Chutney puffed a moment in silence.
"Sometimes," he said finally. "Sometimes I feel as though I should enjoy laying aside home comforts, and, gun in hand, enter the trackless forests once more. Somehow civilization palls on a man after years of campaigning. Don't you find it so, Ashby?"
"That," replied Sir Arthur, "is just what I was getting at. Generally I feel a placid contentment with things in general, but once in a while a sort of fever stirs my blood, and I long to get out and rough it somewhere. I tell you, a wild life has a certain charm about it that dies out reluctantly when the fever once gets into a man's blood. Some day I really believe I'll return to Africa, or some other wild land, for big game. I should enjoy it."
Chutney grasped his hand.
"When you do, old fellow, I'm with you," he said. But so far they have not decided on any definite arrangements. They talk it over frequently, but continue to dine at the club.
Sometimes Forbes drops in, and then from soup to the wine the conversation is sure to cling with unwavering fidelity to that topic of deepest interest—the strange and thrilling things that befell them when they were under Africa.