cried. 'What I meant is that some of them do go soft mighty quick out here.'
Jocularly I suggested the beastly heat as the first cause. But Captain Giles disclosed himself possessed of a deeper philosophy. Things out East were made easy for white men. That was all right. The difficulty was to go on keeping white, and some of these nice boys did not know how. He gave me a searching look, and in a benevolent, heavy-uncle manner asked point blank:
'Why did you throw up your berth?'
I became angry all of a sudden; for you can understand how exasperating such a question was to a man who didn't know. I said to myself that I ought to shut up that moralist; and to him aloud I said with challenging politeness:
'Why . . . ? Do you disapprove?'
He was too disconcerted to do more than mutter confusedly: 'I! . . . In a general way. . .' and then gave me up. But he retired in good order, under the cover of a heavily humorous remark that he, too, was getting soft, and that this was his time for taking his little siesta—when he was on shore. 'Very bad habit. Very bad habit.'
There was a simplicity in the man which would have disarmed a touchiness even more youthful than mine. So when next day at tiffin he bent his head toward me and said that he had met my late Captain last evening, adding in an undertone: 'He's very sorry you left. He had never had a mate that suited him so well,' I answered him earnestly, without any affectation, that I certainly hadn't been so comfortable in any ship or with any commander in all my sea-going days.
'Well—then,' he murmured.
'Haven't you heard, Captain Giles, that I intend to go home?'
'Yes,' he said benevolently. 'I have heard that sort of thing so often before.'
'What of that?' I cried. I thought he was the most dull, unimaginative man I had ever met. I don't know what more I would have said, but the much-belated Hamilton came in just then and took his usual seat. So I dropped into a mumble.
'Anyhow, you shall see it done this time.'
Hamilton, beautifully shaved, gave Captain Giles a curt nod, but didn't even condescend to raise his eyebrows at me; and when he spoke it was only to tell the Chief Steward that the food on his plate wasn't fit to be set before a gentleman. The individual addressed seemed much too unhappy to groan. He cast his eyes up to the punkah and that was all.
Captain Giles and I got up from the table, and the stranger next to Hamilton followed our example, manoeuvring himself to his feet with difficulty. He, poor fellow, not because he was hungry but I verily believe only to recover his self-respect, had tried to put some of that unworthy food into his mouth. But after dropping his fork twice and generally making a failure of it, he had sat still with an air of intense mortification combined with a ghastly glazed stare. Both Giles and I had avoided looking his way at table.
On the verandah he stopped short on purpose to address to us anxiously a long remark which I failed to understand completely. It sounded like some horrible unknown language. But when Captain Giles, after only an instant for reflection, assured him with homely friendliness, 'Aye, to be sure. You are right there,' he appeared very much gratified indeed, and went away (pretty straight, too) to seek a distant long chair.
'What was he trying to say?' I asked with disgust.
'I don't know. Mustn't be down too much on a fellow. He's feeling pretty wretched, you may be sure; and to- morrow he'll feel worse yet.'
Judging by the man's appearance it seemed impossible. I wondered what sort of complicated debauch had reduced him to that unspeakable condition. Captain Giles' benevolence was spoiled by a curious air of complacency which I disliked. I said with a little laugh:
'Well, he will have you to look after him.' He made a deprecatory gesture, sat down, and took up a paper. I did the same. The papers were old and uninteresting, filled up mostly with dreary stereotyped descriptions of Queen Victoria's first jubilee celebrations. Probably we should have quickly fallen into a tropical afternoon doze if it had not been for Hamilton's voice raised in the dining room. He was finishing his tiffin there. The big double doors stood wide open permanently, and he could not have had any idea how near to the doorway our chairs were placed. He was heard in a loud, supercilious tone answering some statement ventured by the Chief Steward.
'I am not going to be rushed into anything. They will be glad enough to get a gentleman I imagine. There is no hurry.'
A loud whispering from the Steward succeeded and then again Hamilton was heard with even intenser scorn.
'What? That young ass who fancies himself for having been chief mate with Kent so long? . . . Preposterous.'
Giles and I looked at each other. Kent being the name of my late commander, Captain Giles' whisper, 'He's talking of you,' seemed to me sheer waste of breath. The Chief Steward must have stuck to his point, whatever it was, because Hamilton was heard again more supercilious if possible, and also very emphatic:
'Rubbish, my good man! One doesn't
Then there were pushing of chairs, footsteps in the next room, and plaintive expostulations from the Steward, who was pursuing Hamilton, even out of doors through the main entrance.
'That's a very insulting sort of man,' remarked Captain Giles—superfluously, I thought. 'Very insulting. You haven't offended him in some way, have you?'
'Never spoke to him in my life,' I said grumpily. 'Can't imagine what he means by competing. He has been trying for my job after I left—and didn't get it. But that isn't exactly competition.'
Captain Giles balanced his big benevolent head thoughtfully. 'He didn't get it,' he repeated very slowly. 'No, not likely either, with Kent. Kent is no end sorry you left him. He gives you the name of a good seaman, too.'
I flung away the paper I was still holding. I sat up, I slapped the table with my open palm. I wanted to know why he would keep harping on that, my absolutely private affair. It was exasperating, really.
