“What’s that?” asked Fred Blake.
His eyes were anxious, and indeed it was strange to enter upon that silent cove, protected by the green hill, in the still cool of the evening and see there a sailing vessel. She lay, sails furled, and because the spot was so solitary her presence was vaguely sinister. Captain Nichols looked at her through his glasses.
“She’s a pearler. Port Darwin. I don’t know what she’s doin’ ’ere. There’s a lot of ’em round by the Aru Islands.”
They saw the crew, a white man among them, watching them, and presently a boat was lowered.
“They’re comin’ over,” said the skipper.
By the time they were anchored, the dinghy had rowed up and Captain Nichols exchanged shouts of greeting with the captain of the schooner. He came on board, an Australian, and told them that his Japanese diver was sick and he was on his way to one of the Dutch islands where he could get a doctor.
“We got a doctor on board,” said Captain Nichols. “We’re givin’ ’im a passage.”
The Australian asked Dr. Saunders if he would come along and see his sick man, and after they had given him a cup of tea, for he refused a drink, the doctor got into the dinghy.
“Have you got any Australian papers?” asked Fred.
“I’ve got a Bulletin. It’s a month old.”
“Never mind. It’ll be new to us.”
“You’re welcome to it. I’ll send it back by the doctor.”
It did not take Dr. Saunders long to discover that the diver was suffering from a severe attack of dysentery. He was very ill. He gave him a hypodermic injection, and told the captain there was nothing to do but keep him quiet.
“Damn these Japs, they’ve got no constitution. I shan’t get any more work out of him for some time then?”
“If ever,” said the doctor.
They shook hands and he got into the dinghy again. The blackfellow pushed off.
“Here, wait a bit. I forgot to give you that paper.”
The Australian dived into the cabin and in a minute came out again with a Sydney Bulletin. He threw it into the dinghy.
Captain Nichols and Fred were playing cribbage when the doctor climbed back on to the Fenton. The sun was setting and the smooth sea was lucid with pale and various colour, blue, green, salmon-pink and milky purple, and it was like the subtle and tender colour of silence.
“Fixed ’im up all right?” enquired the skipper indifferently.
“He’s pretty bad.”
“Is that the paper?” Fred asked.
He took it out of the doctor’s hand, and strolled forward.
“Play cribbage?” said Nichols.
“No, I don’t.”
“Me and Fred play it every night. Luck of the devil ’e ’as. I shouldn’t like to tell you ’ow much money ’e’s won off me. It can’t go on. It must turn soon.” He called out: “Come on, Fred.”
“Half a mo.”
The skipper shrugged his shoulders.
“No manners. Anxious to see a paper, wasn’t ’e?”
“And a month old one at that,” answered the doctor. “How long is it since you left Thursday Island?”
“We never went near Thursday Island.”
“Oh?”
“What about a spot? D’you think it’d do me any ’arm?”
“I don’t think so.”
The skipper shouted for Tom Obu, and the blackfellow brought them a couple of glasses and some water. Nichols fetched the whisky. The sun set and the night crept softly over the still water. The only sound that broke the silence was the leap now and then of a fish. Tom Obu brought a hurricane lamp and placed it on the deck-house, and going below lit the smoking oil lamp in the cabin.
“I wonder what our young friend is readin’ all this time.”
“In the dark?”
“Maybe ’e’s thinkin’ of what ’e ’as read.”
But when at last Fred joined them and sat down to finish the interrupted game, it seemed to Dr. Saunders, in the uncertain light, that he was very pale. He had not brought the paper with him and the doctor went forward to get it. He could not see it. He called Ah Kay and told him to look for it. Standing in the darkness he watched the players.
“Fifteen two. Fifteen four. Fifteen six. Fifteen eight and six are fourteen. And one for his nob seventeen.”
“God, what luck you ’ave.”
The skipper was a bad loser. His face was set and hard. His shifty eyes glanced at each card he turned up with a sneering look. But the other played with a smile on his lips. The light of the hurricane lamp cut his profile out of the darkness, and it was astonishingly fine. His long lashes cast a little shadow on his cheeks. Just then he was more than a handsome young man; he had a tragic beauty that was very moving. Ah Kay came and said he could not find the paper.
“Where did you leave that Bulletin, Fred?” asked the doctor. “My boy can’t find it.”
“Isn’t it there?”
“No, we’ve both looked.”
“How the hell should I know where it is? Two for his heels.”
“Throw it overboard when you done with it?” asked the captain.
“Me? Why should I throw it overboard?”
“Well, if you didn’t it must be somewhere about,” said the doctor.
“That’s another game to you,” the skipper growled “I never see anyone ’old such cards.”
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