And so, three days later, Tiny Desmond and Colin Sinclair were informed that they were to hold themselves in readiness to sail on S.S. Huldebras for Cape Town, en route to the wilds of East Africa.
CHAPTER III
FAREWELL
Next morning Colin Sinclair bade farewell to Stockmere School. It cannot be said that he did so reluctantly. His mind was so full of the tremendous adventure which confronted him that he hardly realised he was passing another landmark in his career.
He had parted with his school-fellows amid unanimous good wishes and envious regrets. Mr. Collier, his housemaster, gave him some sound advice, which, seemingly falling upon deaf ears, served a useful purpose before many months had passed. He also handed the lad a small box wrapped up in brown paper—a gift that Colin afterwards found to be a tabloid medicine chest.
The Head was moved to the verge of tears during his farewell interview, at which Colin wondered. There seemed a vast difference between the austere pedagogue and the frail, sympathetic man—yet they were one and the same.
"And, Colin," he concluded, "I want you to accept and use this little gift. You will find it more of a protection than a rifle."
Sinclair took the proffered parcel with undisguised curiosity. By the feel of it it was like a large revolver, which, he thought, was a strange choice on the part of the learned Dr. Narfield. But when the wrappings were removed a plated article that looked like a motor-pump and carburetter was displayed.
"It's a filter," explained the Head. "Impure water is, as you know, one of the greatest sources of disease in tropical countries. So always filter your drinking water, Colin, and if it is possible, boil it as well. One cannot be too careful in that respect. I remember as a young man—eheu, fugaces—when I was engaged in a scientific expedition in South America how a lack of pure water hampered our work and endangered the health of the whole party. Well, good-bye, Colin, and God-speed."