It is curious how the brain works in these hours of discomfort and abnormal stress. The one thing that occupied Carter's mind was a rather good specimen of Okky war horn. It had been of ivory, massive, well-carved, and with a mouthpiece of more than usual elaboration. In fact, it was the finest specimen he had come across, and he was a judge. He had purchased it from its native owner to copy for Mr. Balgarnie's markets. But he had seen Kate's eye upon it just before the _Frau Pobst_ took her away, and with the impulse of the moment had given it to her. She took it at once, and thanked him lightly enough, and he told himself, forgot it a moment later. A thousand times he called himself an ass for trying to keep in her memory. What was he, a factory clerk, to Miss O'Neill? And what, indeed, was Miss O'Neill to him--an engaged man? The bush rustled back at him: "Laura is--well, what you know. Laura's got a lick of the tar brush. Laura is probably the identical person a certain reverend gentleman in Upper Wharfedale especially warned you against. Laura may pass muster in Grand Canary, but she won't do further North. Fancy Laura in Wharfedale!" Good God, in Wharfedale! Now he came to think of it, he had never talked to Laura about home, and the moors, and the grouse, and the roses. He laughed noisily at his fancies, and a flock of red and gray parrots came on to the tree tops above and cawed at him. Well, after all, there were plenty of Englishmen who lived out of England. He might initiate a new era. He might be one of the first English colonists who looked upon West Africa as a home, not a place of exile. He rubbed the sweat from his face with a long forefinger and plodded on-- Why not? He seemed to have the knack of health. Why should not he and Laura become powers in the Oil Rivers? They might well rise to the rule of cities and territories. Then a voice brought him to earth again. Someone hailed him from the rear. "Carter, O Carter!" It was the excellent White-Man's-Trouble, who came up sullen, frightened and abusive. His cheek-bones were whitened with lime, in token of some ju-ju charm. He took over the battered Gladstone bag, and balanced it on the centre plot of his own elaborately shaven cranium. "I no fit for lib at dem factory an' know you carry dem load in dem dam-fool way," said the Krooboy crustily.