w ever many cups of tea
did he drink afterwards?'

The above was all the avowal that Browne made to me. I do not
think that he said nearly as much to Drayton as he did to me.
Drayton plied me with questions that night, and I told him too
much, to my regret.

Months afterwards a copy of an undergraduate paper, containing a
fantasia on the events that I have recorded, reached me. It
comprised much African coloring and some little humor. I wonder
if it reached Browne or Mrs. Browne?

We got Browne home in little over a day. He hurried on,
oftentimes when we wanted to rest. He seemed as anxious to emerge
from the African desert as he had been to explore the deeps of
it. He looked rakish and wretched as he bumped about upon his
mule. His face was livid, and his black beard, that he used to
cut so formally, desperately out of trim. His eyes were strangely
bloodshot.

We reached home safely with our prize by noon on Saturday.
Browne, as I have said, was all for getting on fast, and when we
once started, his stubborn mount went well. It was won to
emulation by the willingness of our ponies, I imagine.

Mrs. Browne was delighted at her Gerald's return. Yet I think it
must have taken some months to restore her confidence in his
sanity. She had had a sore shock. Drayton and I, indeed, were
both discreet in our brief narratives of what had really
happened. But I was heedless enough to forget Johannes. I did not
caution him in time. So Mrs. Browne gathered rather a bizarre
account from him while we were at church on Sunday evening. It is
to her credit that, despite her thrift, she gave the boy a whole
gold sovereign.

The three travelers left by the slow down-train on the Monday
morning. I went to the station with them. I saw Drayton into a
smoking-carriage, and climbed in and sat with him. There was
still ten minutes' grace allowed us.

'Where's Browne, and where's Mrs. Browne?' I asked.

'Along there, ever so far!' he said; 'with Professor Ayres and
the Misses Ayres, and all sorts of good company. But, hullo! Look
there!'

Browne was coming up the platform towards the bookstall, looking
forlorn and sad.

'Ah! what can ail thee, wretched wight, Alone and palely
loitering?' murmured Drayton. 'It's a bad job for me, Jerry's
getting off-color like this. How's he going to train men for
Firsts next June, when he's gone in himself?'

'Oh. he'll pick up as soon as he gets out of Africa, never fear.'
I reassured him.