get!"

I say I should have gone away with that image and that word. But just at
the instant I saw a curious thing--and heard another. From the spot
where Sutton had dropped it, Chris Wickwire had retrieved the book. He
opened the volume on his knee and turned it around and over with a
gesture entirely casual.

"Aye," he said, as he settled himself contentedly on his pillow.
"Aye--well, I'll just sit here with this for a while. It's a grand book,
beyond the pen o' men an' angels; I often wunner how I got along without
one. Ye've no notion what comfort I've found just to sit an' haud in my
twa hands such a staff o' immortal truth!"...

Had he forgotten? Had he anything or any need to forget? I could not
tell: but this I know and this I saw while he twinkled at me through a
puff of smoke before I fled from the doorway, that the book on his knee
as he turned it and rippled its worn pages--the book, I say, was _right
side up_!

AMOK

Merry saw how the thing was done one steamy hot day at Palembang, and he
saw quite stark and plain. He had a first balcony seat to the
performance, as you might say, for he was leaning from a raised and
shaded veranda on the river street when it happened just below him.
Also, by some chance or other, he was almost completely sober at the
time. And this is the thing the sobered Merry saw:

From a doorway just across sprang suddenly out and down to the muddy
level a little stout-shouldered half-naked Malay with a face mottled and
bluish, with foam on his lip a creese in his hand. Forthright he drove
into the crowd like a reaper into standing grain. His blade rose and
fell in a crimson flicker, and he strode over the bodies of two victims
before the people were aware of him and fled streaming through alleys
and bolt holes. Then the terrible hoarse cry of the man hunt began to
muster, and furious swart figures to start back out of the mass and to
line the course with bright points of steel. The murderer neither paused
nor turned aside, but held straight on, hewing steadily and silently,
until the weapons bristled thick about him and he went down at last like
a malignant slug under a tumble of stinging wasps.

Merry resumed breathing with a conscious effort and loosed his clutch of
the balcony rail....

"What--was that?" he wanted to know.

A stolid and rather shabby client of the Dutch marine persuasion drew
stolidly on a cheroot and craned over to count the huddled bundles that