school. The straitened circumstances in the house filled with
small brothers and sisters,
sufficiently clothed and fed but
otherwise
running wild, while the disconsolate widower tramped
about all day in a
shabbyovercoat and
imperfect boots on the
muddy quays, and in the evening piloted
wearily the
half-intoxicated foreign skippers
amongst the places of cheap
delights, returning home late, sick with too much smoking and
drinking--for company's sake--with these men, who expected such
attentions in the way of business. Then the offer of the
good-natured captain of Kosmopoliet IV., who was pleased to do
something for the patient and obliging fellow; young Willems'
great joy, his still greater
disappointment with the sea that
looked so
charming from afar, but proved so hard and
exacting on
closer acquaintance--and then this
running away by a sudden
impulse. The boy was
hopelessly at variance with the spirit of
the sea. He had an
instinctivecontempt for the honest
simplicity of that work which led to nothing he cared for.
Lingard soon found this out. He offered to send him home in an
English ship, but the boy begged hard to be permitted to remain.
He wrote a beautiful hand, became soon perfect in English, was
quick at figures; and Lingard made him useful in that way. As he
grew older his trading instincts developed themselves
astonishingly, and Lingard left him often to trade in one island
or another while he, himself, made an
intermediate trip to some
out-of-the-way place. On Willems expressing a wish to that
effect, Lingard let him enter Hudig's service. He felt a little
sore at that
abandonment because he had attached himself, in a
way, to his protege. Still he was proud of him, and spoke up for
him loyally. At first it was, "Smart boy that--never make a
seaman though." Then when Willems was helping in the trading he
referred to him as "that clever young fellow." Later when
Willems became the
confidential agent of Hudig, employed in many
a
delicate affair, the simple-hearted old
seaman would point an
admiring finger at his back and
whisper to
whoever stood near at
the moment, "Long-headed chap that; deuced long-headed chap.
Look at him. Confidential man of old Hudig. I picked him up in
a ditch, you may say, like a starved cat. Skin and bone. 'Pon my
word I did. And now he knows more than I do about island
trading. Fact. I am not joking. More than I do," he would
repeat,
seriously, with
innocent pride in his honest eyes.
From the safe
elevation of his
commercial successes Willems
patronized Lingard. He had a
liking for his
benefactor, not
unmixed with some
disdain for the crude directness of the old
fellow's methods of conduct. There were, however, certain sides
of Lingard's
character for which Willems felt a qualified
respect. The talkative
seaman knew how to be silent on certain
matters that to Willems were very interesting. Besides, Lingard
was rich, and that in itself was enough to compel Willems'
unwilling
admiration. In his
confidential chats with Hudig,
Willems generally alluded to the
benevolent Englishman as the
"lucky old fool" in a very
distinct tone of
vexation; Hudig would
grunt an unqualified
assent, and then the two would look at each
other in a sudden immobility of pupils fixed by a stare of
unexpressed thought.
"You can't find out where he gets all that india-rubber, hey
Willems?" Hudig would ask at last, turning away and bending over
the papers on his desk.
"No, Mr. Hudig. Not yet. But I am trying," was Willems'
invariable reply, delivered with a ring of regretful deprecation.
"Try! Always try! You may try! You think yourself clever
perhaps," rumbled on Hudig, without looking up. "I have been
trading with him twenty--thirty years now. The old fox. And I
have tried. Bah!"
He stretched out a short, podgy leg and contemplated the bare
instep and the grass
slipperhanging by the toes. "You can't
make him drunk?" he would add, after a pause of stertorous
breathing.
"No, Mr. Hudig, I can't really," protested Willems,
earnestly.