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of such power as he had. His conceited and tyrannical
disposition did not allow him to let it dwindle in his

hands for want of use. The uproarious, choleric frank-
ness of his comments on people's character and conduct

caused him to be feared at bottom; though in conversa-
tion many pretended not to mind him in the least, others

would only smile sourly at the mention of his name, and
there were even some who dared to pronounce him "a

meddlesome old ruffian." But for almost all of them
one of Captain Eliott's outbreaks was nearly as distaste-

ful to face as a chance of annihilation.
V

As soon as he had come up quite close he said, mouth-
ing in a growl--

"What's this I hear, Whalley? Is it true you're sell-
ing the Fair Maid?"

Captain Whalley, looking away, said the thing was
done--money had been paid that morning; and the other

expressed at once his approbation of such an extremely
sensible proceeding. He had got out of his trap to

stretch his legs, he explained, on his way home to dinner.
Sir Frederick looked well at the end of his time. Didn't

he?
Captain Whalley could not say; had only noticed the

carriage going past.
The Master-Attendant, plunging his hands into the

pockets of an alpaca jacket inappropriately short and
tight for a man of his age and appearance, strutted

with a slight limp, and with his head reaching only to
the shoulder of Captain Whalley, who walked easily,

staring straight before him. They had been good com-
rades years ago, almost intimates. At the time when

Whalley commanded the renowned Condor, Eliott had
charge of the nearly as famous Ringdove for the same

owners; and when the appointment of Master-Attendant
was created, Whalley would have been the only other

serious candidate. But Captain Whalley, then in the
prime of life, was resolved to serve no one but his own

auspicious Fortune. Far away, tending his hot irons,
he was glad to hear the other had been successful. There

was a worldly suppleness in bluff Ned Eliott that would
serve him well in that sort of official appointment. And

they were so dissimilar at bottom that as they came
slowly to the end of the avenue before the Cathedral, it

had never come into Whalley's head that he might have
been in that man's place--provided for to the end of

his days.
The sacrededifice, standing in solemnisolation amongst

the converging avenues of enormous trees, as if to put
grave thoughts of heaven into the hours of ease, pre-

sented a closed Gothic portal to the light and glory of
the west. The glass of the rosace above the ogive glowed

like fiery coal in the deep carvings of a wheel of stone.
The two men faced about.

"I'll tell you what they ought to do next, Whalley,"
growled Captain Eliott suddenly.

"Well?"
"They ought to send a real live lord out here when

Sir Frederick's time is up. Eh?"
Captain Whalley perfunctorily did not see why a lord

of the right sort should not do as well as anyone else.
But this was not the other's point of view.

"No, no. Place runs itself. Nothing can stop it now.
Good enough for a lord," he growled in short sentences.

"Look at the changes in our time. We need a lord
here now. They have got a lord in Bombay."

He dined once or twice every year at the Government
House--a many-windowed, arcaded palace upon a hill

laid out in roads and gardens. And lately he had been
taking about a duke in his Master-Attendant's steam-

launch to visit the harbor improvements. Before that
he had "most obligingly" gone out in person to pick

out a good berth for the ducal yacht. Afterwards he
had an invitation to lunch on board. The duchess her-

self lunched with them. A big woman with a red face.
Complexion quite sunburnt. He should think ruined.

Very gracious manners. They were going on to
Japan. . . .

He ejaculated these details for Captain Whalley's edi-
fication, pausing to blow out his cheeks as if with a

pent-up sense of importance, and repeatedly protruding
his thick lips till the blunt crimson end of his nose seemed

to dip into the milk of his mustache. The place ran
itself; it was fit for any lord; it gave no trouble except

in its Marine department--in its Marine department he
repeated twice, and after a heavy snort began to relate

how the other day her Majesty's Consul-General in
French Cochin-China had cabled to him--in his official

capacity--asking for a qualified man to be sent over
to take charge of a Glasgow ship whose master had died

in Saigon.
"I sent word of it to the officers' quarters in the Sailors'

Home," he continued, while the limp in his gait seemed
to grow more accentuated with the increasing irritation

of his voice. "Place's full of them. Twice as many
men as there are berths going in the local trade. All

hungry for an easy job. Twice as many--and--What
d'you think, Whalley? . . ."

He stopped short; his hands clenched and thrust deeply
downwards, seemed ready to burst the pockets of his

jacket. A slight sigh escaped Captain Whalley.
"Hey? You would think they would be falling over

each other. Not a bit of it. Frightened to go home.
Nice and warm out here to lie about a veranda waiting

for a job. I sit and wait in my office. Nobody. What
did they suppose? That I was going to sit there like

a dummy with the Consul-General's cable before me?
Not likely. So I looked up a list of them I keep by

me and sent word for Hamilton--the worst loafer of
them all--and just made him go. Threatened to in-

struct the steward of the Sailors' Home to have him
turned out neck and crop. He did not think the berth

was good enough--if--you--please. 'I've your little
records by me,' said I. 'You came ashore here eighteen

months ago, and you haven't done six months' work
since. You are in debt for your board now at the Home,

and I suppose you reckon the Marine Office will pay in
the end. Eh? So it shall; but if you don't take this

chance, away you go to England, assisted passage, by
the first homewardsteamer that comes along. You are

no better than a pauper. We don't want any white
paupers here.' I scared him. But look at the trouble

all this gave me."
"You would not have had any trouble," Captain Whal-

ley said almost involuntarily, "if you had sent for
me."

Captain Eliott was immensely amused; he shook with
laughter as he walked. But suddenly he stopped laugh-

ing. A vague recollection had crossed his mind. Hadn't
he heard it said at the time of the Travancore and Deccan

smash that poor Whalley had been cleaned out com-
pletely. "Fellow's hard up, by heavens!" he thought;

and at once he cast a sidelong upward glance at his
companion. But Captain Whalley was smiling austerely

straight before him, with a carriage of the head incon-
ceivable in a penniless man--and he became reassured.

Impossible. Could not have lost everything. That ship
had been only a hobby of his. And the reflection that

a man who had confessed to receiving that very morning
a presumably large sum of money was not likely to

spring upon him a demand for a small loan put him
entirely at his ease again. There had come a long pause

in their talk, however, and not knowing how to begin
again, he growled out soberly, "We old fellows ought

to take a rest now."
"The best thing for some of us would be to die at the

oar," Captain Whalley said negligently.
"Come, now. Aren't you a bit tired by this time of

the whole show?" muttered the other sullenly.
"Are you?"

Captain Eliott was. Infernally tired. He only hung
on to his berth so long in order to get his pension on the

highest scale before he went home. It would be no better
than poverty, anyhow; still, it was the only thing be-

tween him and the workhouse. And he had a family.
Three girls, as Whalley knew. He gave "Harry, old

boy," to understand that these three girls were a source
of the greatest anxiety and worry to him. Enough to

drive a man distracted.
"Why? What have they been doing now?" asked

Captain Whalley with a sort of amused absent-minded-
ness.

"Doing! Doing nothing. That's just it. Lawn-
tennis and silly novels from morning to night. . . ."

If one of them at least had been a boy. But all three!
And, as ill-luck would have it, there did not seem to be

any decent young fellows left in the world. When he
looked around in the club he saw only a lot of conceited

popinjays too selfish to think of making a good woman
happy. Extreme indigence stared him in the face with

all that crowd to keep at home. He had cherished the
idea of building himself a little house in the country--

in Surrey--to end his days in, but he was afraid it was
out of the question, . . . and his staring eyes rolled

upwards with such a patheticanxiety that Captain Whal-
ley charitably nodded down at him, restraining a sort of

sickening desire to laugh.
"You must know what it is yourself, Harry. Girls

are the very devil for worry and anxiety."
"Ay! But mine is doing well," Captain Whalley pro-

nounced slowly, staring to the end of the avenue.
The Master-Attendant was glad to hear this. Uncom-

monly glad. He remembered her well. A pretty girl
she was.

Captain Whalley, stepping out carelessly, assented as
if in a dream.

"She was pretty."
The procession of carriages was breaking up.

One after another they left the file to go off at a trot,
animating the vast avenue with their scattered life and

movement; but soon the aspect of dignifiedsolitude re-
turned and took possession of the straight wide road.

A syce in white stood at the head of a Burmah pony har-
nessed to a varnished two-wheel cart; and the whole thing

waiting by the curb seemed no bigger than a child's toy
forgotten under the soaring trees. Captain Eliott

waddled up to it and made as if to clamber in, but re-
frained; and keeping one hand resting easily on the

shaft, he changed the conversation from his pension, his
daughters, and his poverty back again to the only other

topic in the world--the Marine Office, the men and the


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