Next day his valet brought him with his morning beverage a piece of flat rock. On it was carved a simple human thigh-bone. He uttered a loud cry. She had rejected him. The parcel-post, an hour later, brought him his own ideograph, returned without a word.
Ug’s greatest friend in the tribe was Jug, son of Mug, a youth of extra-ordinary tact and intelligence. To him Ug took his trouble.
Jug heard his story, and asked to see exactly what he had ideographed.
“You must have expressed yourself badly”, he said.
“On the contrary”, replied Ug, with some pique, “my proposal was brief, but it was a model of what that sort of proposal should be. Here it is. Read it for yourself.”
Jug read it. Then he looked at his friend, concerned.
“But, my dear old man, what on earth did you mean by saying she has red hair and that you hate the sight of her?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, this ichthyosaurus.”
“That’s not an ichthyosaurus. It’s a brontosaurus.”
“It’s not a bit like a brontosaurus. And is rather like an ichthyosaurus. Where you went wrong was in not taking a few simple lessons in this sort of thing first.”
“If you ask me”, said Ug disgustedly, “this picture-writing is silly rot. Tomorrow I start an Alphabet.”
* * * * *
But on the morrow he was otherwise employed. He was standing, concealed behind a rock, at the mouth of the cave of Wug, daughter of Glug. There was a dreamy look in his eyes, and his fingers were clasped like steel bands round the handle of one of the most business- like clubs the Stone Age had ever seen. Orthodoxy had found another disciple.
EGBERT, BULL-FROG
“Speaking”, said my uncle James, “of dogs, did I ever tell you about Egbert, my bull-frog? I class Egbert among the dogs, partly because of his faithfulness and intelligence, and partly because his deep bay — you know how those bull-frogs bark — always reminded me of a bloodhound surprised while on a trail of aniseed. He was my constant companion in Northern Assam, where I was at that time planting rubber. He finally died of a surfeit of hard-boiled egg, of which he was passionately fond, and I was as miserable as if I had lost a brother.
“I think Egbert had been trying to edge into the household for some time before I really noticed him. Looking back, I can remember meeting him sometimes in the garden, and, though I did not perceive it at first, there was a wistful look in his eye when I passed him by without speaking. It was not till our burglary that I began really to understand his sterling worth. A couple of natives were breaking in and would undoubtedly have succeeded in their designs had it not been for Egbert’s frantic barking, which aroused the house and brought me down with a revolver. It is almost certain that the devoted animal had made a practice, night after night, of sleeping near the front- door on the chance of something of the sort happening. He was always suspicious of natives.
“After that of course his position in the house was established. He slept every night at the foot of my bed, and very soothing it was to hear his deep rhythmical breathing in the darkness.
“In the daytime we were inseparable. We would go for walks together, and I have frequently spent hours throwing sticks into the pond at the bottom of the garden for him to retrieve. It was this practice which saved his life at the greatest crisis of his career.
“I happened to have strained my leg, and I was sitting in the garden, dozing, Egbert by my side, when I was awakened by a hoarse bark from my faithful companion, and, looking down, I perceived him hopping rapidly towards the pond, pursued by an enormous oojoobwa snake, a reptile not dangerous to man, being non-poisonous, but a great scourge among the minor fauna of Assam, owing to its habit of pouncing upon them and swallowing them alive. This snake is particularly addicted to bull-frogs, and, judging from the earnest manner in which he was making for the pond, Egbert was not blind to this trait in its character.