The Savage Gentleman by Philip Wylie Read Free Book Online

the power of consoling him when he had been hurt or frightened and of amusing him when time hung heavy on his small hands.

    Time was seldom freighted for him, however. His progress was due largely to the fact that his life became the principal concern of the three men--their entertainment, their escape, their amusement, their pride--and, in different ways, the outlet for what might have been their love.

    Stone permitted no great show of affection or friendship. He insisted on justice, prohibited pampering, and developed a code of relationships in which he was master, McCobb was a sort of uncle, and Jack was a privileged retainer.

    Henry loved the life. He was born, in any case, to love life and he knew no other existence.

    In the morning he would wake with the birds. He would go to the beach; accompanied by Jack who carried a rifle--in all those years vigilance had not relaxed and there had been occasions to justify it--and swim inside the net. Then he would feed the chickens. After that he would have breakfast with his father and "Mr. McCobb."

    When breakfast was finished, lessons began. At six he was reading and using a dictionary for the words he did not know; he had commenced arithmetic; he was studying geography; he could write quite well; and McCobb was teaching him how to weave baskets and mats and hats and how to make maps out of clay and book-ends from boards cut with a scroll saw.

    After lunch, for one hour, he rested. Then he was permitted to join in the life of his community. Sometimes he went fishing with Jack. Sometimes he walked along the beach with McCobb and learned about the things that lived there--or into the woods with his father. He volunteered for everything-from washing the clothes to butchering one of the tame zebus.

    Often he gave cause for alarm.

    There was the momentous day when his wail came horn the edge of the stockade on the inside. "Father! Father!" Stone ran through the door. His son was standing on something.

    "Come here! I got one."

    "One what?"

    "Snake."

    Stone ran.

    Henry was standing on the end of a stick--the opposite end of which pinioned to, earth a venomous serpent.

    White-faced, Stone dispatched the reptile. His fear made him angry.

    "Don't you know any better than to meddle with a thing like that?"

    Henry nodded his head.

    "I know better. But it was coming after me so I picked up the stick and put it 'on it.
    I couldn't hold it down with my hands so I stood on it. Then I couldn't reach it and there weren't any stones or sticks--so I had to get somebody."

    "Good Lord."

    "It was just starting to slip when you came."

    Stone realized that his son's embarrassment and careful explanation was in apology for the fact that he had found it necessary to summon assistance. He did not, at that precise moment, take the trouble to admire the quality.

    "After this, if you see a snake, you get out of its way as fast as you can and call someone immediately."

    There was the day when Stone himself had carelessly left open the clear of the stockade. Henry had wandered out and McCobb had shut the portal. They had not missed the child for what they afterward assumed to be more than an hour.

    Jack announced the first sign of the disappearance.

    "I'm looking for Mr. Henry."

    Stone, who was reading on the porch, glanced from his book at his watch.

    "He's probably out with McCobb."

    "No, sir. Mr. McCobb's in the shop making shoes."

    "Then he's around the compound. Henry!" Stone called through the window in the tone parents use the world over to summon their offspring.

    No answer.

    "You'll find him."

    Ten minutes later a grayish Jack returned.

    "He's gone."

    "Gone!"

    Stone's book dropped.

    In a second he was in the yard. He had picked up his rifle. Tack had summoned McCobb. They threw open the gate.

    "That way, McCobb. I'll go this. You take it to the beach, Jack."

    Jack nodded and flourished the butcher knife which he had snatched from the kitchen table. His expression