engineer seemed nonplused, like a slow man invited to

catch hold of a whirligig of some sort.
"What you want, sir, is a chap with no nonsense about

him, who would be content to be your sailing-master.
Quite right, too. Well, I am fit for the work as much

as that Serang. Because that's what it amounts to.
Do you know, sir, that a dam' Malay like a monkey is

in charge of your ship--and no one else. Just listen
to his feet pit-patting above us on the bridge--real

officer in charge. He's taking her up the river while
the great man is wallowing in the chair--perhaps asleep;

and if he is, that would not make it much worse either--
take my word for it."

He tried to thrust himself farther in. Massy, with
lowered forehead, one hand grasping the back of the

arm-chair, did not budge.
"You think, sir, that the man has got you tight in

his agreement . . ." Massy raised a heavy snarling
face at this . . . "Well, sir, one can't help hearing

of it on board. It's no secret. And it has been the
talk on shore for years; fellows have been making bets

about it. No, sir! It's YOU who have got him at your
mercy. You will say that you can't dismiss him for

indolence. Difficult to prove in court, and so on. Why,
yes. But if you say the word, sir, I can tell you some-

thing about his indolence that will give you the clear
right to fire him out on the spot and put me in charge

for the rest of this very trip--yes, sir, before we leave
Batu Beru--and make him pay a dollar a day for his

keep till we get back, if you like. Now, what do you
think of that? Come, sir. Say the word. It's really

well worth your while, and I am quite ready to take
your bare word. A definite statement from you would

be as good as a bond."
His eyes began to shine. He insisted. A simple state-

ment,--and he thought to himself that he would man-
age somehow to stick in his berth as long as it suited

him. He would make himself indispensable; the ship
had a bad name in her port; it would be easy to scare

the fellows off. Massy would have to keep him.
"A definite statement from me would be enough,"

Massy repeated slowly.
"Yes, sir. It would." Sterne stuck out his chin

cheerily and blinked at close quarters with that uncon-
scious impudence which had the power to enrage Massy

beyond anything.
The engineer spoke very distinctly.

"Listen well to me, then, Mr. Sterne: I wouldn't--
d'ye hear?--I wouldn't promise you the value of two

pence for anything YOU can tell me."
He struck Sterne's arm away with a smart blow, and

catching hold of the handle pulled the door to. The
terrific slam darkened the cabin instantaneously to his

eye as if after the flash of an explosion. At once he
dropped into the chair. "Oh, no! You don't!" he

whispered faintly.
The ship had in that place to shave the bank so close

that the gigantic wall of leaves came gliding like a
shutter against the port; the darkness of the primeval

forest seemed to flow into that bare cabin with the odor
of rotting leaves, of sodden soil--the strong muddy smell

of the living earth steaming uncovered after the pass-
ing of a deluge. The bushes swished loudly alongside;

above there was a series of crackling sounds, with a
sharp rain of small broken branches falling on the

bridge; a creeper with a great rustle snapped on the
head of a boat davit, and a long, luxuriant green twig

actually whipped in and out of the open port, leaving
behind a few torn leaves that remained suddenly at rest

on Mr. Massy's blanket. Then, the ship sheering out
in the stream, the light began to return but did not

augment beyond a subdued clearness: for the sun was
very low already, and the river, wending its sinuous

course through a multitude of secular trees as if at the
bottom of a precipitous gorge, had been already in-

vaded by a deepening gloom--the swift precursor of
the night.

"Oh, no, you don't!" murmured the engineer again.
His lips trembled almost imperceptibly; his hands too,

a little: and to calm himself he opened the writing-desk,
spread out a sheet of thin grayish paper covered with

a mass of printed figures and began to scan them at-
tentively for the twentieth time this trip at least.

With his elbows propped, his head between his hands,
he seemed to lose himself in the study of an abstruse

problem in mathematics. It was the list of the winning
numbers from the last drawing of the great lottery

which had been the one inspiring fact of so many years
of his existence. The conception of a life deprived of

that periodical sheet of paper had slipped away from
him entirely, as another man, according to his nature,

would not have been able to conceive a world without
fresh air, without activity, or without affection. A

great pile of flimsy sheets had been growing for years
in his desk, while the Sofala, driven by the faithful

Jack, wore out her boilers in tramping up and down the
Straits, from cape to cape, from river to river, from

bay to bay; accumulating by that hard labor of an
overworked, starved ship the blackened mass of these

documents. Massy kept them under lock and key like
a treasure. There was in them, as in the experience

of life, the fascination of hope, the excitement of a half-
penetrated mystery, the longing of a half-satisfied

desire.
For days together, on a trip, he would shut himself

up in his berth with them: the thump of the toiling
engines pulsated in his ear; and he would weary his

brain poring over the rows of disconnected figures, be-
wildering by their senselesssequence, resembling the

hazards of destiny itself. He nourished a conviction
that there must be some logic lurking somewhere in the

results of chance. He thought he had seen its very
form. His head swam; his limbs ached; he puffed at

his pipe mechanically; a contemplative stupor would
soothe the fretfulness of his temper, like the passive

bodily quietude procured by a drug, while the intellect
remains tensely on the stretch. Nine, nine, aught, four,

two. He made a note. The next winning number of
the great prize was forty-seven thousand and five. These

numbers of course would have to be avoided in the future
when writing to Manilla for the tickets. He mumbled,

pencil in hand . . . "and five. Hm . . . hm." He
wetted his finger: the papers rustled. Ha! But what's

this? Three years ago, in the September drawing, it
was number nine, aught, four, two that took the first

prize. Most remarkable. There was a hint there of