"It's simply the realization of defeat," he replied evasively.
"I don't believe it, Gran'pa. You're the last man on earth to realize such a thing—still less to admit it."
He said that he was pleased to hear me say so.
"Why not be frank?" I persisted.
"Well—it's like this, George. . . . I'm worried over Sally. She is going back. . . ."
"What!" I exclaimed. "Returning to England?"
"No! No! I mean . . . receding. All the good she's got out of the life over here is rapidly being undone. After all, she's an old woman, George—and I have the feeling that—we must be quick. At her age, strange things happen. Something slips—and suddenly the wheels slow down. You must have noticed the difference in her during the last two or three weeks."
I had to admit that she certainly seemed very depressed and listless of late. At the same time, I thought that it was nothing to be alarmed about.
"I'm not alarmed!" said Gran'pa. "I'm merely taking precautions. It may be selfish of me to consider her before the rest of these old people—but it is natural, George!"
"Quite so! Then why not take her to Windhuk and let us follow later with as many gorillas as we can get by then?"