"Look at the grass," he said; "it's homeland grass—that's the seductive part of it; I nearly camped here myself. Come, my friend, let me take you to my camp."
Mainward shook his head obstinately.
"I'm obliged, but I'll stay here for a day or so. I want to try the supernatural effects of this pleasant place," he said with a weary smile. "I've got so many thoughts that need treatment."
"Look here," said Sanders roughly, "you know jolly well how this forest got its name; it is called Happy Dreams because it's impregnated with fever, and with every disease from beri-beri to sleeping sickness. You don't wake from the dreams you dream here. Man, I know this country, and you're a newcomer; you've trekked here because you wanted to get away from life and start all over again."
"I beg your pardon." Mainward's face flushed; and he spoke a little stiffly.
"Oh, I know all about you—didn't I tell you I was the Commissioner? I was in England when things were going rocky with you, and I've read the rest in the papers I get from time to time. But all that is nothing to me. I'm here to help you start fair. If you had wanted to commit suicide, why come to Africa to do it? Be sensible and shift your camp; I'll send my steamer back for your men. Will you come?"
"No," said Mainward sulkily. "I don't want to, I'm not keen; besides, I'm not fit to travel."
Here was an argument which Sanders could not answer. He was none too sure upon that point himself, and he hesitated before he spoke again.
"Very well," he said at length, "suppose you stay another day to give you a chance to pull yourself together. I'll come along to-morrow with a tip-top invalid chair for you—is it a bet?"
Mainward held out his shaking hand, and the ghost of a smile puckered the corners of his eyes. "It's a bet," he said.