Загублений світ
I was the Flail of the Lord
YouandIcouldbeasfarawayfromeachotherasScotlandisfromConstantinople,andyeteachofusbeinthesamegreatBrazilianforest.Manhasjustmadeatrackhereandascrapethereinthemaze.Why,theriverrisesandfallsthebestpartoffortyfeet,andhalfthecountryisamorassthatyoucan’tpassover.Whyshouldn’tsomethin’newandwonderfullieinsuchacountry?Andwhyshouldn’twebethementofinditout?Besides,"headded,hisqueer,gauntfaceshiningwithdelight,"there’sasportin’riskineverymileofit.I’mlikeanoldgolf-ball—I’vehadallthewhitepaintknockedoffmelongago.Lifecanwhackmeaboutnow,anditcan’tleaveamark.Butasportin’risk,youngfellah,that’sthesaltofexistence.Thenit’sworthlivin’again.We’reallgettin’adealtoosoftanddullandcomfy.Givemethegreatwastelandsandthewidespaces,withaguninmyfistandsomethin’tolookforthat’sworthfindin’.I’vetriedwarandsteeplechasin’andaeroplanes,butthishuntin’ofbeaststhatlooklikealobster-supperdreamisabrand-newsensation."Hechuckledwithgleeattheprospect.
PerhapsIhavedwelttoolonguponthisnewacquaintance,butheistobemycomradeformanyaday,andsoIhavetriedtosethimdownasIfirstsawhim,withhisquaintpersonalityandhisqueerlittletricksofspeechandofthought.Itwasonlytheneedofgettingintheaccountofmymeetingwhichdrewmeatlastfromhiscompany.Ilefthimseatedamidhispinkradiance,oilingthelockofhisfavoriterifle,whilehestillchuckledtohimselfatthethoughtoftheadventureswhichawaitedus.ItwasverycleartomethatifdangerslaybeforeusIcouldnotinallEnglandhavefoundacoolerheadorabraverspiritwithwhichtosharethem.
Thatnight,weariedasIwasafterthewonderfulhappeningsoftheday,IsatlatewithMcArdle,thenewseditor,explainingtohimthewholesituation,whichhethoughtimportantenoughtobringnextmorningbeforethenoticeofSirGeorgeBeaumont,thechief.
