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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 208 pages of information about Jerry of the Islands.

But the eggs!  He liked to eat them.  They were the only article of food he liked to eat, They gave him reminiscent thrills of the ancient food-desires of his youth.  Actually was he hungry when he had megapode eggs, and the well-nigh dried founts of saliva and of internal digestive juices were stimulated to flow again at contemplation of a megapode egg prepared for the eating.  Wherefore, he alone of all Somo, barred rigidly by taboo, ate megapode eggs.  And, since the taboo was essentially religious, to Agno was deputed the ecclesiastical task of guarding and cherishing and caring for the royal laying-yard.

But Agno was no longer young.  The acid bite of belly desire had long since deserted him, and he, too, ate from a sense of duty, all meat tasting alike to him.  Megapode eggs only stung his taste alive and stimulated the flow of his juices.  Thus it was that he broke the taboos he imposed, and, privily, before the eyes of no man, woman, or child ate the eggs he stole from Bashti’s private preserve.

So it was, as the laying season began, and when both Bashti and Agno were acutely egg-yearning after six months of abstinence, that Agno led Jerry along the taboo path through the mangroves, where they stepped from root to root above the muck that ever steamed and stank in the stagnant air where the wind never penetrated.

The path, which was not an ordinary path and which consisted, for a man, in wide strides from root to root, and for a dog in four-legged leaps and plunges, was new to Jerry.  In all his ranging of Somo, because it was so unusual a path, he had never discovered it.  The unbending of Agno, thus to lead him, was a surprise and a delight to Jerry, who, without reasoning about it, in a vague way felt the preliminary sensations that possibly Agno, in a small way, might prove the master which his dog’s soul continually sought.

Emerging from the swamp of mangroves, abruptly they came upon a patch of sand, still so salt and inhospitable from the sea’s deposit that no great trees rooted and interposed their branches between it and the sun’s heat.  A primitive gate gave entrance, but Agno did not take Jerry through it.  Instead, with weird little chirrupings of encouragement and excitation, he persuaded Jerry to dig a tunnel beneath the rude palisade of fence.  He helped with his own hands, dragging out the sand in quantities, but imposing on Jerry the leaving of the indubitable marks of a dog’s paws and claws.

And, when Jerry was inside, Agno, passing through the gate, enticed and seduced him into digging out the eggs.  But Jerry had no taste of the eggs.  Eight of them Agno sucked raw, and two of them he tucked whole into his arm-pits to take back to his house of the devil devils.  The shells of the eight he sucked he broke to fragments as a dog might break them, and, to build the picture he had long visioned, of the eighth egg he reserved a tiny portion which he spread, not on Jerry’s jowls where his tongue could have erased it, but high up about his eyes and above them, where it would remain and stand witness against him according to the plot he had planned.

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