Page:The Ball and the Cross.djvu/259

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The Desert Island
249

MacIan continued to make his way in that direction. It looked as if he were wounded; or, still more, as if he were ill. He wavered as he came down the slope and seemed flinging himself into peculiar postures. But it was only when he came within three feet of MacIan’s face, that that observer of mankind fully realised that Mr. James Turnbull was roaring with laughter.

“You are quite right,” sobbed that wholly demoralised journalist. “He’s black, oh, there’s no doubt the black’s all right—as far as it goes.” And he went off again into convulsions of his humourous ailment.

“What ever is the matter with you?” asked MacIan, with stern impatience. “Did you see the nigger——”

“I saw the nigger,” gasped Turnbull. “I saw the splendid barbarian Chief. I saw the Emperor of Ethiopia—oh, I saw him all right. The nigger’s hands and face are a lovely colour—and the nigger—” And he was overtaken once more.

“Well, well, well,” said Evan, stamping each monosyllable on the sand, “what about the nigger?”

“Well, the truth is,” said Turnbull, suddenly and startlingly, becoming quite grave and precise,

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