“Well, he’ll come back a queerer figure than he went, I suppose,� said Wilding White.
“He couldn’t,� answered Hood, the lawyer, shaking his head. “I don’t believe all the devil-worship in Africa could make him any madder than he is.�
“But he’s going to America first, isn’t he?� said the other.
“Yes,� said Hood. “He’s going to America, but not to see the Americans. He would think the Americans very dull compared with the American Indians. Possibly he will come back in feathers and war-paint.�
“He’ll come back scalped, I suppose,� said White hopefully. “I suppose being scalped is all the rage in the best Red Indian society?�
“Then he’s working round by the South Sea Islands,� said Hood. “They don’t scalp people there; they only stew them in pots.�
“He couldn’t very well come back stewed,� said White, musing. “Does it strike you, Owen, that we should hardly be talking nonsense like this if we hadn’t a curious faith that a fellow like Crane will know how to look after himself?�
“Yes,� said Hood gravely. “I’ve got a very fixed fundamental conviction that Crane will turn up again all right. But it’s true that he may look jolly queer after going fantee for all that time.�
It became a sort of pastime at the club of the Lunatics to compete in speculations about the guise in which the maddest of their madmen would return, after being so long lost to civilization. And grand preparations were made as for a sort of Walpurgis Night of nonsense when it was known at last that he was really returning. Hood had received letters from him occasionally, full of queer mythologies, and then a rapid succession of telegrams from places nearer and nearer home, culminating in the announcement that he would appear in the club that night. It was about five minutes before dinnertime that a sharp knock on the door announced his arrival.
“Bang all the gongs and the tom-toms,� cried Wilding White. “The Lord High Mumbo-Jumbo arrives riding on the nightmare.�