the club。
One of the men there asked Hemingway what brought him to
Africa； and when he answered simply and truthfully that he had
come to shoot big game； it was as though he had said something
clever； and every one smiled。 On the way back to the hotel； as
they felt their way through the narrow slits in the wall that
served as streets； he asked the consul why every one had smiled。
The consul laughed evasively。
〃It's a local joke；〃 he explained。 〃A lot of men come here for
reasons best kept to themselves； and they all say what you said；
that they've come to shoot big game。 It's grown to be a polite
way of telling a man it is none of his business。〃
〃But I didn't mean it that way；〃 protested Hemingway。 〃I really
have been after big game for the last eight months。〃
In the tone one uses to quiet a drunken man or a child； the
consul answered soothingly。
〃Of course；〃 he assented 〃of course you have。〃 But to show he
was not hopelessly credulous； and to keep Hemingway from
involving himself deeper； he hinted tactfully： 〃Maybe they
noticed you came ashore with only one steamer trunk and no
gun…cases。〃
〃Oh； that's easily explained；〃 laughed Hemingway。 〃My heavy
luggage〃
The consul had reached his house and his 〃boy〃 was pounding upon
it with his heavy staff。
〃Please don't explain to me；〃 he begged。 〃It's quite unnecessary。
Down here we're so darned glad to see any white man that we don't
ask anything of him except that he won't hurry away。 We judge
them as they behave themselves here； we don't care what they are
at home or why they left it。〃
Hemingway was highly amused。 To find that he； a respectable；
sport…loving Hemingway of Massachusetts； should be mistaken for a
gun…runner； slave…dealer； or escaping cashier greatly delighted
him。
〃All right！〃 he exclaimed。 〃I'll promise not to bore you with my past；
and I agree to be judged by Zanzibar standards。 I only hope I can
live up to them； for I see I am going to like the place very much。〃
Hemingway kept his promise。 He bored no one with confidences as
to his ancestors。 Of his past he made a point never to speak。 He
preferred that the little community into which he had dropped
should remain unenlightened； should take him as they found him。
Of the fact that a college was named after his grandfather and
that on his father's railroad he could travel through many
States； he was discreetly silent。
The men of Zanzibar asked no questions。 That Hemingway could play
a stiff game of tennis； a stiffer game of poker； and； on the piano； songs
from home was to them sufficient recommendation。 In a week he had
become one of the most popular members of Zanzibar society。 It was
as though he had lived there always。 Hemingway found himself reaching
out to grasp the warmth of the place as a flower turns to the sun。 He
discovered that for thirty years something in him had been cheated。
For thirty years he had believed that completely to satisfy his soul all
he needed was the gray stone walls and the gray…shingled cabins under
the gray skies of New England； that what in nature he most loved was
the pine forests and the fields of goldenrod on the rock…bound coast
of the North Shore。 But now； like a man escaped from prison； he
leaped and danced in the glaring sunlight of the equator； he revelled
in the reckless generosity of nature； in the glorious confusion of
colors； in the 〃blooming blue〃 of the Indian Ocean； in the Arabian
nights spent upon the housetops under the purple sky； and beneath
silver stars so near that he could touch them with his hand。
He found it like being perpetually in a comic opera and playing a
part in one。 For only the scenic artist would dare to paint houses
in such yellow； pink； and cobalt…blue； only a 〃producer〃 who had
never ventured farther from Broadway than the Atlantic City
boardwalk would have conceived costumes so mad and so
magnificent。 Instinctively he cast the people of Zanzibar in the
conventional roles of musical comedy。
His choruses were already in waiting。 There was the Sultan's
body…guard in gold…laced turbans； the merchants of the bazaars in
red fezzes and gowns of flowing silk； the Malay sailors in blue；
the black native police in scarlet； the ladies of the harems closely
veiled and cloaked； the market women in a single garment of
orange； or scarlet； or purple； or of all three； and the happy；
hilarious Zanzibari boys in the color God gave them。
For hours he would sit under the yellow…and…green awning of the
Greek hotel and watch the procession pass； or he would lie under
an umbrella on the beach and laugh as the boatmen lifted their
passengers to their shoulders and with them splash through the
breakers； or in the bazaars for hours he would bargain with the
Indian merchants； or in the great mahogany hall of the Ivory
House； to the whisper of a punka and the tinkle of ice in a tall
glass； listen to tales of Arab raids； of elephant poachers； of
the trade in white and black ivory； of the great explorers who
had sat in that same roomof Emin Pasha； of Livingstone； of
Stanley。 His comic opera lacked only a heroine and the love
interest。
When he met Mrs。 Adair he found both。 Polly Adair； as every
one who dared to do so preferred to call her； was； like himself； an
American and； though absurdly young； a widow。 In the States she
would have been called an extremely pretty girl。 In a community
where the few dozen white women had wilted and faded in the
fierce sun of the equator； and where the rest of the women were
jet black except their teeth； which were dyed an alluring purple；
Polly Adair was as beautiful as a June morning。 At least； so
Hemingway thought the first time he saw her； and each succeeding
time he thought her more beautiful； more lovely； more to be loved。
He met her； three days after his arrival； at the residence of the
British agent and consul…general； where Lady Firth was giving tea
to the six nurses from the English hospital and to all the other
respectable members of Zanzibar society。
〃My husband's typist；〃 said her ladyship as she helped Hemingway
to tea； 〃is a copatriot of yours。 She's such a nice gell； not a bit like
an American。 I don't know what I'd do in this awful place without her。
Promise me；〃 she begged tragically； 〃you will not ask her to marry you。〃
Unconscious of his fate； Hemingway promised。
〃Because all the men do；〃 sighed Lady Firth； 〃and I never know
what morning one of the wretches won't carry her off to a home of
her own。 And then what would become of me？ Men are so selfish！
If you must fall in love；〃 suggested her ladyship； 〃promise me you
will fall in love with〃she paused innocently and raised baby…blue
eyes； in a baby…like stare〃with some one else。〃
Again Hemingway promised。 He bowed gallantly。 〃That will be quite
easy；〃 he said。
Her ladyship smiled； but Hemingway did not see the smile。 He was
looking past her at a girl from home； who came across the terrace
carrying in her hand a stenographer's note…book。
Lady Firth followed the direction of his eyes and saw the look in
them。 She exclaimed with dismay：
〃Already！ Already he deserts me； even before the ink is dry on
the paper。〃
She drew the note…book from Mrs。 Adair's fingers and dropped it
under the tea…table。
〃Letters must wait； my child；〃 she declared。
〃But Sir George〃 protested the girl。
〃Sir George must wait； too；〃 continued his wife； 〃the Foreign Office
must wait； the British Empire must wait until you have had your tea。〃
The girl laughed helplessly。 As though assured her fellow
countryman would comprehend； she turned to him。
〃They're so exactly like what you want them to be；〃 she said〃I
mean about their tea！〃
Hemingway smiled back with such intimate understanding that
Lady Firth glanced up inquiringly。
〃Have you met Mrs。 Adair already？〃 she asked。
〃No；〃 said Hemingway； 〃but I have been trying to meet her for
thirty years。〃
Perplexed； the Englishwoman frowned； and then； with delight at
her own perspicuity； laughed aloud。
〃I know；〃 she cried； 〃in your country you are what they call a
'hustler'！ Is that right？〃 She waved them away。 〃Take Mrs。 Adair
over there；〃 she commanded； 〃and tell her all the news from home。
Tell her about the railroad accidents and 'washouts' and the
latest thing in lynching。〃
The young people stretched out in long wicker chairs in the shade
of a tree covered with purple flowers。 On a perch at one side of
them an orang…outang in a steel belt was combing the whiskers of
her infant daughter； at their feet what looked like two chow puppies；
but which happened to be Lady Firth's pet lions； were chewing each
other's toothless gums； and in the immediate foreground the hospital
nurses were defying the sun at tennis while the Sultan's band played
selections from a Gaiety success of many years in the past。 With these
surroundings it was difficult to talk of home。 Nor on any later occasions；
except through inadvertence； did they talk of home。
For the reasons already stated； it amused Hemingway to volunteer
no confidences。 On account of what that same evening Harris told
him of Mrs。 Adair； he asked none。
Harris himself wa