up to anything from pitch-and-toss to wilful murder. And that's a
bit of hard truth for you. Don't mind what they do - think they
can carry off anything and talk themselves out of anything - all
the world's a fool to them. Business man, too, Cloete. Came over
with a few hundred pounds. Looking for something to do - in a
quiet way. Nothing like the old country, after all, says he. . .
And so we part - I with more drinks in me than I was used to.
After a time, perhaps six months or so, I run up against him again
in Mr. George Dunbar's office. Yes, THAT office. It wasn't often
that I . . . However, there was a bit of his cargo in a ship in
dock that I wanted to ask Mr. George about. In comes Cloete out of
the room at the back with some papers in his hand. Partner. You
understand?"
"Aha!" I said. "The few hundred pounds."
"And that tongue of his," he growled. "Don't forget that tongue.
Some of his tales must have opened George Dunbar's eyes a bit as to
what business means."
"A plausible fellow," I suggested.
"H'm! You must have it in your own way - of course. Well.
Partner. George Dunbar puts his top-hat on and tells me to wait a
moment. . . George always looked as though he were making a few
thousands a year - a city swell. . . Come along, old man! And he
and Captain Harry go out together - some business with a solicitor
round the corner. Captain Harry, when he was in England, used to
turn up in his brother's office
regularly about twelve. Sat in a
corner like a good boy,
reading the paper and smoking his pipe. So
they go out. . . Model brothers, says Cloete - two love-birds - I
am looking after the tinned-fruit side of this cozy little show. .
. Gives me that sort of talk. Then by-and-by: What sort of old
thing is that Sagamore? Finest ship out - eh? I dare say all ships
are fine to you. You live by them. I tell you what; I would just
as soon put my money into an old
stocking. Sooner!"
He drew a
breath, and I noticed his hand, lying
loosely on the
table, close slowly into a fist. In that
immovable man it was
startling,
ominous, like the famed nod of the Commander.
"So, already at that time - note - already," he growled.
"But hold on," I interrupted. "The Sagamore belonged to Mundy and
Rogers, I've been told."
He snorted
contemptuous" target="_blank" title="a.蔑视的;傲慢的">
contemptuously. "Damn boatmen - know no better. Flew
the firm's HOUSE-FLAG. That's another thing. Favour. It was like
this: When old man Dunbar died, Captain Harry was already in
command with the firm. George chucked the bank he was clerking in
- to go on his own with what there was to share after the old chap.
George was a smart man. Started warehousing; then two or three
things at a time: wood-pulp, preserved-fruit trade, and so on.
And Captain Harry let him have his share to work with. . . I am
provided for in my ship, he says. . . But by-and-by Mundy and
Rogers begin to sell out to foreigners all their ships - go into
steam right away. Captain Harry gets very upset - lose command,
part with the ship he was fond of - very
wretched. Just then, so
it happened, the brothers came in for some money - an old woman
died or something. Quite a tidy bit. Then young George says:
There's enough between us two to buy the Sagamore with. . . But
you'll need more money for your business, cries Captain Harry - and
the other laughs at him: My business is going on all right. Why,
I can go out and make a
handful of sovereigns while you are trying
to get your pipe to draw, old man. . . Mundy and Rogers very
friendly about it: Certainly, Captain. And we will manage her for
you, if you like, as if she were still our own. . . Why, with a
connection like that it was good
investment to buy that ship.
Good! Aye, at the time."
The turning of his head
slightly toward me at this point was like a
sign of strong feeling in any other man.
"You'll mind that this was long before Cloete came into it at all,"
he muttered, warningly.
"Yes. I will mind," I said. "We generally say: some years
passed. That's soon done."
He eyed me for a while
silently in an un
seeing way, as if engrossed
in the thought of the years so easily dealt with; his own years,
too, they were, the years before and the years (not so many) after
Cloete came upon the scene. When he began to speak again, I
discerned his
intention to point out to me, in his obscure and
graphic manner, the influence on George Dunbar of long association
with Cloete's easy moral standards, unscrupulously
persuasive gift
of
humour (funny fellow), and adventurously
reckless disposition.
He desired me
anxiously to
elaborate this view, and I
assured him