I glanced at my bruised and bloodstained legs and arms.
"I'd like you to have ten minutes with that snake I met. You'd be a much better man for it—if you were spared!"
"Don't be so vindictive, George! It was your own fault. You shouldn't go wandering about the jungle alone! You ought to have known better."
"Oh, rats!" I exclaimed. "I'm fed up with this. I've had quite enough for one day—and I want my tea. . . . I'm going home."
"Go back to the aerodrome by all means, but at least wait there until the rest of us are ready to return."
I could feel my temper rising rapidly and could also see that Gran'pa was in one of his calm, sarcastic, irritating moods. It was safer to go, before I rose in my wrath and smote him.
"Very well!" I snapped. "Lend me a black to take me back."
Without another word to me, Gran'pa beckoned to one of them, told him to escort me to the aerodrome, and then walked away in the direction of his cage, softly whistling to himself.
I left immediately, deliberately stifling all desire for a reconciliation. I would not stand any more of this rejuvenated old man's impertinence. Damn him and his collection of doddering ancients! Why should I endanger my health and vitality as a gland-snatching maniac in the middle of a jungle? For two pins I'd mutiny and return to England. . . .
My temper rose. So did my temperature. And the upshot of it was that my complaint was diagnosed that evening as malaria.