"The cannibals are coming!
They will kill me! Take me away! Hide me!"
Frank sprang toward the tent. Looking in he saw his father crouched
under one of the cots, with Bart standing, badly frightened in a far
corner. In the eyes of Mr. Roscoe was the gleam of insanity.
"Father! Father!" cried Frank in great anguish. "Don't you know me? I'm
your son! I rescued you from the sanitarium!"
"I have no son! I am all alone in the world! I don't know you!" and the
poor man tried to crawl further under the cot.
"Oh, what shall I do?" cried Frank.
Outside the rain came down harder than ever and the wind swayed the frail
tent. Once more the donkey brayed.
"There they are! There they are!" cried Mr. Roscoe. "They are going
to kill me!"
It was the cry of the beast that had sent his frail mind once more into
the channel of insanity.
"Oh, what are we to do?" cried Frank again. "Perhaps he is really insane
and I have made a mistake in taking him out of that institution."
"It wasn't your fault," declared Bart "Any one would have done the same.
Perhaps it will pass over. He isn't violent.
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