Тарзан, приёмыш обезьян
The Outpost of the World
OccasionallyheglancedatTarzan;buttheape-mansatuponhishaunches,likeacarvenimage,hiseyesfixedupontheground.
Onlywhenthelittlebabewasmentioneddidthetoneofthediaryalterfromthehabitualnoteofdespairwhichhadcreptintoitbydegreesafterthefirsttwomonthsupontheshore.
Thenthepassagesweretingedwithasubduedhappinessthatwasevensadderthantherest.
Oneentryshowedanalmosthopefulspirit.
To-dayourlittleboyissixmonthsold.HeissittinginAlice’slapbesidethetablewhereIamwriting—ahappy,healthy,perfectchild.
Somehow,evenagainstallreason,Iseemtoseehimagrownman,takinghisfather’splaceintheworld—thesecondJohnClayton—andbringingaddedhonorstothehouseofGreystoke.
There—asthoughtogivemyprophecytheweightofhisendorsement—hehasgrabbedmypeninhischubbyfistsandwithhisinkbegrimedlittlefingershasplacedthesealofhistinyfingerprintsuponthepage.
Andthere,onthemarginofthepage,werethepartiallyblurredimprintsoffourweefingersandtheouterhalfofthethumb.
WhenD’Arnothadfinishedthediarythetwomensatinsilenceforsomeminutes.
"Well!TarzanoftheApes,whatthinkyou?"askedD’Arnot."Doesnotthislittlebookclearupthemysteryofyourparentage?
"Whyman,youareLordGreystoke.
