The Return of Tarzan Edgar Rice Burroughs (e book reader for pc .TXT) đ
- Author: Edgar Rice Burroughs
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âCertainly, I quite understand, my dear fellow,â Tennington had replied. âBut you are to be congratulatedâ âripping girl, donât you knowâ âreally.â
The next day it came. Mrs. Strong, Hazel, and Monsieur Thuran were Lord Tenningtonâs guests aboard his yacht. Mrs. Strong had been telling them how much she had enjoyed her visit at Cape Town, and that she regretted that a letter just received from her attorneys in Baltimore had necessitated her cutting her visit shorter than they had intended.
âWhen do you sail?â asked Tennington.
âThe first of the week, I think,â she replied.
âIndeed?â exclaimed Monsieur Thuran. âI am very fortunate. I, too, have found that I must return at once, and now I shall have the honor of accompanying and serving you.â
âThat is nice of you, Monsieur Thuran,â replied Mrs. Strong. âI am sure that we shall be glad to place ourselves under your protection.â But in the bottom of her heart was the wish that they might escape him. Why, she could not have told.
âBy Jove!â ejaculated Lord Tennington, a moment later. âBully idea, by Jove!â
âYes, Tennington, of course,â ventured Clayton; âit must be a bully idea if you had it, but what the deuce is it? Goinâ to steam to China via the south pole?â
âOh, I say now, Clayton,â returned Tennington, âyou neednât be so rough on a fellow just because you didnât happen to suggest this trip yourselfâ âyouâve acted a regular bounder ever since we sailed.
âNo, sir,â he continued, âitâs a bully idea, and youâll all say so. Itâs to take Mrs. Strong and Miss Strong, and Thuran, too, if heâll come, as far as England with us on the yacht. Now, isnât that a corker?â
âForgive me, Tenny, old boy,â cried Clayton. âIt certainly is a corking ideaâ âI never should have suspected you of it. Youâre quite sure itâs original, are you?â
âAnd weâll sail the first of the week, or any other time that suits your convenience, Mrs. Strong,â concluded the bighearted Englishman, as though the thing were all arranged except the sailing date.
âMercy, Lord Tennington, you havenât even given us an opportunity to thank you, much less decide whether we shall be able to accept your generous invitation,â said Mrs. Strong.
âWhy, of course youâll come,â responded Tennington. âWeâll make as good time as any passenger boat, and youâll be fully as comfortable; and, anyway, we all want you, and wonât take no for an answer.â
And so it was settled that they should sail the following Monday.
Two days out the girls were sitting in Hazelâs cabin, looking at some prints she had had finished in Cape Town. They represented all the pictures she had taken since she had left America, and the girls were both engrossed in them, Jane asking many questions, and Hazel keeping up a perfect torrent of comment and explanation of the various scenes and people.
âAnd here,â she said suddenly, âhereâs a man you know. Poor fellow, I have so often intended asking you about him, but I never have been able to think of it when we were together.â She was holding the little print so that Jane did not see the face of the man it portrayed.
âHis name was John Caldwell,â continued Hazel. âDo you recall him? He said that he met you in America. He is an Englishman.â
âI do not recollect the name,â replied Jane. âLet me see the picture.â
âThe poor fellow was lost overboard on our trip down the coast,â she said, as she handed the print to Jane.
âLost overâ âWhy, Hazel, Hazelâ âdonât tell me that he is deadâ âdrowned at sea! Hazel! Why donât you say that you are joking!â And before the astonished Miss Strong could catch her Jane Porter had slipped to the floor in a swoon.
After Hazel had restored her chum to consciousness she sat looking at her for a long time before either spoke.
âI did not know, Jane,â said Hazel, in a constrained voice, âthat you knew Mr. Caldwell so intimately that his death could prove such a shock to you.â
âJohn Caldwell?â questioned Miss Porter. âYou do not mean to tell me that you do not know who this man was, Hazel?â
âWhy, yes, Jane; I know perfectly well who he wasâ âhis name was John Caldwell; he was from London.â
âOh, Hazel, I wish I could believe it,â moaned the girl. âI wish I could believe it, but those features are burned so deep into my memory and my heart that I should recognize them anywhere in the world from among a thousand others, who might appear identical to anyone but me.â
âWhat do you mean, Jane?â cried Hazel, now thoroughly alarmed. âWho do you think it is?â
âI donât think, Hazel. I know that that is a picture of Tarzan of the Apes.â
âJane!â
âI cannot be mistaken. Oh, Hazel, are you sure that he is dead? Can there be no mistake?â
âI am afraid not, dear,â answered Hazel sadly. âI wish I could think that you are mistaken, but now a hundred and one little pieces of corroborative evidence occur to me that meant nothing to me while I thought that he was John Caldwell, of London. He said that he had been born in Africa, and educated in France.â
âYes, that would be true,â murmured Jane Porter dully.
âThe first officer, who searched his luggage, found nothing to identify John Caldwell, of London. Practically all his belongings had been made, or purchased, in Paris. Everything that bore an initial was marked either with a âTâ alone, or with âJ. C. T.â We thought that he was traveling incognito under his first two namesâ âthe J. C. standing for John Caldwell.â
âTarzan of the Apes took the name Jean C. Tarzan,â said Jane, in the same lifeless
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