"Why not? Do I look like a Hercules?" He held up his loose-skinned hand
and shrunken wrist. "Not built for the part, certainly; but that doesn't
count, of course. Man's unconquerable soul, and all the rest of it ...
well, I was a coward every inch of me, body and soul."
He paused and glanced up and down the road. There was no one in sight.
"It happened when I was a young chap just out of college. I was travelling
round the world with another youngster of my own age and an older man--
Charles Meriton--who has since made a name for himself. You may have heard
of him."
"Meriton, the archaeologist? The man who discovered those ruined African
cities the other day?"
"That's the man. He was a college tutor then, and my father, who had known
him since he was a boy, and who had a very high opinion of him, had asked
him to make the tour with us. We both--my friend Collis and I--had an
immense admiration for Meriton. He was just the fellow to excite a boy's
enthusiasm: cool, quick, imperturbable--the kind of man whose hand is
always on the hilt of action. His explorations had led him into all sorts
of tight places, and he'd shown an extraordinary combination of
calculating patience and reckless courage. He never talked about his
doings; we picked them up from various people on our journey. He'd been
everywhere, he knew everybody, and everybody had something stirring to
tell about him. I daresay this account of the man sounds exaggerated;
perhaps it is; I've never seen him since; but at that time he seemed to me
a tremendous fellow--a kind of scientific Ajax.
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