“Of course we remember Sergei Dmitrivitch Malinin very good,” she said in English. “My husband has not at first understanded your pronouncing of the name. Sergei Dmitrivitch—how good did he behave to us!” It was almost impossible for Olga to speak without a smile, it seemed. “My husband knows business very good, but he speak English not so good. I can help you perhaps with my so poor English. You speak English so very good yourself.”
“It is no merit,” beamed Wilfred. “I have been educated at the Wesleyan Academy in Yueh-lai-chou. I have also studied law for many years in London, and was called to the Bar there. I carry papers from Mr. S. D. Malinin which I should like to bring to the notice of Mr. Isaev and yourself. I am sure you will remember that, ten years ago, when Mr. S. D. Malinin visited Seoul last, Mr. Isaev was so kind as to take charge of two hundred yen which he undertook to invest for Mr. Malinin in whatever way he thought fit. This was because Mr. Malinin did not think it safe to carry his money in cash back to Chi-tao-kou (where there are no banking facilities), the times being then troublous.”
The couple murmured together in Russian for a moment, the wife’s face still armored by a smile and the husband’s by flat stupidity.
“My husband remembers this time quite good, Mr. Chew, but it was not quite as you think, he says. Sergei Dmitrivitch, who has been the brother of my husband’s oldest friend in Vladivostok, has gived us this sum—about two hundred yens—in gratitude for my husband’s friendship with Mr. Malinin’s brother who has died. When Sergei Dmitrivitch comes here we are very poor—our life is not good—we have runned away from the Bolsheviks—we have nothing. We live in a small room here in Seoul and we say, ‘What to do—how to live?’ Then Sergei Dmitrivitch says, ‘You shall make a hotel. I shall give you two hundred yens because you are friends of my brother who has died. You shall borrow from the bank. Your hotel shall be good; you, Gavril Ilitch, are good with business—you, Olga Ivanovna, can cook good. Your hotel shall therefore be altogether good.’ Oi! it was goodness that caused the good Sergei Dmitrivitch to give us this money. It has been the beginning of our hope.”
“It was certainly the act of a friend,” agreed Wilfred, a slight shadow crossing his face as he heard this unrehearsed interpolation. “Nothing in this life is more encouraging than the way in which—if we live Christian lives—our friends come forward when we are in trouble and reward us for our past good deeds by trusting in our schemes sufficiently to invest in them. Without such friends, what should we do? How true is the Gospel saying, ‘It is better to give than to receive.’ Yet in this case, Mr. Malinin saw that it was better still to invest than to give—since, in investing, one enjoys the combined pleasures of giving and receiving. His timely investment in your future placed your delightful hotel on its feet or rather foundations. I am very glad that you so deeply appreciate the friendliness and faith that he expressed in your business soundness by placing his savings in your care. This friendly spirit makes business so much easier. His was certainly a Christian act, and, since we are all Christians here—Greek Orthodox being no doubt but another expression of similar great truths to the Wesleyan faith in which I was brought up—I am sure you will be sorry to hear that Mr. S. D. Malinin, who was such a good friend to you in time of need, is now in very poor circumstances himself. He is a victim of blindness, and also of the local unrest in Chi-tao-kou which has caused his shop to be looted and his business most seriously affected. In fact, he has scarcely a bean, and it is for this reason that he is obliged to employ me in order to withdraw from your business the capital he invested in it ten years ago, together with interest accruing to same. Up to now he has been more than satisfied to leave the sum accumulating, at compound interest, in your competent hands. A sum of money—I see by this little ready-reckoner of compound interest which I bought at a money-changer’s on my way here from the station—doubles itself in ten years. Mr. Malinin’s capital, therefore, must by now amount to over four hundred yen.”
“It is a mistake,” said Olga, her smile becoming a little fixed, as though there were an invisible clamp at each end of her mouth. “Sergei Dmitrivitch, a so good man, must not wish to take away his good gift from us.”
“Mrs. Isaev, the mistake—a quite unimportant one among friends, but one that needs to be rectified at once—is on your side. I have here a paper, signed by your husband and given to Mr. Malinin, acknowledging the receipt of the money ‘for safe keeping.’ Your husband will remember signing this, I am sure. No one would sign such a paper in acknowledgment of a mere gift.”
Olga referred this to her husband in Russian, and, since he did not reply, she understood that he could not deny the authority of the receipt.
“May I please see this paper?” she said, charmingly. “You explain all so very good, Mr. Chew, yet it is good also to see, in order to understand yet more good.”
Wilfred spread the crumpled ten-year-old piece of paper on the table, pinning it down with a delicate finger and thumb, since, even among smiles and Christians, a man of law is always prepared for the worst.
“Ai—two hundred yens—good—good,” she cooed, vaguely, as she leaned over the paper. Her fingers made a curious snarling gesture towards it which surprised Wilfred. “A charming and sensible woman,” he thought, “but a little nervous.”
Isaev got up heavily and walked with a straddling gait
