III

Beyond a smart shock of surprise and a shudder of mere loathing Mr. Brayton was not greatly affected.  His first thought was to ring the call bell and bring a servant; but although the bell cord dangled within easy reach he made no movement toward it; it had occurred to his mind that the act might subject him to the suspicion of fear, which he certainly did not feel.  He was more keenly conscious of the incongruous nature of the situation than affected by its perils; it was revolting, but absurd.

The reptile was of a species with which Brayton was unfamiliar.  Its length he could only conjecture; the body at the largest visible part seemed about as thick as his forearm.  In what way was it dangerous, if in any way?  Was it venomous?  Was it a constrictor?  His knowledge of nature’s danger signals did not enable him to say; he had never deciphered the code.

If not dangerous the creature was at least offensive.  It was de trop—­ “matter out of place”—­an impertinence.  The gem was unworthy of the setting.  Even the barbarous taste of our time and country, which had loaded the walls of the room with pictures, the floor with furniture and the furniture with bric-a-brac, had not quite fitted the place for this bit of the savage life of the jungle.  Besides—­insupportable thought!—­ the exhalations of its breath mingled with the atmosphere which he himself was breathing.

These thoughts shaped themselves with greater or less definition in Brayton’s mind and begot action.  The process is what we call consideration and decision.  It is thus that we are wise and unwise.  It is thus that the withered leaf in an autumn breeze shows greater or less intelligence than its fellows, falling upon the land or upon the lake.  The secret of human action is an open one:  something contracts our muscles.  Does it matter if we give to the preparatory molecular changes the name of will?

Brayton rose to his feet and prepared to back softly away from the snake, without disturbing it if possible, and through the door.  Men retire so from the presence of the great, for greatness is power and power is a menace.  He knew that he could walk backward without error.  Should the monster follow, the taste which had plastered the walls with paintings had consistently supplied a rack of murderous Oriental weapons from which he could snatch one to suit the occasion.  In the mean time the snake’s eyes burned with a more pitiless malevolence than before.

Brayton lifted his right foot free of the floor to step backward.  That moment he felt a strong aversion to doing so.

“I am accounted brave,” he thought; “is bravery, then, no more than pride?  Because there are none to witness the shame shall I retreat?”

He was steadying himself with his right hand upon the back of a chair, his foot suspended.

“Nonsense!” he said aloud; “I am not so great a coward as to fear to seem to myself afraid.”