any rate, to hunt for the canvas sling which he had round his
body. The whole crew of the steamer, with the exception of

firemen and engineers, rushed up the jetty, past the thoughtful
Almayer, and vanished from my sight. The white fog swallowed

them up; and again there was a deep silence that seemed to extend
for miles up and down the stream. Still taciturn, Almayer

started to climb on board, and I went down from the bridge to
meet him on the after-deck.

"Would you mind telling the captain that I want to see him very
particularly?" he asked me, in a low tone, letting his eyes stray

all over the place.
"Very well. I will go and see."

With the door of his cabin wide open, Captain C----, just back
from the bath-room, big and broad-chested, was brushing his

thick, damp, iron-gray hair with two large brushes.
"Mr. Almayer told me he wanted to see you very particularly,

sir."
Saying these words, I smiled. I don't know why I smiled, except

that it seemed absolutely impossible to mention Almayer's name
without a smile of a sort. It had not to be necessarily a

mirthful smile. Turning his head toward me, Captain C----
smiled, too, rather joylessly.

"The pony got away from him--eh?"
"Yes, sir. He did."

"Where is he?"
"Goodness only knows."

"No. I mean Almayer. Let him come along."
The captain's stateroom opening straight on deck under the

bridge, I had only to beckon from the doorway to Almayer, who had
remained aft, with downcast eyes, on the very spot where I had

left him. He strolled up moodily, shook hands, and at once asked
permission to shut the cabin door.

"I have a pretty story to tell you," were the last words I heard.
The bitterness of tone was remarkable.

I went away from the door, of course. For the moment I had no
crew on board; only the Chinaman carpenter, with a canvas bag

hung round his neck and a hammer in his hand, roamed about the
empty decks, knocking out the wedges of the hatches and dropping

them into the bag conscientiously. Having nothing to do I joined
our two engineers at the door of the engine-room. It was near

breakfast-time.
"He's turned up early, hasn't he?" commented the second engineer,

and smiled indifferently. He was an abstemious man, with a good
digestion and a placid, reasonable view of life even when hungry.

"Yes," I said. "Shut up with the old man. Some very particular
business."

"He will spin him a damned endless yarn," observed the chief
engineer.

He smiled rather sourly. He was dyspeptic, and suffered from
gnawing hunger in the morning. The second smiled broadly, a

smile that made two vertical folds on his shaven cheeks. And I
smiled, too, but I was not exactly amused. In that man, whose

name apparently could not be uttered anywhere in the Malay
Archipelago without a smile, there was nothing amusing whatever.

That morning he breakfasted with us silently, looking mostly into
his cup. I informed him that my men came upon his pony capering

in the fog on the very brink of the eight-foot-deep well in which
he kept his store of guttah. The cover was off, with no one near

by, and the whole of my crew just missed going heels over head
into that beastly hole. Jurumudi Itam, our best quartermaster,

deft at fine needlework, he who mended the ship's flags and sewed
buttons on our coats, was disabled by a kick on the shoulder.

Both remorse and gratitude seemed foreign to Almayer's character.
He mumbled:

"Do you mean that pirate fellow?"
"What pirate fellow? The man has been in the ship eleven years,"

I said, indignantly.
"It's his looks," Almayer muttered, for all apology.

The sun had eaten up the fog. From where we sat under the
after-awning we could see in the distance the pony tied up, in

front of Almayer's house, to a post of the veranda. We were
silent for a long time. All at once Almayer, alluding evidently

to the subject of his conversation in the captain's cabin,
exclaimed anxiously across the table:

"I really don't know what I can do now!"
Captain C---- only raised his eyebrows at him, and got up from

his chair. We dispersed to our duties, but Almayer, half dressed
as he was in his cretonne pajamas and the thin cotton singlet,

remained on board, lingering near the gangway, as though he could
not make up his mind whether to go home or stay with us for good.

Our Chinamen boys gave him side glances as they went to and fro;
and Ah Sing, our chief steward, the handsomest and most

sympathetic of Chinamen, catching my eye, nodded knowingly at his
burly back. In the course of the morning I approached him for a

moment.
"Well, Mr. Almayer," I addressed him, easily, "you haven't

started on your letters yet."
We had brought him his mail, and he had held the bundle in his

hand ever since we got up from breakfast. He glanced at it when
I spoke, and for a moment it looked as if he were on the point of

opening his fingers and letting the whole lot fall overboard. I
believe he was tempted to do so. I shall never forget that man

afraid of his letters.
"Have you been long out from Europe?" he asked me.

"Not very. Not quite eight months," I told him. "I left a ship
in Samarang with a hurt back, and have been in the hospital in

Singapore some weeks."
He sighed.

"Trade is very bad here."
"Indeed!"

"Hopeless! . . . See these geese?"
With the hand holding the letters he pointed out to me what

resembled a patch of snow creeping and swaying across the distant
part of his compound. It disappeared behind some bushes.

"The only geese on the East Coast," Almayer informed me, in a
perfunctory mutter without a spark of faith, hope, or pride.

Thereupon, with the same absence of any sort of sustaining
spirit, he declared his intention to select a fat bird and send

him on board for us not later than next day.
I had heard of these largesses before. He conferred a goose as

if it were a sort of court decoration given only to the tried
friends of the house. I had expected more pomp in the ceremony.

The gift had surely its special quality, multiple and rare. From
the only flock on the East Coast! He did not make half enough of

it. That man did not understand his opportunities. However, I
thanked him at some length.

"You see," he interrupted, abruptly, in a very peculiar tone,
"the worst of this country is that one is not able to realize . .

. it's impossible to realize. . . ." His voice sank into a
languid mutter. "And when one has very large interests . . .

very important interests . . ." he finished, faintly . . . "up
the river."

We looked at each other. He astonished me by giving a start and
making a very queer grimace.

"Well, I must be off," he burst out, hurriedly. "So long!"
At the moment of stepping over the gang way he checked himself,

though, to give me a mumbled invitation to dine at his house that
evening with my captain, an invitation which I accepted. I don't

think it could have been possible for me to refuse.
I like the worthy folk who will talk to you of the exercise of

free-will, "at any rate for practical purposes." Free, is it?
For practical purposes! Bosh! How could I have refused to dine