“Butler has told me how useful you’ve been to us,” said Jessup. His voice was a little high but he did not have the trick of over-articulation which used to be so common among educated Negroes in earlier times, a peculiarity they shared with Baptist clergymen and professional poets. “I’ve done what I could, little as it is,” I said ceremoniously. Then, without protest, I allowed them to lead me out onto the terrace which overlooked the setting sun and the muddy river. “We planned to see you when Jack, here, arrived,” said Butler expansively when we were seated, a tray of gin and ice and tonic water set before us by a waiter who was used now to American ways. “But you had the sign on your door so I told Jack we’d better wait, till Mr Hudson is feeling better. You _are_ okay now, aren’t you?” “Somewhat better,” I said, enjoying the British gin: I’d had none since I left Cairo. “At my age one is either dead or all right. I seem not to be dead.” “How I envy you!” said Jessup solemnly. His voice though high was strong. “Envy me?” For a moment I did not quite understand. “To be so near the blessed state! Not to see the sun again and feel the body quivering with corrupt life ... oh, what I should give to be as old as you!” “You could always commit suicide,” I said irritably, forgetting my role as an amiable soft-headed old cretin. This stopped him for only the space of a single surprised breath. “Cavesway is not possible for his servants,” he said at last, patiently. “You have not perhaps followed his logic as carefully as you might had you been living in the civilized world.” He looked at me with his bright dark eyes inscrutably focused. Why are you here? I wanted to ask furiously, _finally_, but I only nodded my head meekly and said, “So much has changed since I came out here. I do recall, though, that Cavesway was considered desirable for all.” “It is ... but not for his servants who must, through living, sacrifice their comfort ... it is our humiliation, our martyrdom in his behalf. Even the humblest man or woman can avail themselves of Cavesway unlike us, his servants, who must live, disgusting as the prospect is, made bearable only by the knowledge that we are doing his work, communicating his word.” “What courage it must take to give up Cavesway!” I intoned with reverent awe. “It is the least we can do for him.” The bright sun resembled that red-gold disk which sits on the brow of Horus. A hot wind of Numidia stirred the dry foliage about us. I could smell the metallic odor of the Nile’s water. A muezzin called, high and toneless in the evening. “Before I slip off into the better state,” I said at last, emboldened by gin, “I should like to know as much as possible about the new world the Cavites have made. I left the United States shortly after Cave took his way. I have never been back.” “How soon after?” The question came too fast. I gripped the arms of my chair tightly.