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made fast he strolled in the shade of the few trees left
near the landing-place, waiting till he could go on

board. Her white men were not of his kind. The old
Sultan (though his wistful invasions were a nuisance)

was really much more acceptable to his fastidious taste.
But still they were white; the periodical visits of the

ship made a break in the well-filled sameness of the
days without disturbing his privacy. Moreover, they

were necessary from a business point of view; and
through a strain of preciseness in his nature he was

irritated when she failed to appear at the appointed
time.

The cause of the irregularity was too absurd, and
Massy, in his opinion, was a contemptible idiot. The

first time the Sofala reappeared under the new agree-
ment swinging out of the bend below, after he had

almost given up all hope of ever seeing her again, he
felt so angry that he did not go down at once to the

landing-place. His servants had come running to him
with the news, and he had dragged a chair close against

the front rail of the veranda, spread his elbows out,
rested his chin on his hands, and went on glaring at

her fixedly while she was being made fast opposite his
house. He could make out easily all the white faces on

board. Who on earth was that kind of patriarch they
had got there on the bridge now?

At last he sprang up and walked down the gravel path.
It was a fact that the very gravel for his paths had

been imported by the Sofala. Exasperated out of his
quiet superciliousness, without looking at anyone right

or left, he accosted Massy straightway in so determined
a manner that the engineer, taken aback, began to

stammer unintelligibly. Nothing could be heard but
the words: "Mr. Van Wyk . . . Indeed, Mr. Van

Wyk . . . For the future, Mr. Van Wyk"--and by the
suffusion of blood Massy's vast bilious face acquired an

unnatural orange tint, out of which the disconcerted
coal-black eyes shone in an extraordinary manner.

"Nonsense. I am tired of this. I wonder you have
the impudence to come alongside my jetty as if I had

it made for your convenience alone."
Massy tried to protest earnestly. Mr. Van Wyk was

very angry. He had a good mind to ask that German
firm--those people in Malacca--what was their name?--

boats with green funnels. They would be only too glad
of the opening to put one of their small steamers on

the run. Yes; Schnitzler, Jacob Schnitzler, would in a
moment. Yes. He had decided to write without delay.

In his agitation Massy caught up his falling pipe.
"You don't mean it, sir!" he shrieked.

"You shouldn't mismanage your business in this
ridiculous manner."

Mr. Van Wyk turned on his heel. The other three
whites on the bridge had not stirred during the scene.

Massy walked hastily from side to side, puffed out his
cheeks, suffocated.

"Stuck up Dutchman!"
And he moaned out feverishly a long tale of griefs.

The efforts he had made for all these years to please
that man. This was the return you got for it, eh?

Pretty. Write to Schnitzler--let in the green-funnel
boats--get an old Hamburg Jew to ruin him. No,

really he could laugh. . . . He laughed sobbingly. . . .
Ha! ha! ha! And make him carry the letter in his own

ship presumably.
He stumbled across a grating and swore. He would

not hesitate to fling the Dutchman's correspondence
overboard--the whole confounded bundle. He had

never, never made any charge for that accommodation.
But Captain Whalley, his new partner, would not let

him probably; besides, it would be only putting off the
evil day. For his own part he would make a hole in the

water rather than look on tamely at the green funnels
overrunning his trade.

He raved aloud. The China boys hung back with the
dishes at the foot of the ladder. He yelled from the

bridge down at the deck, "Aren't we going to have any
chow this evening at all?" then turned violently to

Captain Whalley, who waited, grave and patient, at
the head of the table, smoothing his beard in silence

now and then with a forbearing gesture.
"You don't seem to care what happens to me. Don't

you see that this affects your interests as much as mine?
It's no joking matter."

He took the foot of the table growling between his
teeth.

"Unless you have a few thousands put away some-
where. I haven't."

Mr. Van Wyk dined in his thoroughly lit-up bunga-
low, putting a point of splendor in the night of his

clearing above the dark bank of the river. Afterwards
he sat down to his piano, and in a pause he became aware

of slow footsteps passing on the path along the front.
A plank or two creaked under a heavy tread; he swung

half round on the music-stool, listening with his finger-
tips at rest on the keyboard. His little terrier barked

violently, backing in from the veranda. A deep voice
apologized gravely for "this intrusion." He walked out

quickly.
At the head of the steps the patriarchal figure, who

was the new captain of the Sofala apparently (he had
seen a round dozen of them, but not one of that sort),

towered without advancing. The little dog barked un-
ceasingly, till a flick of Mr. Van Wyk's handkerchief

made him spring aside into silence. Captain Whalley,
opening the matter, was met by a punctiliously polite

but determined opposition.
They carried on their discussionstanding where they

had come face to face. Mr. Van Wyk observed his
visitor with attention. Then at last, as if forced out of

his reserve--
"I am surprised that you should intercede for such a

confounded fool."
This outbreak was almost complimentary, as if its

meaning had been, "That such a man as you should
intercede!" Captain Whalley let it pass by without

flinching. One would have thought he had heard noth-
ing. He simply went on to state that he was personally

interested in putting things straight between them.
Personally . . .

But Mr. Van Wyk, really carried away by his disgust
with Massy, became very incisive--

"Indeed--if I am to be frank with you--his whole
character does not seem to me particularly estimable or

trustworthy . . ."
Captain Whalley, always straight, seemed to grow an

inch taller and broader, as if the girth of his chest had
suddenly expanded under his beard.

"My dear sir, you don't think I came here to discuss
a man with whom I am--I am--h'm--closely asso-

ciated."
A sort of solemn silence lasted for a moment. He was

not used to asking favors, but the importance he at-
tached to this affair had made him willing to try. . . .

Mr. Van Wyk, favorably impressed, and suddenly mol-
lified by a desire to laugh, interrupted--

"That's all right if you make it a personal matter;
but you can do no less than sit down and smoke a cigar

with me."
A slight pause, then Captain Whalley stepped forward

heavily. As to the regularity of the service, for the
future he made himself responsible for it; and his name

was Whalley--perhaps to a sailor (he was speaking to
a sailor, was he not?) not altogetherunfamiliar. There

was a lighthouse now, on an island. Maybe Mr. Van
Wyk himself . . .

"Oh yes. Oh indeed." Mr. Van Wyk caught on at
once. He indicated a chair. How very interesting.

For his own part he had seen some service in the last
Acheen War, but had never been so far East. Whalley

Island? Of course. Now that was very interesting.
What changes his guest must have seen since.

"I can look further back even--on a whole half-
century."

Captain Whalley expanded a bit. The flavor of a
good cigar (it was a weakness) had gone straight to his

heart, also the civility of that young man. There was
something in that accidentalcontact of which he had

been starved in his years of struggle.
The front wall retreating made a square recess fur-

nished like a room. A lamp with a milky glass shade,
suspended below the slope of the high roof at the end

of a slender brass chain, threw a bright round of light
upon a little table bearing an open book and an ivory

paper-knife. And, in the translucent shadows beyond,
other tables could be seen, a number of easy-chairs of

various shapes, with a great profusion of skin rugs
strewn on the teakwood planking all over the veranda.

The flowering creepers scented the air. Their foliage
clipped out between the uprights made as if several

frames of thick unstirring leaves reflecting the lamp-
light in a green glow. Through the opening at his

elbow Captain Whalley could see the gangway lantern
of the Sofala burning dim by the shore, the shadowy

masses of the town beyond the open lustrous darkness
of the river, and, as if hung along the straight edge

of the projecting eaves, a narrow black strip of the
night sky full of stars--resplendent. The famous cigar

in hand he had a moment of complacency.
"A trifle. Somebody must lead the way. I just

showed that the thing could be done; but you men
brought up to the use of steam cannot conceive the

vast importance of my bit of venturesomeness to
the Eastern trade of the time. Why, that new route

reduced the average time of a southern passage by
eleven days for more than half the year. Eleven days!

It's on record. But the remarkable thing--speaking
to a sailor--I should say was . . ."

He talked well, without egotism, professionally. The
powerful voice, produced without effort, filled the

bungalow even into the empty rooms with a deep and
limpid resonance, seemed to make a stillness outside;

and Mr. Van Wyk was surprised by the serene quality
of its tone, like the perfection of manly gentleness.

Nursing one small foot, in a silk sock and a patent
leather shoe, on his knee, he was immensely entertained.

It was as if nobody could talk like this now, and the
overshadowed eyes, the flowing white beard, the big

frame, the serenity, the whole temper of the man, were
an amazing survival from the prehistoric times of the

world coming up to him out of the sea.


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