And there was a
Burmese ebony elephant, with a ruby in his forehead.
"A ruby is red," Kirk murmured; "it is like the fire. And the elephant
is black. I see him very well."
"Once upon a time," said the old gentleman, "a rajah rode on him--a
rajah no bigger than your finger. And his turban was encrusted with the
most precious of jewels, and his robe was stiff with gold. The elephant
wore anklets of beaten silver, and they clinked as he walked."
Kirk's face was intent, listening. The little ebony elephant stood
motionless on his palm, dim in the firelight.
"I hear them clinking," he said, "and the people shouting--oh, so far
away!"
He put the treasure back into his host's hand, at last. "I'd like,
please, to look at _you_," he said. "It won't hurt," he added quickly,
instantly conscious of some unspoken hesitancy.
"I have no fear of that," said the voice, "but you will find little
worth the looking for."
Kirk, nevertheless, stood beside the old gentleman's chair, ready with a
quick, light hand to visualize his friend's features.
"My hair, if that will help you," the voice told him, "is quite white,
and my eyes are usually rather blue."
"Blue," murmured Kirk, his fingers flitting down the fine lines of the
old gentleman's profile; "that's cool and nice, like the sea and the
wind. Your face is like the ivory thing--smooth and--and carved. I think
you really must be something different and rather enchanted.
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