“What do you say to that, Sapphira?” asked the Baron, politely turning to Mrs. Ananias, who had called with her husband. “Are you interested in giraffes?”
“I like lions better,” said Sapphira. “They roar louder and bite more fiercely.”
“Well, suppose we compromise,” said the Baron, “and have a story about a poodle dog. Poodle dogs sometimes look like lions, and as a rule they are as gentle as giraffes.”
“I know a better scheme than that,” put in Ananias. “Tell us a story about a lion and a giraffe, and if you feel disposed throw in a few poodles for good measure. I’m writing on space this year.”
“That’s so,” said Sapphira, wearily. “I could say it was a story about a lion and Ananias could call it a giraffe story, and we’d each be right.”
“Very well,” said the Baron, “it shall be a story of each, only I must have a cigar before I begin. Cigars help me to think, and the adventure I had in the Desert of Sahara with a lion, a giraffe, and a slippery elm tree was so long ago that I shall have to do a great deal of thinking in order to recall it.”
So the Baron went for a cigar, while Ananias and Sapphira winked2 enviously3 at each other and lamented4 their lost glory. In a minute the Baron returned with the weed, and after lighting5 it, began his story.
“I was about twenty years old when this thing happened to me,” said he. “I had gone to Africa to investigate the sand in the Desert of Sahara for a Sand Company in America. As you may already have heard, sand is a very useful thing in a great many ways, more particularly however in the building trades. The Sand Company was formed for the purpose of supplying sand to everybody that wanted it, but land in America at that time was so very expensive that there was very little profit in the business. People who owned sand banks and sand lots asked outrageous6 prices for their property; and the sea-shore people were not willing to part with any of theirs because they needed it in their hotel business. The great attraction of a seaside hotel is the sand on the beach, and of course the proprietors7 weren’t going to sell that. They might better even sell their brass8 bands. So the Sand Company thought it might be well to build some steam-ships, load them with oysters9, or mowing10 machines, or historical novels, or anything else that is produced in the United States, and in demand elsewhere; send them to Egypt, sell the oysters, or mowing machines, or historical novels, and then have the ships fill up with sand from the Sahara, which they could get for nothing, and bring it back in ballast to the United States.”
“It must have cost a lot!” said Ananias.
“Not at all,” returned the Baron. “The profits on the oysters and mowing machines and historical novels were so large that all expenses both ways were more than paid, so that when it was delivered in America the sand had really cost less than nothing. We could have thrown it all overboard and still have a profit left. It was I who suggested the idea to the President of the Sand Company—his name was Bartlett, or—ah—Mulligan—or some similar well-known American name, I can’t exactly recall it now. However, Mr. Bartlett, or Mr. Mulligan, or whoever it was, was very much pleased with the idea and asked me if I wouldn’t go to the Sahara, investigate the quality of the sand, and report; and as I was temporarily out of employment I accepted the commission. Six weeks later I arrived in Cairo and set out immediately on a tour of the desert. I went alone because I preferred not to take any one into my confidence, and besides one can always be more independent when he has only his own wishes to consult. I also went on foot, for the reason that camels need a great deal of care—at least mine would have, if I’d had one, because I always like to have my steeds well groomed11 whether there is any one to see them or not. So to save myself trouble I started off alone on foot. In twenty-four hours I travelled over a hundred miles of the desert, and the night of the second day found me resting in the shade of a slippery elm tree in the middle of an oasis12, which after much suffering and anxiety I had discovered. It was a beautiful moonlight night and I was enjoying it hugely. There were no mosquitoes or insects of any kind to interfere13 with my comfort. No insects could have flown so far across the sands. I have no doubt that many of them have tried to get there, but up to the time of my arrival none had succeeded, and I felt as happy as though I were in Paradise.
“After eating my supper and taking a draught14 of the delicious spring water that purled up in the middle of the oasis, I threw myself down under the elm tree, and began to play my violin, without which in those days I never went anywhere.”
“I didn’t know you played the violin,” said Sapphira. “I thought your instrument was the trombone—plenty of blow and a mighty15 stretch.”
“I don’t—now,” said the Baron, ignoring the sarcasm16. “I gave it up ten years ago—but that’s a different story. How long I played that night I don’t know, but I do know that lulled17 by the delicious strains of the music and soothed
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