THE LOST WORLD

Northland Age, Volume IX, Issue 7, 27 October 1939, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE LOST WORLD

By LAWRENCE STOUT

Great events which alter our whole lives are often the consequences of the most trivial incidents. The casual wayfarer who roams the hills cannot tell which seedlings will live to become giant kauris, cr which will perish from the many hazards of life. So it is with men and women. How often do the most promising pupils degenerate into cowardly failures, while those weak and handicapped overcome their disadvantages and rise triumphant to dominate the world. If you had been able to look down on the earth, from another planet, and could have looked into Paikapakapa District School on the afternoon of December 11th, 1936, and had been asked to choose a hero for a most daring adventure, one thing is certain—you would not have chosen Dick Thorne. If anyone, that fateful afternoon, had told Dick that he would soon become famous and wealthy he would have laughed—just as if you had told him that he was heir to the throne of England. To Dick, this afternoon, both these suggestions would have sounded equally absurd. Dick Thorne was an awkward, loose-jointed boy of 15, whose clothes never seemed to fit. In class he just managed to keep a few places from bottom, and on the playing field he had neither speed in running nor skill in games. His only accomplishment was a surprising ability to throw a ball further and more accurately than any other boy in the school. On the annual sports day he always won the prize for throwing the cricket ball. Bigger boys with much greater muscular development could not throw half as far. Miss Campbell, the relieving teacher, looked round the class. All but Dick had finished their examination papers, and several were growing restless. Presently, Dick, too, put down his pen and folded his papers. Miss Campbell looked at the clock. There was still nearly an hour until school broke up. “ 1 om, she said, addressing the head boy, “ collect all the examination papers and put them on my desk. As you’ve all finished your geography papers I’ll read you a passage froth this book. It’s called, * The Lost World.’ ” When the bell rang for school

had been neglected, and the house, when he reached it, appeared to have been treated no better. The front door was open, revealing a dim passage to the orchard behind. There were doors on either side, just discernible in the gloom. Except for the lazy buzzing of flies there was no sound from within. Dick was just about to knock when he felt something grip his ankle, and turned to see a large black dog, like a black Alsatian, which had crept silently upon him from behind, and now held him gently but firmly by the leg. “ Nice dog,” said Dick, nerving himself to stroke the great beast’s head. He was a dog lover, but there was something sinister in the way this animal had stalked him. “ Mr. Richards,” he called. “ Mr. Richards.” The nearest door on his left opened, and a great fat man with a walrus moustache and carpet slippers emerged leaning on a stick. Without appearing to move his jaw, or the stained pipe that hung from his mouth, he addressed the dog. “ All right, Togo, let go.” Dick felt his ankle released, but Togo still remained close behind him, with eyes alert for any threat to his master. “Did he hurt you?” asked Richards. “ He was trained to hold coolies in China, and I can’t break him of the habit.” Dick was too impressed by Mr. Richards to care about a possible tear in his stocking. Richards was a man .of about 50. with massive arms and shoulders, a massive leonine head, and an equally imposing bull* Beneath shaggy grey eyebrows keen grey eyes that could not hide a humorous twinkle regarded Dick. “Well, son?” boomed the man. “ If you please,” faltered Dick, “Miss' Campbell, our teacher, asked me to bring this book to you and ask if she could have it for another week. If not —” “Do you wish her to have it for another week?” demanded Richards, poking a massive finger into Dick, as if he just knew what the boy was thinking. “I,” stammered Dick. “Yes, please, Mr. Richards. You see, Miss Campbell read some of the story to us, and she will read us

to dismiss no one stirred in the class. “ Please, Miss,” chanted a dozen voices, “ finish the story. “Another day, perhaps, if you are good.” Miss Campbell closed the book, and one by one the pupils came back from the realm of fantasy to find that they were still in the classroom. The last to abandon the dream conjured up by the story was Dick. He sat at his desk' still dreaming, as the others filed out into the bright sunshine. Thus it was that teacher turned to him. “Oh. Dick, will you do me a favour? Take this book back to Mr. Richards—here’s his address —and ask him, if he can spare it, to lend it to me for another week —if not —I promised to return it to-day.” Dick was well pleased to be entrusted with the enchanted volume. Any man, he reasoned, who owned such a book, must be more than usually interesting. But, as he whistled along the dusty road in the direction of the stranger’s address, little did Dick know what a surprising chain of events were about to happen. The house indicated was an old vicarage that had for many years been neglected. The great size of the surrounding pear, fig and mulberry trees testified to the age of the place. Mr. Richards had fenced it about with barb wire, and fixed a strong steel gate, on which was hung a sign: “Warning. Beware of Dogs.” Dick looked over the gate to where a tiny patch of the house was visible through the fruit trees that surrounded it. There were no dogs in sight, so he quietly raised the latch and passed within. The trees grew so close together that they shut out the sun from the rank, luxuriant grass beneath. Mosquitos and flies hovered under the boles and there was the sickly smell of rotting fruit. Whatever Mr. Richards was he was no gardener. Til, whol, TOiri,

the rest, if you let her. rlease do, Mr. Richards, it was the most wonderful story I have ever heard.” “Eh, what’s that?” boomed Richards, prodding Dick again with his finger. “So you’re the one, eh.” He laughed, as if the idea of Dick being anything was ridiculous. “ Just like a woman. No common sense; no reason. Come here, you.” Before Dick could move, however, a great hand shot out and seized him by the shirt, and although he stood sft. 9in. high and weighed over 10 stone, the boy felt himself whisked forward as if he had been a kitten. Seen close up Richards’ face was even larger and more ugly than it had appeared at arm’s length. His eyes had the quiet confidence of a lion, their unblinking glare would have quelled many a man. Now Dick felt their power as massive hands felt his muscles and pummelled him all over. Dick drew himself up ‘to his full height, and returned the baleful gaze. His mouth was firm and his fists were clenched. No stranger was going to mawl him without cause. “ Sir!” he cried indignantly. “ Please let me have your answer and I will go.” “ Attaboy,” grunted Richards, in no way disturbed by Dick’s tone. “ That’s the stuff. There may be something in you after all.” Seeing Dick flush angrily he put out his hand. “ No, son, don’t take offence. I was only testing you to see if Elsie was right.” “ Elsie?” said Dick, bewildered. “ Elsie Campbell, your teacher, my niece. She has picked you out of all your class.” “What for?” asked Dick. Richards continued to stare at him with those disconcerting grey eyes. Then the big man turned round and shuffled off

A NEW SERIAL FOR BOYS AND GIRLS

“ Oh, I’m awfully interested really,” said Dick.

“Can you throw a boomerang?” asked Evie, in the tone one might ask if a guest had sugar.

“ No,” admitted Dick, “ but I’m quite good with a stone.”

“ I’ll tell you what, Dick,” said Richards, “ you can tell Miss Campbell to keep the book. Come back and see me when school is over.”

down the passage. From the far end he bellqwed, “ Come here,” v and Dick, somewhat doubtfully, jobeyed. The room Dick entered had at r one time been the big kitchen, g but was now half library and half r museum. The walls were hung g by the strangest assortment of f curios the boy had ever seen, e Spears, shields, swords, daggers, cloaks, bows and arrows, pots, skulls, shark’s jaws, tiger skins, , bison’s head, snake’s skins, guns, muskets, and harpoons. “ Junk,” said Richards, waving < his hands around. “Junk I’ve collected in my travels. Every one tells a story.” He shuffled to a worn fireside chair, and with j grunts and groans, lowered himself into it. “ Every one tells a story ” —he grunted—“ a story of i death. That there shark’s ’ead, for instance. ’e killed two men • in the Caroline Islands, and was killed by a native girl with a tortoise-shell knife—there’s the knife.” Dick could scarcely believe that this man with such a fund of adventures in strange places could have been living in their town for so many years without any of his companions being aware of him. Richards may have guessed what was in the boy’s mind, for he continued: “ I was born in this house . . . father used to be the parson here . . . that was many years ago . . . we moved to China . . . inland ...” Here he appeared to become lost in a reverie, for he closed his eyes and puffed contentedly at his pipe. The tobacco-stained grey walrus moustache hung down over his mouth, which was not at any time visible. Into this dense foliage his pipe stem vanished, and from it came the sounds of speech. The fingers of one hand grasped a match box, with which he frequently covered the bowl of his pipe. Again, the fingers attracted Dick’s attention. They were the largest fingers he had ever seen, and were, he judged, fully an inch and a-quarter in diameter. Dick’s meditations were interrupted by a snort from the walrus moustache, and Richards reached out to jab him with one of the fingers he had been examining. “So you’re interested in the ‘ Lost World,’ eh?”

“ Thank you, sir. I certainly will. Dick shook the massive hand and turned to go.

“ If you’re going back to Elsie now I’ll come with you,” said the girl, moving towards him. Dick nodded, and the two set off together. Togo, the black Alsatian, followed wagging his tail with every indication of friendship. When they were on the dusty road outside the girl turned to Dick. “ Would you like to find the Lost World?” Dick looked at her suspiciously. “Why,” he asked, “would you?” “ Of course,” replied Evie. “Yes, I would,” admitted Dick.” “ That’s good.” Evie spoke as if it was all settled, then added

“ Yes, sir,” said Dick eagerly. “ All our class are.” “Do you know whom that story is written about?” “ No.” Richards seemed disappointed at this admission of ignorance. “ Me,” he boomed. “ It’s all about me, Bert Richards. I told that writer chap in Singapore about some of my adventures, and he wrote ’em in a book.” “ Then you found the Lost World?” The romance of adventure surrounding this man whom he had met scarce half an hour ago was bewildering Dick. “ No,” said Richards, speaking as if great importance attached to every word. “ I never found the Lost World. No one has found it yet—unless it was my father, and he never lived to tell the tale. You see, son, this Jiere lost world is only a legend.” “Oh,” said Dick, his disappointment evident. Richards regarded him closely. A massive hand shot; out and seized his shirt. “ Cheer up, son,” one bushy eyebrow emphasised a wink. “ I’ll tell you something. When I told that writer fellow the story I thought that it was just another legend. . . .” “But now—?” “ Now I have every reason to believe that it is true. . . ” There was a knock on the door and a slight, brown haired girl of 15 or 16 entered. Seeing Dick she halted. “ Ha, Evie, girl,” bellowed Richards, “ meet Mr. ?” He jabbed Dick with a finger. “ Thorne, Dick Thorne,” stammered the boy. “ Hullo Dick,” said the girl, giving him her hand. “ Has Uncle got you in his shop. He’ll tell you all about the Lost World and his adventures in Borneo, if you don’t stop him—”

as an after thought. “ I think my uncle likes you.” “ Oh, I don’t see how he could,” laughed Dick. I only met him this afternoon. “ But he asked you to come back—he’s never done that before.” “ But why should he want to see me?” inquired Dick. “Where do you live?” asked the girl, who never seemed at a loss for a word. “ With Mr. McCullough, my guardian,” replied the boy. “ Oh,” said Evie, “ well, I think you will have a change.” (To be continued.)