Told by Readers

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 67, 19 March 1932, Page 2 (Supplement)

Told by Readers

THE CALL OF THE WILD§.

(By Marjorie Morton, :><>. Sherwood Avenue, Grey Lynn, a«e 17.) Tony Lawrence had returned. Two years ago he had left England, unknown, but after months of wandering, adventure and hardships, he was returning as a hero, the darling of the public, and world-famous for the plucky attempts lie had made in rescuing two fellow Englishmen who had /been lost in the wilds of Africa. , Now that he was back, the Press was hoping to swell the pages of news with tales of the trials, the difficulties and, most of all, the dangers which had beset this daring boy, who, now that he had returned, was not satisfied with the roaring traffic of the city, but was yearning for the life to which he had grown so accustomed in the last few exciting months. "What a chance to make_ his paper famous," each editor was thinking. But, te the newspaper reporters who surrounded him and begged for a story, Tony refused to tell his adventures. Even his photograph he forbade them to take. "I hate publicity, Arthur," he said to his brother one evening as they sat together in the quiet hotel in a street of Knightsbridge. "And I do wish that those reporters wouldn't surround me so. I've told them so often that I'm not going to boast to the public about what I've been doing the last couple of years. I like it. It's my game, but they all seem to think I do it for publicity." "I'really think that you ought to tell them something, Tony, then perhaps it might keep them quiet." "And have thern make up impossible stories out of what I tell them. No, Arthur, I'll tell them everything or nothing, and I've decided 011 nothing, so that's the end of it. But never mind me. Let's talk of England since I've been away." Next morning a young man entered the hotel where Tony was staying. He evidently had hurried, or was about to tackle some task of unusual difficulty, for during the few minutes he stood in the lounge looking around him,' he mopped his head several times. Then he felt in his pocket and drew out a notebook. Fumbling at his waistcoat, lie drew out a pencil and began to sharpen it. A reporter! Surely 110 would manage to interview Tony Lawrence successfully. There was only one other person in the lounge beside himself—a young man, quite boyish in appearance, who looked rather old for his years. He was dark and his skin was quite brown, as though accustomed to much exposure. To the reporter who was about to address him, he w&s apparently absorbed in a book, but in reality the young man was wondering if this business-like reporter had recognised him. "Excuse me," said the reporter, "but I wonder if you could tell me where 1 could find Mr. Lawrence. I'm a reporter, and I want a story for my paper." "I'm afraid I can't, but surely you know that Lawrence has refused all reporters as well as Press photographers. He hates publicity." "Yes, I know, bilt I wish you'd do your best to help nie to persuade him to tell me his story. Do you know Mr. Lawrence well?" inquired the reporter eagerly. "Yes, very well," replied the other with a smile. "But why are you so eager to gain a story which .lias been refused to so many others?" "My father is editor of 'The Echo,' quite a small paper, which the larger Press people are attempting to buy over. They are sure we shall soon have to collapse. Occasionally we manage to get big things, and beat the older established papers. Evidently they imagine that if they could buy us over it would be their chance to get our stuff. If I get Mr. Lawrence's story it would mean that we could get well known, and also my father has promised me a trip to South America or Africa if I'm lucky in my quest," he finished. "Well, if you won't make it sound too much as though I'm boasting, I'll tell you some of my experiences. On that condition, I'll promise.?' "What!" the reporter yelled. "Are you Tony Lawrence?" And as the other smiled assent, he said with an astonished air, "I expected you to be an older person, somehow. Cosh! You're only about as old as I am, and I'm only 21. And did you really have the pluck to refuse all those other chaps?" "Well, I didn't like the way the others swaggered in and apparently took for granted that I should 'talk,' as they call it. Anyway, let's get started." For two hours there followed a series, of experiences, hardships and adventures which thrilled the heart of the younc reporter, as page after page of his* note°book became tilled with mysterious shorthand signs.

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"1 think that's all just now," said Tony, with rather a tired smile. "I'm not used to talking so much. Still, I expect you'll get something out of what I've told voir." - "Just now!" echoed the editor's son. "Do you mean I can come again?" "Why, yes. If I can give you any more that's interesting, you're welcome to it. Do you really want some real thrills—liot newspaper ones, but ones like I have experienced—lions, tigers, crocodiles, snakes—all that sort of thing? I You-said you wanted to go to Africa. But perhaps you don't want the sort of thing I'm keen on. I'm going back there quite soon, and T thought that if you wanted to enjoy life as I have, you could join .me. Mind you," he said, before allowing the boy to reply, "it needs nerve." "Do you really mean that offer?" You're not joking?" "I'm absolutely serious. I mean 'would you care to join me in an adventure trip through Central Africa?'" "Yes!" The matter was closed. The two boys shook hands on their bargain, and within a month were 011 board a tramp steamer bound for Capetown. From there they intended trekking their way inland to that part of Africa teeming with adventure, thrills and nervewracking experiences. Back in England, thousands of copies of "The Echo" were still pouring forth to the London crowds the tale which Tony Lawrence bad told to his future friend. Once more his days of excitement 'midst the hot fetid jungle were being read for thousands of miles around London. And scarcely had the news of his arrival in England again been printed by every newspaper in Fleet Street, when there followed the announcement of his departure for the country which seemed to draw him like a magnet. There were, in Park Lane, many hostesses who had hoped to have had their names glaring forth in the society newspapers of the day. Doomed to disappointment by this young African explorer, they consoled one another with the fact that probably lie was not, after all, worth bothering about. But what cared that young man, for his was not the life of a society-born Englishman. He had been born with a heart that answered the call of the wilds, and as he and his friend plunged deeper into the mud of an African river or discovered new mysteries among their surroundings, they wondered why it was that pavements, motor cars and omnibuses appealed 90 much to the hearts of their fellow Englishmen 1 .