the spirit of the thing, made a military salute and answered in a

brisk tone, "Your orders shall be attended to, chief!" Then he burst
out laughing, slapped Kayerts on the back and shouted, "We shall let

life run easily here! Just sit still and gather in the ivory those
savages will bring. This country has its good points, after all!" They

both laughed loudly while Carlier thought: "That poor Kayerts; he is
so fat and unhealthy. It would be awful if I had to bury him here. He

is a man I respect." . . . Before they reached the verandah of their
house they called one another "my dear fellow."

The first day they were very active, pottering about with hammers and
nails and red calico, to put up curtains, make their house habitable

and pretty; resolved to settle down comfortably to their new life. For
them an impossible task. To grappleeffectually with even purely

material problems requires more serenity of mind and more lofty
courage than people generally imagine. No two beings could have been

more unfitted for such a struggle. Society, not from any tenderness,
but because of its strange needs, had taken care of those two men,

forbidding them all independent thought, all initiative, all departure
from routine; and forbidding it under pain of death. They could only

live on condition of being machines. And now, released from the
fostering care of men with pens behind the ears, or of men with gold

lace on the sleeves, they were like those lifelong prisoners who,
liberated after many years, do not know what use to make of their

freedom. They did not know what use to make of their faculties, being
both, through want of practice, incapable of independent thought.

At the end of two months Kayerts often would say, "If it was not for
my Melie, you wouldn't catch me here." Melie was his daughter. He had

thrown up his post in the Administration of the Telegraphs, though he
had been for seventeen years perfectly happy there, to earn a dowry

for his girl. His wife was dead, and the child was being brought up by
his sisters. He regretted the streets, the pavements, the cafes, his

friends of many years; all the things he used to see, day after day;
all the thoughts suggested by familiar things--the thoughts

effortless, monotonous, and soothing of a Government clerk; he
regretted all the gossip, the small enmities, the mild venom, and the

little jokes of Government offices. "If I had had a decent brother-
in-law," Carlier would remark, "a fellow with a heart, I would not be

here." He had left the army and had made himself so obnoxious to his
family by his laziness and impudence, that an exasperated

brother-in-law had made superhuman efforts to procure him an appoint-
ment in the Company as a second-class agent. Having not a penny in the

world he was compelled to accept this means of livelihood as soon as
it became quite clear to him that there was nothing more to squeeze

out of his relations. He, like Kayerts, regretted his old life. He
regretted the clink of sabre and spurs on a fine afternoon, the

barrack-room witticisms, the girls of garrison towns; but, besides, he
had also a sense of grievance. He was evidently a much ill-used man.

This made him moody, at times. But the two men got on well together
in the fellowship of their stupidity and laziness. Together they did

nothing, absolutely nothing, and enjoyed the sense of the idleness
for which they were paid. And in time they came to feel something

resembling affection for one another.
They lived like blind men in a large room, aware only of what came in

contact with them (and of that only imperfectly), but unable to see
the general aspect of things. The river, the forest, all the great

land throbbing with life, were like a great emptiness. Even the
brilliant sunshine disclosed nothing intelligible. Things appeared and

disappeared before their eyes in an unconnected and aimless kind of
way. The river seemed to come from nowhere and flow nowhither. It

flowed through a void. Out of that void, at times, came canoes, and
men with spears in their hands would suddenly crowd the yard of the

station. They were naked, glossy black, ornamented with snowy shells
and glistening brass wire, perfect of limb. They made an uncouth

babbling noise when they spoke, moved in a stately manner, and sent
quick, wild glances out of their startled, never-resting eyes. Those

warriors would squat in long rows, four or more deep, before the
verandah, while their chiefs bargained for hours with Makola over an

elephant tusk. Kayerts sat on his chair and looked down on the
proceedings, understanding nothing. He stared at them with his round

blue eyes, called out to Carlier, "Here, look! look at that fellow
there--and that other one, to the left. Did you ever such a face? Oh,

the funny brute!"
Carlier, smoking native tobacco in a short wooden pipe, would swagger

up twirling his moustaches, and surveying the warriors with haughty
indulgence, would say--

"Fine animals. Brought any bone? Yes? It's not any too soon. Look at
the muscles of that fellow third from the end. I wouldn't care to get

a punch on the nose from him. Fine arms, but legs no good below the
knee. Couldn't make cavalry men of them." And after glancing down

complacently at his own shanks, he always concluded: "Pah! Don't they
stink! You, Makola! Take that herd over to the fetish" (the storehouse

was in every station called the fetish, perhaps because of the spirit
of civilization it contained) "and give them up some of the rubbish

you keep there. I'd rather see it full of bone than full of rags."
Kayerts approved.

"Yes, yes! Go and finish that palaver over there, Mr. Makola. I will
come round when you are ready, to weigh the tusk. We must be careful."

Then turning to his companion: "This is the tribe that lives down
the river; they are rather aromatic. I remember, they had been once

before here. D'ye hear that row? What a fellow has got to put up with
in this dog of a country! My head is split."

Such profitable visits were rare. For days the two pioneers of trade
and progress would look on their empty courtyard in the vibrating

brilliance of verticalsunshine. Below the high bank, the silent river
flowed on glittering and steady. On the sands in the middle of the

stream, hippos and alligators sunned themselves side by side. And
stretching away in all directions, surrounding the insignificant

cleared spot of the trading post, immense forests, hiding fateful
complications of fantastic life, lay in the eloquent silence of mute

greatness. The two men understood nothing, cared for nothing but for
the passage of days that separated them from the steamer's return.

Their predecessor had left some torn books. They took up these wrecks
of novels, and, as they had never read anything of the kind before,

they were surprised and amused. Then during long days there were
interminable and silly discussions about plots and personages. In the

centre of Africa they made acquaintance of Richelieu and of
d'Artagnan, of Hawk's Eye and of Father Goriot, and of many other

people. All these imaginary personages became subjects for gossip as
if they had been living friends. They discounted their virtues,

suspected their motives, decried their successes; were scandalized at
their duplicity or were doubtful about their courage. The accounts of

crimes filled them with indignation, while tender or pathetic passages
moved them deeply. Carlier cleared his throat and said in a soldierly

voice, "What nonsense!" Kayerts, his round eyes suffused with tears,
his fat cheeks quivering, rubbed his bald head, and declared. "This is

a splendid book. I had no idea there were such clever fellows in the
world." They also found some old copies of a home paper. That print

discussed what it was pleased to call "Our Colonial Expansion" in
high-flown language. It spoke much of the rights and duties of

civilization, of the sacredness of the civilizing work, and extolled
the merits of those who went about bringing light, and faith and

commerce to the dark places of the earth. Carlier and Kayerts read,
wondered, and began to think better of themselves. Carlier said one

evening, waving his hand about, "In a hundred years, there will be
perhaps a town here. Quays, and warehouses, and barracks,

and--and--billiard-rooms. Civilization, my boy, and virtue--and all.
And then, chaps will read that two good fellows, Kayerts and Carlier,

were the first civilized men to live in this very spot!" Kayerts