Tarzan of the Apes · Chapter 22 (2/2)

Clayton was an Englishman, so the girl had passed quite out of sight before he deduced what reply a man would have made.

“Upon my word,” he said ruefully, “she called me a liar. And I fancy I jolly well deserved it,” he added thoughtfully. “Clayton, my boy, I know you are tired out and unstrung, but that’s no reason why you should make an ass of yourself. You’d better go to bed.”

But before he did so he called gently to Jane upon the opposite side of the sailcloth partition, for he wished to apologize, but he might as well have addressed the Sphinx. Then he wrote upon a piece of paper and shoved it beneath the partition.

Jane saw the little note and ignored it, for she was very angry and hurt and mortified, but⁠—she was a woman, and so eventually she picked it up and read it.

My Dear Miss Porter:

I had no reason to insinuate what I did. My only excuse is that my nerves must be unstrung⁠—which is no excuse at all.

Please try and think that I did not say it. I am very sorry. I would not have hurt you, above all others in the world. Say that you forgive me.

“He did think it or he never would have said it,” reasoned the girl, “but it cannot be true⁠—oh, I know it is not true!”

One sentence in the letter frightened her: “I would not have hurt you above all others in the world.”

A week ago that sentence would have filled her with delight, now it depressed her.

She wished she had never met Clayton. She was sorry that she had ever seen the forest god. No, she was glad. And there was that other note she had found in the grass before the cabin the day after her return from the jungle, the love note signed by Tarzan of the Apes.

Who could be this new suitor? If he were another of the wild denizens of this terrible forest what might he not do to claim her?

“Esmeralda! Wake up,” she cried. “You make me so irritable, sleeping there peacefully when you know perfectly well that the world is filled with sorrow.”

“Gaberelle!” screamed Esmeralda, sitting up. “What is it now? A hipponocerous? Where is he, Miss Jane?”

“Nonsense, Esmeralda, there is nothing. Go back to sleep. You are bad enough asleep, but you are infinitely worse awake.”

“Yes honey, but what’s the matter with you, precious? You acts sort of disgranulated this evening.”

“Oh, Esmeralda, I’m just plain ugly tonight,” said the girl. “Don’t pay any attention to me⁠—that’s a dear.”

“Yes, honey; now you go right to sleep. Your nerves are all on edge. What with all these ripotamuses and man eating geniuses that Mister Philander been telling about⁠—Lord, it ain’t no wonder we all get nervous prosecution.”

Jane crossed the little room, laughing, and kissing the faithful woman, bid Esmeralda good night.