The moment he had looked forward to for so
long was about to be realized. He was coming into his own. He was
coming home. As the months had dragged or flown along, retarded or
spurred on as privation or adventure predominated, thoughts of his
own home, while oft recurring, had become less vivid. The old life
had grown to seem more like a dream than a reality, and the balking
of his determination to reach the coast and return to London had
finally thrown the hope of realization so remotely into the future
that it too now seemed little more than a pleasant but hopeless
dream.
Now all thoughts of London and civilization were crowded so far
into the background of his brain that they might as well have been
non-existent. Except for form and mental development he was as
much an ape as the great, fierce creature at his side.
In the exuberance of his joy he slapped his companion roughly on
the side of the head. Half in anger, half in play the anthropoid
turned upon him, his fangs bared and glistening. Long, hairy arms
reached out to seize him, and, as they had done a thousand times
before, the two clinched in mimic battle, rolling upon the sward,
striking, growling and biting, though never closing their teeth in
more than a rough pinch.
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