Summary

Portrait of Edgar Wallace Edgar Wallace Sanders of the River — VII.—THE FOREST OF HAPPY DREAMS (1911)

For a moment the squatting figure made no reply, then he rose and stretched himself.
"Master," he said, speaking in Arabic—which is a language which allows of nice distinctions—"this man was happy; he walked in the Forest of Happy Thoughts; why should I call him back to a land where there was neither sunshine nor happiness, but only night and pain and sickness?"
"You're a philosopher," said Sanders irritably.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Edgar Wallace Edgar Wallace Sanders of the River — VII.—THE FOREST OF HAPPY DREAMS (1911)

Here, indeed, in the heart of the loveliest glade in all Africa, encamped in the very centre of the Green Path of Death, was a white man, a sick white man—in the Forest of Happy Thoughts—a sick white man.
So the drum went on and on, till Sanders, rousing his own lo-koli man, sent an answer crashing along the river, and began to dress hurriedly.
In the forest lay a very sick man. He had chosen the site for the camp himself. It was in a clearing, near a little creek that wound between high elephant-grass to the river. Mainward chose it, just before the sickness came, because it was pretty.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Edgar Wallace Edgar Wallace Sanders of the River — VII.—THE FOREST OF HAPPY DREAMS (1911)

A singular, masterful man this, thought Mainward. Would he have mastered Ethel? He watched the stranger with curious eyes, and noted how his own lazy devils of carriers jumped at his word.
"Good-night," said Sanders' voice; and Mainward looked up. "You must take another of these pellets, and tomorrow you'll be as fit as a donkey-engine. I've got to get back to my camp tonight, or I shall find half my stores stolen in the morning; but if you'd rather I stopped——"
"No, no," replied the other hastily. He wanted to be alone. He had lots of matters to settle with himself.
Source: Wikisource

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