is the custom of the white men to call the blacks "boys," in
speaking to them.
Bela was a "Bosjesman" or Bushman, with features of the negro type, and
short crispy black hair. He was about four feet in height, being one of
a race of pigmies, now nearly extinct. They are the oldest race known
in Africa. Though living in the midst of foreign tribes of warriors of
large stature, their traditions tell of a mighty nation who dwelt in
caves and holes in the ground, who were great elephant hunters, and who
used poisoned arrows in warfare.