Plays: Lady Frederick, The Explorer, A Man of Honor Part 66

Do you know that he will have to suffer every sort of danger and privation, that often he will be parched by the heat, and often soaked to the skin for days together? Sometimes he'll not have enough to eat, and he'll have to work harder than a navvy.

LUCY.

Do you hear, George? Are you willing to go?

GEORGE.

I'll do anything you want me to, Lucy.

ALEC.

And you know that he may get killed. There may be a good deal of fighting.

LUCY.

If he dies a brave man's death, I have nothing more to ask.

ALEC.

[_To_ GEORGE.] Very well. Come with me, and I'll do my best for you.

LUCY.

Ah, thanks. You are really my friend.

ALEC.

And when I come back?

LUCY.

Then, if you still care, ask your question again.

ALEC.

And the answer?

LUCY.

[_With a little smile._] The answer, perhaps, will be different.

END OF THE FIRST ACT

THE SECOND ACT

SCENE: ALEC MACKENZIE'S _tent in North-East Africa. It is night.

The place is dimly lighted. There is a little camp bed in one corner with a mosquito net over it. There are two or three folding chairs, some tin cases, and a table. On this a gun is lying._

d.i.c.k _is seated with his head on his hands, leaning on the table, fast asleep_. DR. ADAMSON, _the surgeon of the expedition, comes in. He is a large-boned brawny fellow with a Scotch accent. He looks at_ d.i.c.k _and smiles_.

DOCTOR.

Hulloa, there! [d.i.c.k _starts up and seizes the gun. The_ DOCTOR _laughs_.] All right. Don't shoot. It's only me.

d.i.c.k.

[_With a laugh._] Why the d.i.c.kens did you wake me up? I was dreaming--dreaming of a high-heeled boot and a neat ankle, and the swish of a white lace petticoat.

DOCTOR.

I thought I'd just have a look at your arm.

d.i.c.k.

It's one of the most aesthetic sights I know.

DOCTOR.

Your arm?

d.i.c.k.

A pretty woman crossing Piccadilly at Swan and Edgar's. You are a savage, my good doctor, and a barbarian. You don't know the care and forethought, the hours of anxious meditation, it has needed for her to hold up that well-made skirt with the elegant grace which enchants you.

DOCTOR.

I'm afraid you're a very immoral man, Lomas.

d.i.c.k.

Ah, my dear fellow, at my time of life I have to content myself with condemning the behaviour of the younger generation. Even a camp bed in a stuffy tent with mosquitoes buzzing all around me has allurements greater than those of youth and beauty. And I declare for all women to hear that I am proof against their wiles. Give me a comfortable bed to sleep in, plenty to eat, tobacco to smoke, and Amaryllis may go hang.

DOCTOR.

Well, let's look at this wound of yours. Has it been throbbing at all?

d.i.c.k.

Oh, it's not worth bothering about. It'll be all right to-morrow.

DOCTOR.