Kim Ching was tall and stout, of a dignified presence, and he wore white ducks and a watch-chain of massive gold. He was much pleased with the result of his operation; he could see as he had never expected to, but all the same he would have liked to keep Dr. Saunders on the island a little longer.
“You damn fool to go on that lugger,” he said when the doctor told him he was sailing with Captain Nichols. “You velly comfortable here. Why you no wait? Take it easy an’ enjoy yourself. Much more better you wait for Dutch boat. Nichols velly bad man.”
“You’re not a velly good man yourself, Kim Ching.”
The trader, showing a row of expensive gold teeth, greeted this sally with a slow, fat smile in which there was no hint of disagreement. He liked the doctor and was grateful to him. When he saw that there was no persuading him to stay, he ceased to urge it. Dr. Saunders gave him his final instructions and took leave of him. Kim Ching accompanied him to the door and they parted. The doctor went down to the village and bought provisions for the journey, a bag of rice, a bunch of bananas, canned goods, whisky and beer; he told the coolie to take them down to the beach and wait for him, and returned to the rest-house. Ah Kay was ready and one of that morning’s patients, willing to earn a trifle, was waiting to carry the luggage. When they came to the beach one of Kim Ching’s sons was there to see him off, and he had brought at his father’s instructions a roll of Chinese silk as a parting present and a little square packet wrapped in white paper with Chinese characters on it, the contents of which Dr. Saunders guessed.
“Chandu?”
“My father say velly good stuff. P’laps you not have plenty for journey.”
There was no sign of life on the lugger, and the dinghy was not to be seen on the beach. Dr. Saunders shouted, but his voice was thin and throaty and did not carry. Ah Kay and Kim Ching’s son tried to make someone hear, but in vain, so they put the luggage and the stores into a dug-out and a native paddled the doctor and Ah Kay out. When they came up Dr. Saunders shouted again:
“Captain Nichols.”
Fred Blake appeared.
“Oh, it’s you. Nichols has gone ashore to get water.”
“I didn’t see him.”
Blake said nothing more. The doctor climbed on board, followed by Ah Kay and the native handed them up their kit and the provisions.
“Where shall I put my stuff?”
“There’s the cabin,” said Blake, pointing.
The doctor went down the companion. The cabin was aft. It was so low that you could not stand upright in it, far from spacious, and the main mast went through it. The ceiling was blackened where a smoking lamp hung. There were small portholes with wooden shutters. The mattresses of Nichols and Fred Blake were lengthways, and the only place for himself that the doctor could see was at the foot of the companion. He went on deck again and told Ah Kay to take down his sleeping mat and his portmanteau.
“The stores had better go in the hold,” he said to Fred.
“Fat chance there is for them there. We keep ours in the cabin. Tell your boy he’ll find a place under the boards. They’re loose.”
The doctor looked about him. He knew nothing of the sea. Except on occasion on the Min River, he had never been on anything but a steamer. The lugger looked very small for so long a voyage. It was a little more than fifty feet long. He would have liked to ask Blake several things, but he had gone forward. It was plain that though he had consented to the doctor’s coming it was against his will. He was sulking. There were a couple of old canvas chairs on deck, and in one of them the doctor sat down.
In a little while a blackfellow, wearing nothing but a dingy pareo, came along. He was of solid build, and his crisp curly hair was very grey.
“Captain coming,” he said.
Dr. Saunders looked in the direction in which he pointed, and saw the dinghy advancing towards them. Captain Nichols was steering and two blackfellows were rowing. They came alongside and the skipper called out:
“Utan, Tom, give a hand with the casks.”
Another blackfellow came up from the hold. The crew consisted of these four, Torres Straits islanders, tall, strong men with fine figures. Captain Nichols climbed on board and shook hands with the doctor.
“Settled in all right, doc? Not much of the ocean grey’ound about the Fenton, but as good a sea-boat as anyone can want. She’ll stand anything.”
He gave the dirty, unkempt little craft a sweeping glance in which there was the satisfaction of the workman with the tools he knew how to handle.
“Well, we’ll be gettin’ off.”
He gave his orders sharply. Mainsail and foresail were hoisted, the anchor weighed, and they slipped out of the lagoon. There was not a cloud in the sky, and the sun beat down on the shining sea. The monsoon was blowing, but with no great force, and there was a slight swell. Two or three gulls flew round them in wide circles. Now and then a flying-fish pierced the surface of the water, made a long dart over it and dived down with a tiny splash. Dr. Saunders read, smoked cigarettes, and when he was tired of reading looked at the sea and the green islands they passed. After a while the skipper handed over the wheel to one of the crew and came and sat down by him.
“We’ll anchor at Badu to-night,” he said. “That’s about forty-five miles. It looks all right in the Sailing Directions. There’s an anchorage there.”
“What is it?”
“Oh, just an uninhabited island. We generally anchor for the night.”
“Blake doesn’t seem any more pleased to have me on board,” said the doctor.
“We ’ad a bit of an argument last night.”
“What’s the trouble?”
“He’s only a kid.”
Dr. Saunders knew that he must earn his passage, and he knew also that when a man has told you all his symptoms he will have gained confidence and will tell you a great deal more besides. He began to ask the skipper questions about his health. There was nothing on which he was prepared to talk at greater length. The doctor took him down into the cabin, made him lie down and carefully examined him. When they went on deck again the grey-haired blackfellow, Tom Obu by name, who was cook and steward, was bringing aft their dinner.
“Come on, Fred,” called the skipper.
They sat down.
“This smells good,” said Nichols, as Tom Obu took the lid off the saucepan. “Somethin’ new, Tom?”
“I shouldn’t be surprised if my boy hadn’t lent a hand,” said the doctor.
“I think I can eat this,” said the skipper as he took a mouthful of a mess of rice and meat that he ladled on to his plate. “What do you think of this, Fred? Seems to me we’re goin’ to do ourselves O.K. with the doc on board.”
“It’s better than Tom’s cooking, I’ll say that for it.”
They ate with hearty appetite. The captain lit his pipe.
“If I don’t ’ave a pain after this I’ll say you’re a wonder, doc.”
“You won’t have a pain.”
“What beats me is ’ow a fellow like you come to settle in a place like Fu-chou. You could make a fortune in Sydney.”
“I’m all right in Fu-chou. I like China.”
“Yep? Studied in England, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve ’eard tell you was a specialist, ’ad a big practice in London, and I don’t know what all.”
“You mustn’t believe all you hear.”
“Seems funny your chuckin’ everything and settlin’ in a lousy Chinese city. You must ’ave been makin’ a packet in London.”
The skipper looked at him with his little shifty blue eyes and his grinning face was quick with malice. But the doctor bore his scrutiny blandly. He smiled, showing those large discoloured teeth of his, his eyes shrewd and alert, but gave no sign of embarrassment.
“Ever go back to England?”
“No. Why should I? My home’s in Fu-chou.”
“I don’t blame you. England’s finished if you ask me. Too many rules and regulations for my taste. Why can’t they leave a fellow alone, that’s what I’d like to know. Not on the register, are you?”
He shot the question out suddenly as though he wished to take the doctor by surprise. But he had met someone who was a match for him.
“Don’t say you haven’t confidence in me, Captain. You must believe in your doctor. He can’t do much for you if you don’t.”
“Believe in you? Why, if I didn’t believe in you you wouldn’t be ’ere.” Captain Nichols grew deadly serious; this was something that concerned himself. “I know there’s no one as is a patch on you anywheres between Bombay and Sydney, and if the truth was only told I shouldn’t be surprised if you’d ’ave to go a long way in London before you could find anyone as could ’old a candle to you. I know you’ve taken every degree a fellow can take. I’ve ’eard tell as ’ow if you’d stayed in London you’d be a baronet by now.”
“I don’t mind telling you that I’ve got more degrees than are any use to me,” the doctor laughed.
“Funny you shouldn’t be in the book. What’s it called? The Medical Directory.”
“What makes you think I’m not?” murmured the doctor, smiling but wary.
“Fellow I knew in Sydney looked you up. Talkin’ about you, ’e was, to another doctor, pal of ’is, and sayin’ you was such a marvel and all that, and out of curiosity they ’ad a look-see.”
“Perhaps your friend looked in the wrong edition.”
Captain Nichols chuckled slyly.
“Perhaps he did. I never thought of that.”
“Anyhow, I’ve never seen the inside of a gaol, Captain.”
The skipper gave a little start. He repressed it at once, but he changed colour. Dr. Saunders had made a shot in the dark and his eyes twinkled. The skipper laughed.
“That’s a good one. No more ’ave I, doc, but don’t you forget there’s many a man’s gone to gaol for no fault of ’is own and there’s many a man as might ’ave gone there if he ’adn’t thought a change of air would suit him.”
They looked at one another and chuckled.
“What’s there to laugh about?” said Fred Blake.
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