“He doesn’t.”
“Naturally not. Quite beyond his apprehension. They aren’t capable of finding out anything about us, sir.”
“You seem to be a shrewd man,” said Mr. Van Wyk in a choked mutter, as though he were feeling sick.
“You’ll find me a good enough servant, sir.”
Mr. Sterne hoped now for a handshake at least, but unexpectedly, with a “What’s this? Better not to be seen together,” Mr. Van Wyk’s white shape wavered, and instantly seemed to melt away in the black air under the roof of boughs. The mate was startled. Yes. There was that faint thumping clatter.
He stole out silently from under the shade. The lighted porthole shone from afar. His head swam with the intoxication of sudden success. What a thing it was to have a gentleman to deal with! He crept aboard, and there was something weird in the shadowy stretch of empty decks, echoing with shouts and blows proceeding from a darker part amidships. Mr. Massy was raging before the door of the berth: the drunken voice within flowed on undisturbed in the violent racket of kicks.
“Shut up! Put your light out and turn in, you confounded swilling pig—you! D’you hear me, you beast?”
The kicking stopped, and in the pause the muzzy oracular voice announced from within—
“Ah! Massy, now—that’s another thing. Massy’s deep.”
“Who’s that aft there? You, Sterne? He’ll drink himself into a fit of horrors.” The chief engineer appeared vague and big at the corner of the engine-room.
“He will be good enough for duty tomorrow. I would let him be, Mr. Massy.”
Sterne slipped away into his berth, and at once had to sit down. His head swam with exultation. He got into his bunk as if in a dream. A feeling of profound peace, of pacific joy, came over him. On deck all was quiet.
Mr. Massy, with his ear against the door of Jack’s cabin, listened critically to a deep stertorous breathing within. This was a dead-drunk sleep. The bout was over: tranquilized on that score, he too went in, and with slow wriggles got out of his old tweed jacket. It was a garment with many pockets, which he used to put on at odd times of the day, being subject to sudden chilly fits, and when he felt warmed he would take it off and hang it about anywhere all over the ship. It would be seen swinging on belaying-pins, thrown over the heads of winches, suspended on people’s very doorhandles for that matter. Was he not the owner? But his favorite place was a hook on a wooden awning stanchion on the bridge, almost against the binnacle. He had even in the early days more than one tussle on that point with Captain Whalley, who desired the bridge to be kept tidy. He had been overawed then. Of late, though, he had been able to defy his partner with impunity. Captain Whalley never seemed to notice anything now. As to the Malays, in their awe of that scowling man not one of the crew would dream of laying a hand on the thing, no matter where or what it swung from.
With an unexpectedness which made Mr. Massy jump and drop the coat at his feet, there came from the next berth the crash and thud of a headlong, jingling, clattering fall. The faithful Jack must have dropped to sleep suddenly as he sat at his revels, and now had gone over chair and all, breaking, as it seemed by the sound, every single glass and bottle in the place. After the terrific smash all was still for a time in there, as though he had killed himself outright on the spot. Mr. Massy held his breath. At last a sleepy uneasy groaning sigh was exhaled slowly on the other side of the bulkhead.
“I hope to goodness he’s too drunk to wake up now,” muttered Mr. Massy.
The sound of a softly knowing laugh nearly drove him to despair. He swore violently under his breath. The fool would keep him awake all night now for certain. He cursed his luck. He wanted to forget his maddening troubles in sleep sometimes. He could detect no movements. Without apparently making the slightest attempt to get up, Jack went on sniggering to himself where he lay; then began to speak, where he had left off as it were—
“Massy! I love the dirty rascal. He would like to see his poor old Jack starve—but just you look where he has climbed to.” … He hiccuped in a superior, leisurely manner. … “Ship-owning it with the best. A lottery ticket you want. Ha! ha! I will give you lottery tickets, my boy. Let the old ship sink and the old chum starve—that’s right. He don’t go wrong—Massy don’t. Not he. He’s a genius—that man is. That’s the way to win your money. Ship and chum must go.”
“The silly fool has taken it to heart,” muttered
