The Blind Lion of the Congo

Excerpt

CHAPTER I

"What's on for to-night, Burt?"

Mr. St. John, a large automobile manufacturer of New Britain, Connecticut, looked across the dinner table at his son Burton. The latter was a boy of seventeen. Although he was sturdy for his age, his features were pale and denoted hard study. As his father and mother watched him there was just a hint of anxiety in their faces.

"Lots," replied the boy. "Got a frat meeting on at seven. Then I've got to finish my last paper for the history prof."

"Can't you let the paper go?" asked his mother. "You've been working pretty hard, Burt!"

"Yes," added Mr. St. John heartily. "Forget the work, son. You've done enough papers lately for a dozen boys."

"Not much!" answered Burt earnestly. "I'm goin' to grab that Yale scholarship. There's only a week till school's out now."

At that moment a maid appeared at the dining room door.

"Mr. St. John, there's a man called, sir. He didn't give me any name and—"

She was interrupted by a tall, fur-overcoated form that brushed her aside. The visitor's hawk-like face broke instantly into an eager smile.

"Hello, good people!" cried the man, as Mr. St. John sprang to his feet. "Forgotten me, Tom?"

"George!"

"Wallace!"

"Uncle George!"

The three members of the family broke into three simultaneous cries of surprise. The next instant Mrs. St. John was in the arms of the tall man, who supported her with one hand and with the other greeted her.

"Hello, Burt! How's your grip?" he cried as he released the couple and seized the hand of their son.

"Ouch!" yelled the boy, his grin changing to expression of pain. "I ain't no wooden man!"

"Where on earth did you come from?" exclaimed Mr. St. John, taking his brother-in-law's big coat and handing it to the astonished maid. "We haven't heard from you for a year!"

"Give me something to eat, Tom, and I'll talk later." As the hawk-faced man sat down, Burt gazed at him admiringly. George William Wallace, his uncle, was the boy's greatest hero. Famous under the name of "George William" for his books on little-traveled countries, he was known widely at every end of the world. He had crossed the Turkestan deserts, helped to survey the Cape to Cairo railway, led armies in China and South America, and explored the recesses of the Sahara. In his brief intervals of relaxation he lived with the St. Johns, having no home of his own.

As he gazed, Burt half wished that his own face was not so square and angular and more like that of his uncle. Mr. Wallace was thin but of very large frame. His close-cropped hair revealed a high forehead, beneath which two intensely black eyes. A long, curving nose gave his face itshawk-like effect, and thin lips and strong chin completed the likeness to some great bird of prey.

"What are you doing with that fur overcoat in June, George?" asked Mrs. St. John with smile.

"Keeping warm!" shot back the explorer as he pushed away his plate. "This beastly rain goes to the bone, Etta. I landed only yesterday and got the first train up here after leaving my cases at the Explorers' Club."

"Come on with the yarn, uncle!" exclaimed Burt eagerly. "Where've you been this time?"

Mr. Wallace lit one of his brother-in-law's cigars with huge enjoyment and led the way to the library without answering. When all four were comfortably ensconced about the big table he started in.

"Let's see. I wrote you from Naples last time, wasn't it?" The others nodded. "That was just before the war. I got a chance to go to the front as special correspondent, and snapped it up. I hung around for a while at Tripoli, then took a trip to the Turkish camp. There I got into a scrap with a Turk officer and had to run for it. There was no place to run except into the desert, so it took me quite a while to make civilization again....