SOME RECOLLECTIONS: ON AND OFF THE STAGE. 
399 
Well, we opened in New York at the Star 
Theatre with ” The Second Mrs. Tanqueray,” 
and after visiting Boston, Washington, and 
other cities we went to the extreme West. 
About this time 1 was collecting Indian 
curios, and used to visit alt the Reservations 
that were within reach. There are very few 
men who have ever taken the trouble to find 
out and know the real Indian. Generally 
speaking, the white man has never regarded 
him as anything but an enemy— something 
to be obliterated and wiped out of the 
country. 
I have painted many Indians, and I have 
portraits and paintings of all the chiefs of 
that time. Amongst other things I have 
a little unfinished blanket which a young 
Navaho girl was weaving for me. While 
working at it she was struck by lightning and 
instantly killed. 
In a cosy little club in London, Ontario, a 
luncheon-party was given by one of the mem- 
bers to celebrate something which wasn’t 
entitled to be celebrated at all. After an 
excellent meal we were most of us very 
sympathetically inclined. 1 sat next to one 
of the party who was a sort of kindred spirit, 
and incidentally a past-master at glass- 
emptying. After having carefully scrutinized 
me, he came to the conclusion that I was a 
fairly decent sort of chap- — at least, that is 
what he told me — and also a bit of a sports- 
man. He became gradually quieter, and 
moved up closer and seemed to want to confide 
in me. There was pathos in his voice, which 
was decidedly catching. 
“ Do you know/’ he began, “ one of the 
saddest things in the world happened to me 
out in East Africa.” With this he leant 
heavily on the lever of the siphon and for 
the moment filled my boots, and with the 
usual “ I beg your pardon — I’m awfully 
sorry — how careless of me ! ” he proceeded 
to tell me the following story. 
“ 1 was out on a big-game expedition 
arranged by old Tar 1 ton — you remember 
Tarlton ? ” 
I said, f ‘ Rather.” T can picture him now, 
a jolly, nice little chap ; he told me all about 
native life out there, and how he drank native 
wine made by just twisting a leaf. 
“ Oh, yes, he’s a sportsman,” continued 
my friend. “ One day we got on the track of 
a huge tigress, which 1 knocked clean over 
with my first shot. Well, when we came to 
cut her up we found this ” (producing from 
his waistcoat-pocket what was presumably 
the bangle of a tiny child). 
I said, “ You mean to tell me that the 
bangle ” 
lie said, ,l Exactly.’* 
I said, “ You mean to tell me that the tiger 
must have ” 
He said, “ Exactly.” 
1 looked at the little bangle and ho went 
on : “ Can’t you picture some little African 
child, perhaps five or six years old — 
I said, “ I know, I know.” 
- a bright, black-eyed little chap, 
wandering out into the jungle and never, 
never returning ? ” 
I said, “ T know, I know.” And I looked 
at the bangle and held it in my hand for quite 
a long time with a tenderness which 1 hoped 
would convey my feelings. His confidence 
seemed to form a bond of friendship between 
us. He sent me a copy of Omar Khayyam, 
and in return I sent him the Pink °Un 
regularly. 
Some months later T was once more in the 
midst of Canadian hospitality, visiting Brant- 
ford, when 1 happened to meet a brother of 
the man who owned the bangle that had been 
found in the tigress, and I naturally wished 
to extend my friendship to any other member 
of the same family. 
“ Well,” 1 began, quietly, " 1 met your 
brother in London.” 
“ Oh,” he replied, rather flippantly, “ you 
mean old Frank ? ” 
1 said, “ Yes.” 
“ What a nut ! ” he answered, half to him- 
self. 
“ By Heaven,” I replied, “ what a life that 
chap has lived ! lie certainly has been 
through it., hasn’t he ? ” In as pathetic a 
tone as 1 could, I referred to the touching 
little event of the tigress and the bangle 
— and here I dropped my voice almost 
to a whisper. “ Poor mite ! Poor 
mite ! ” 
“ What ! ” he replied, in almost a shriek, 
“ Did he spring that on you ? ” 
“ Spring what ? ” I answered. 
“ You mean the old gag about finding the 
little bangle in the tigress ? ” he went on. 
“ Why, the fellow has never been to Africa 
in bis life ! ” 
“ But,” I insisted, “ the bangle — he showed 
me the bangle.” 
“ Oh, yes ; I know' old Frank,” replied my 
friend. “ Made you cry, I suppose ? Well, 
if you want to know where he got that bangle 
from, he bought it at a clearance sale on the 
closing day of the African Exhibition at 
Earl’s Court.” 
(To be concluded next month.) 
Vol. xlvi 51. 
