“The East ain’t what it was,” said the skipper, shaking his head. “Why, when I was a young chap, at Dutch ’otels there’d be bottles of Schnapps on the table, at tiffin and dinner, and you just ’elped yourself. Free of charge it was. And when you’d finished the bottle you told the boy to bring another.”
“Must have come expensive.”
“Well, you know, that’s the funny thing, it didn’t. You very seldom found a chap as took advantage of it. Human nature’s like that. Treat a man proper and ’e’ll respond wonderfully. I believe in ’uman nature, I always ’ave.”
Erik Christessen came up the steps, took off his hat to them and was passing into the hotel.
“Come and have a drink with us,” called Fred.
“With pleasure. I’ll just go in and wash first.”
He went in.
“Hulloa, what’s this?” said the skipper, eyeing Fred slyly. “I thought you didn’t like strangers?”
“It depends. Seems rather a good sort to me. He never asked us who we were or what we were doing here? Generally everyone’s so curious.”
“He has naturally good manners,” said the doctor.
“What’ll you have?” asked Fred when the Dane rejoined them.
“The same as you.”
He dropped his ungainly bulk into a chair. They began to chat. He said nothing that was very clever or amusing, but there was a guilelessness in his conversation that made it pleasing. He filled you with confidence. He irradiated well-being. Dr. Saunders did not judge hastily, and he mistrusted his instincts, but this he could not miss and, reflecting upon it, he could ascribe it to nothing but an amazing and delightful sincerity. It was quite obvious that Fred Blake was much taken with the huge Dane. Dr. Saunders had never heard him talk so easily.
“Look here, you’d better know our names,” he said after a few minutes. “Mine’s Blake, Fred Blake, and the doctor’s called Saunders, and this fellow is Captain Nichols.”
Somewhat absurdly Erik Christessen got up and shook hands all round.
“I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said. “I hope you’re going to stay here a few days.”
“Are you still sailing to-morrow?” asked the doctor.
“Nothing to stay for. We saw a dinghy this morning.”
They went into the dining-room. It was cool and dim. Punkahs drawn by a small boy fitfully stirred the air. There was one long table, and at one end of it were sitting a Dutchman with a half-caste wife, a stout woman in loose pale draperies, and another Dutchman with a dark enough skin to suggest that he, too, had native blood in him. Erik Christessen exchanged polite greeting with them. They gave the strangers an incurious stare. Reistafel was served. They piled their plates with rice and curry, fried eggs, bananas and a dozen strange concoctions that boys kept bringing them. When everything was handed they were faced with a mountain of food. Captain Nichols looked at his with profound distaste.
“This’ll be my death,” he said solemnly.
“Don’t eat it, then,” said Fred.
“I must keep up me strength. Where would you be now if I ’adn’t ’ad me strength when we struck that bad weather? It’s not for my sake I’m eatin’ it. It’s for yours. I don’t take a job unless I know I can do it, and not me worst enemy can say I spare meself.”
Gradually the piles of food diminished, and Captain Nichols with stubborn determination cleaned up his plate.
“God, we haven’t had a meal like this for weeks,” said Fred.
He ate voraciously, with a boy’s appetite, and enjoyed his food. They drank beer.
“If I don’t suffer for this it’ll be a miracle,” said the skipper.
They had their coffee on the verandah.
“You’d better have a sleep now,” said Erik, “and then when it’s cooler I’ll come round and show you the sights. Pity you’re not staying a bit longer. It’s a beautiful walk up the volcano. You can see for miles. The sea and all the islands.”
“I don’t see why we shouldn’t stay till the doctor sails,” said Fred.
“Suits me,” said the skipper. “After all the ’ardships of life on the ocean wave this is a bit of all right. I’m not sure if a drop of brandy wouldn’t settle that reistafel now I come to think of it.”
“Trading, I suppose?” asked the Dane.
“We’re prospectin’ for shell,” said the skipper. “Got to find some new beds. There’s a fortune for anyone who’s lucky.”
“D’you have any papers here?” asked Blake. “In English, I mean.”
“Not London papers. But Frith gets a paper from Australia.”
“Frith. Who’s Frith?”
“He’s an Englishman. He gets a bundle of Sydney Bulletins every mail.”
Fred went strangely pale, but what the emotion was that blanched his cheek, who could tell?
“D’you think there’s a chance of my having a squint at them?”
“Of course. I’ll borrow them or I’ll take you up there.”
“How old’s the latest?”
“It oughtn’t to be very old. A mail came in four days ago.”
+-mymaughamcollection.blogspot.com-+ | | | | \|/ | | \~|~/ | | ,#####\/ | ,\/§§§§ | | # #\./#__|_§_\./ | | # \./ # _|_§ \./ | | # #/ # | § \ | | # # # | `~§§§§§ | +--------mmccl.blogspot.com--------+