"Of course I heard. And I shouldn't wonder if
the Consul-General himself doesn't come to hear
of it. How am I to go before him to-morrow with
that thing on my cheek--I want to know. Its
YOU who ought to have got this!"
After that, till the gharry stopped and he
jumped out without leave-taking, he swore to him-
self steadily, horribly; muttering great, purpose-
ful, trooper oaths, to which the worst a sailor can
do is like the prattle of a child. For my part I had
just the strength to crawl into Schomberg's coffee-
room, where I wrote at a little table a note to the
mate instructing him to get everything ready for
dropping down the river next day. I couldn't
face my ship. Well! she had a clever sort of skip-
per and no mistake--poor thing! What a horrid
mess! I took my head between my hands. At
times the obviousness of my innocence would reduce
me to despair. What had I done? If I had done
something to bring about the situation I should at
least have learned not to do it again. But I felt
guiltless to the point of imbecility. The room was
empty yet; only Schomberg prowled round me
goggle-eyed and with a sort of awed respectful cu-
riosity. No doubt he had set the story going him-
self; but he was a good-hearted chap, and I am
really persuaded he participated in all my troubles.
He did what he could for me. He ranged aside the
heavy matchstand, set a chair straight, pushed a
spittoon slightly with his foot--as you show small
attentions to a friend under a great sorrow--
sighed, and at last, unable to hold his tongue:
"Well! I warned you, captain. That's what
comes of running your head against Mr. Falk.
Man'll stick at nothing."
I sat without stirring, and after surveying me
with a sort of commiseration in his eyes he burst
out in a hoarse whisper: "But for a fine lump of
a girl, she's a fine lump of a girl." He made a loud
smacking noise with his thick lips. "The finest
lump of a girl that I ever . . ." he was going on
with great unction, but for some reason or other
broke off. I fancied myself throwing something
at his head. "I don't blame you, captain. Hang
me if I do," he said with a patronising air.
"Thank you," I said resignedly. It was no use
fighting against this false fate. I don't know even
if I was sure myself where the truth of the matter
began. The conviction that it would end disas-
trously had been driven into me by all the succes-
sive shocks my sense of security had received. I
began to ascribe an extraordinary potency to
agents in themselves powerless. It was as if
Schomberg's baseless gossip had the power to bring
about the thing itself or the abstract enmity of
Falk could put my ship ashore.
I have already explained how fatal this last
would have been. For my further action, my
youth, my inexperience, my very real concern for
the health of my crew must be my excuse. The ac-
tion itself, when it came, was purely impulsive. It
was set in movement quite undiplomatically and
simply by Falk's appearance in the doorway.
The room was full by then and buzzing with
voices. I had been looked at with curiosity by
every one, but how am I to describe the sensation
produced by the appearance of Falk himself block-
ing the doorway? The tension of expectation
could be measured by the profundity of the silence
that fell upon the very click of the billiard balls.
As to Schomberg, he looked extremely frightened;
he hated mortally any sort of row (fracas he called
it) in his establishment. Fracas was bad for busi-
ness, he affirmed; but, in truth, this specimen of
portly, middle-aged manhood was of a timid dis-
position. I don't know what, considering my pres-
ence in the place, they all hoped would come of it.
A sort of stag fight, perhaps. Or they may have
supposed Falk had come in only to annihilate me
completely. As a matter of fact, Falk had come in
because Hermann had asked him to inquire after the
precious white cotton parasol which, in the worry
and excitement of the previous day, he had forgot-
ten at the table where we had held our little discus-
sion.
It was this that gave me my opportunity. I
don't think I would have gone to seek Falk out.
No. I don't think so. There are limits. But there
was an opportunity and I seized it--I have already
tried to explain why. Now I will merely state that,
in my opinion, to get his sickly crew into the sea
air and secure a quick despatch for his ship a skip-
per would be justified in going to any length, short
of absolute crime. He should put his pride in his
pocket; he may accept confidences; explain his in-
nocence as if it were a sin; he may take advantage
of misconceptions, of desires and of weaknesses; he
ought to conceal his horror and other emotions,
and, if the fate of a human being, and that human
being a magnificent young girl, is strangely in-
volved--why, he should contemplate that fate
(whatever it might seem to be) without turning a
hair. And all these things I have done; the ex-
plaining, the listening, the pretending--even to
the discretion--and nobody, not even Hermann's
niece, I believe, need throw stones at me now.
Schomberg at all events needn't, since from first to
last, I am happy to say, there was not the slightest
"fracas."
Overcoming a nervous contraction of the wind-
pipe, I had managed to exclaim "Captain Falk!"
His start of surprise was perfectly genuine, but
afterwards he neither smiled nor scowled. He sim-
ply waited. Then, when I had said, "I must have
a talk with you," and had pointed to a chair at my
table, he moved up to me, though he didn't sit
down. Schomberg, however, with a long tumbler
in his hand, was making towards us prudently, and
I discovered then the only sign of weakness in Falk.
He had for Schomberg a repulsion resembling that
sort of physical fear some people experience at the
sight of a toad. Perhaps to a man so essentially
and silently concentrated upon himself (though he
could talk well enough, as I was to find out
presently) the other's irrepressible loquacity, em-
bracing every human being within range of the
tongue, might have appeared unnatural, disgust-
ing, and monstrous. He suddenly gave signs of
restiveness--positively like a horse about to rear,
and, muttering hurriedly as if in great pain, "No.
I can't stand that fellow," seemed ready to bolt.
This weakness of his gave me the advantage at the
very start. "Verandah," I suggested, as if ren-
dering him a service, and walked him out by the
arm. We stumbled over a few chairs; we had the
feeling of open space before us, and felt the fresh
breath of the river--fresh, but tainted. The Chi-
nese theatres across the water made, in the sparsely
twinkling masses of gloom an Eastern town pre-
sents at night, blazing centres of light, and of a
distant and howling uproar. I felt him become
suddenly tractable again like an animal, like a
good-tempered horse when the object that scares
him is removed. Yes. I felt in the darkness there
how tractable he was, without my conviction of his
inflexibility--tenacity, rather, perhaps--being in
the least weakened. His very arm abandoning it-
self to my grasp was as hard as marble--like a limb
of iron. But I heard a tumultuous scuffling of
boot-soles within. The unspeakable idiots inside
were crowding to the windows, climbing over each
other's backs behind the blinds, billiard cues and all.
Somebody broke a window pane, and with the sound
of falling glass, so suggestive of riot and devasta-
tion, Schomberg reeled out after us in a state of
funk which had prevented his parting with his
brandy and soda. He must have trembled like an
aspen leaf. The piece of ice in the long tumbler
he held in his hand tinkled with an effect of chat-
tering teeth. "I beg you, gentlemen," he expost-
ulated thickly. "Come! Really, now, I must in-
sist . . ."
How proud I am of my presence of mind!
"Hallo," I said instantly in a loud and naive tone,
"somebody's breaking your windows, Schomberg.
Would you please tell one of your boys to bring
out here a pack of cards and a couple of lights?
And two long drinks. Will you?"
To receive an order soothed him at once. It was
business. "Certainly," he said in an immensely
relieved tone. The night was rainy, with wander-
ing gusts of wind, and while we waited for the can-
dles Falk said, as if to justify his panic, "I don't
interfere in anybody's business. I don't give any
occasion for talk. I am a respectable man. But
this fellow is always making out something wrong,
and can never rest till he gets somebody to believe
him."
This was the first of my knowledge of Falk.
This desire of respectability, of being like every-
body else, was the only recognition he vouchsafed
to the organisation of mankind. For the rest he
might have been the member of a herd, not of a so-
ciety. Self-preservation was his only concern.
Not selfishness, but mere self-preservation. Sel-
fishness presupposes consciousness, choice, the pres-
ence of other men; but his instinct acted as though
he were the last of mankind nursing that law like
the only spark of a sacred fire. I don't mean to
say that living naked in a cavern would have satis-
fied him. Obviously he was the creature of the
conditions to which he was born. No doubt self-
preservation meant also the preservation of these
conditions. But essentially it meant something
much more simple, natural, and powerful. How
shall I express it? It meant the preservation of the
five senses of his body--let us say--taking it in its
narrowest as well as in its widest meaning. I think
you will admit before long the justice of this judg-
ment. However, as we stood there together in the
dark verandah I had judged nothing as yet--and
I had no desire to judge--which is an idle practice
anyhow. The light was long in coming.
"Of course," I said in a tone of mutual under-
standing, "it isn't exactly a game of cards I want
with you."
I saw him draw his hands down his face--the
vague stir of the passionate and meaningless ges-
ture; but he waited in silent patience. It was only
when the lights had been brought out that he
opened his lips. I understood his mumble to mean
that "he didn't know any game."
"Like this Schomberg and all the other fools
will have to keep off," I said tearing open the pack.
"Have you heard that we are universally supposed
to be quarrelling about a girl? You know who--
of course. I am really ashamed to ask, but is it
possible that you do me the honour to think me dan-
gerous?"
As I said these words I felt how absurd it was
and also I felt flattered--for, really, what else
could it be? His answer, spoken in his usual dis-
passionate undertone, made it clear that it was so,
but not precisely as flattering as I supposed. He
thought me dangerous with Hermann, more than
with the girl herself; but, as to quarrelling, I saw
at once how inappropriate the word was. We had
no quarrel. Natural forces are not quarrelsome.
You can't quarrel with the wind that inconveniences
and humiliates you by blowing off your hat in a
street full of people. He had no quarrel with me.
Neither would a boulder, falling on my head, have
had. He fell upon me in accordance with the law
by which he was moved--not of gravitation, like a
detached stone, but of self-preservation. Of course
this is giving it a rather wide interpretation.
Strictly speaking, he had existed and could have
existed without being married. Yet he told me that
he had found it more and more difficult to live
alone. Yes. He told me this in his low, careless
voice, to such a pitch of confidence had we arrived
at the end of half an hour.
It took me just about that time to convince him
that I had never dreamed of marrying Hermann's
niece. Could any necessity have been more extrava-
gant? And the difficulty was the greater because
he was so hard hit that he couldn't imagine any-
body being able to remain in a state of indifference.
Any man with eyes in his head, he seemed to think,
could not help coveting so much bodily magnifi-
cence. This profound belief was conveyed by the
manner he listened sitting sideways to the table and
playing absently with a few cards I had dealt to
him at random. And the more I saw into him the
more I saw of him. The wind swayed the lights
so that his sunburnt face, whiskered to the eyes,
seemed to successively flicker crimson at me and to
go out. I saw the extraordinary breadth of the
high cheek-bones, the perpendicular style of the
features, the massive forehead, steep like a cliff,
denuded at the top, largely uncovered at the tem-
ples. The fact is I had never before seen him with-
out his hat; but now, as if my fervour had made
him hot, he had taken it off and laid it gently on
the floor. Something peculiar in the shape and
setting of his yellow eyes gave them the provoking
silent intensity which characterised his glance.
But the face was thin, furrowed, worn; I discov-
ered that through the bush of his hair, as you may
detect the gnarled shape of a tree trunk lost in a
dense undergrowth. These overgrown cheeks were
sunken. It was an anchorite's bony head fitted with
a Capuchin's beard and adjusted to a herculean
body. I don't mean athletic. Hercules, I take it,
was not an athlete. He was a strong man, suscep-
tible to female charms, and not afraid of dirt.
And thus with Falk, who was a strong man. He
was extremely strong, just as the girl (since I
must think of them together) was magnificently at-
tractive by the masterful power of flesh and blood,
expressed in shape, in size, in attitude--that is by
a straight appeal to the senses. His mind mean-
time, preoccupied with respectability, quailed be-
fore Schomberg's tongue and seemed absolutely
impervious to my protestations; and I went so far
as to protest that I would just as soon think of
marrying my mother's (dear old lady!) faithful
female cook as Hermann's niece. Sooner, I pro-
tested, in my desperation, much sooner; but it did
not appear that he saw anything outrageous in the
proposition, and in his sceptical immobility he
seemed to nurse the argument that at all events the
cook was very, very far away. It must be said that,
just before, I had gone wrong by appealing to the
evidence of my manner whenever I called on board
the Diana. I had never attempted to approach the
girl, or to speak to her, or even to look at her in any
marked way. Nothing could be clearer. But, as
his own idea of--let us say--courting, seemed to
consist precisely in sitting silently for hours in the
vicinity of the beloved object, that line of argu-
ment inspired him with distrust. Staring down his
extended legs he let out a grunt--as much as to
say, "That's all very fine, but you can't throw dust
in MY eyes."
At last I was exasperated into saying, "Why
don't you put the matter at rest by talking to Her-
mann?" and I added sneeringly: "You don't ex-
pect me perhaps to speak for you?"
To this he said, very loud for him, "Would
you?"
And for the first time he lifted his head to look
at me with wonder and incredulity. He lifted his
head so sharply that there could be no mistake. I
had touched a spring. I saw the whole extent of
my opportunity, and could hardly believe in it.
"Why. Speak to . . . Well, of course," I
proceeded very slowly, watching him with great at-
tention, for, on my word, I feared a joke. "Not,
perhaps, to the young lady herself. I can't speak
German, you know. But . . ."
He interrupted me with the earnest assurance
that Hermann had the highest opinion of me; and
at once I felt the need for the greatest possible
diplomacy at this juncture. So I demurred just
enough to draw him on. Falk sat up, but except
for a very noticeable enlargement of the pupils,
till the irises of his eyes were reduced to two narrow
yellow rings, his face, I should judge, was incapa-
ble of expressing excitement. "Oh, yes! Hermann
did have the greatest . . ."
"Take up your cards. Here's Schomberg peep-
ing at us through the blind!" I said.
We went through the motions of what might
have been a game of e'carte'. Presently the intoler-
able scandalmonger withdrew, probably to inform
the people in the billiard-room that we two were
gambling on the verandah like mad.
We were not gambling, but it was a game; a
game in which I felt I held the winning cards. The
stake, roughly speaking, was the success of the voy-
age--for me; and he, I apprehended, had nothing
to lose. Our intimacy matured rapidly, and before
many words had been exchanged I perceived that
the excellent Hermann had been making use of me.
That simple and astute Teuton had been, it seems,
holding me up to Falk in the light of a rival. I
was young enough to be shocked at so much duplic-
ity. "Did he tell you that in so many words?" I
asked with indignation.
Hermann had not. He had given hints only;
and of course it had not taken very much to alarm
Falk; but, instead of declaring himself, he had
taken steps to remove the family from under my in-
fluence. He was perfectly straightforward about
it--as straightforward as a tile falling on your
head. There was no duplicity in that man; and
when I congratulated him on the perfection of his
arrangements--even to the bribing of the wretched
Johnson against me--he had a genuine movement
of protest. Never bribed. He knew the man
wouldn't work as long as he had a few cents in his
pocket to get drunk on, and, naturally (he said--
"NATURALLY") he let him have a dollar or two. He
was himself a sailor, he said, and anticipated the
view another sailor, like myself, was bound to take.
On the other hand, he was sure that I should have
to come to grief. He hadn't been knocking about
for the last seven years up and down that river for
nothing. It would have been no disgrace to me--
but he asserted confidently I would have had my
ship very awkwardly ashore at a spot two miles
below the Great Pagoda. . . .
And with all that he had no ill-will. That was
evident. This was a crisis in which his only object
had been to gain time--I fancy. And presently
he mentioned that he had written for some jewel-
lery, real good jewellery--had written to Hong-
Kong for it. It would arrive in a day or two.
"Well, then," I said cheerily, "everything is all
right. All you've got to do is to present it to the
lady together with your heart, and live happy ever
after."
Upon the whole he seemed to accept that view as
far as the girl was concerned, but his eyelids
drooped. There was still something in the way.
For one thing Hermann disliked him so much. As
to me, on the contrary, it seemed as though he could
not praise me enough. Mrs. Hermann too. He
didn't know why they disliked him so. It made
everything most difficult.
I listened impassive, feeling more and more dip-
lomatic. His speech was not transparently clear.
He was one of those men who seem to live, feel,
suffer in a sort of mental twilight. But as to being
fascinated by the girl and possessed by the desire
of home life with her--it was as clear as daylight.
So much being at stake, he was afraid of putting
it to the hazard of declaration. Besides, there
was something else. And with Hermann being so
set against him . . .
"I see," I said thoughtfully, while my heart beat
fast with the excitement of my diplomacy. "I
don't mind sounding Hermann. In fact, to show
you how mistaken you were, I am ready to do all I
can for you in that way."
A light sigh escaped him. He drew his hands
down his face, and it emerged, bony, unchanged of
expression, as if all the tissues had been ossified.
All the passion was in those big brown hands. He
was satisfied. Then there was that other matter.
If there were anybody on earth it was I who could
persuade Hermann to take a reasonable view! I
had a knowledge of the world and lots of expe-
rience. Hermann admitted this himself. And then
I was a sailor too. Falk thought that a sail-
or would be able to understand certain things
best. . . .
He talked as if the Hermanns had been living all
their life in a rural hamlet, and I alone had been
capable, with my practice in life, of a large and
indulgent view of certain occurrences. That was
what my diplomacy was leading me to. I began
suddenly to dislike it.
"I say, Falk," I asked quite brusquely, "you
haven't already a wife put away somewhere?"
The pain and disgust of his denial were very
striking. Couldn't I understand that he was as
respectable as any white man hereabouts; earning
his living honestly. He was suffering from my sus-
picion, and the low undertone of his voice made his
protestations sound very pathetic. For a moment
he shamed me, but, my diplomacy notwithstanding,
I seemed to develop a conscience, as if in very
truth it were in my power to decide the success of
this matrimonial enterprise. By pretending hard
enough we come to believe anything--anything to
our advantage. And I had been pretending very
hard, because I meant yet to be towed safely down
the river. But through conscience or stupidity, I
couldn't help alluding to the Vanlo affair. "You
acted rather badly there. Didn't you?" was what
I ventured actually to say--for the logic of our
conduct is always at the mercy of obscure and un-
foreseen impulses.
His dilated pupils swerved from my face, glan-
cing at the window with a sort of scared fury. We
heard behind the blinds the continuous and sudden
clicking of ivory, a jovial murmur of many voices,
and Schomberg's deep manly laugh.
"That confounded old woman of a hotel-keeper
then would never, never let it rest!" Falk ex-
claimed. "Well, yes! It had happened two years
ago." When it came to the point he owned he
couldn't make up his mind to trust Fred Vanlo--
no sailor, a bit of a fool too. He could not trust
him, but, to stop his row, he had lent him enough
money to pay all his debts before he left. I was
greatly surprised to hear this. Then Falk could
not be such a miser after all. So much the better
for the girl. For a time he sat silent; then he
picked up a card, and while looking at it he
said:
"You need not think of anything bad. It was
an accident. I've been unfortunate once."
"Then in heaven's name say nothing about it."
As soon as these words were out of my mouth I
fancied I had said something immoral. He shook
his head negatively. It had to be told. He con-
sidered it proper that the relations of the lady
should know. No doubt--I thought to myself--
had Miss Vanlo not been thirty and damaged by the
climate he would have found it possible to entrust
Fred Vanlo with this confidence. And then the fig-
ure of Hermann's niece appeared before my mind's
eye, with the wealth of her opulent form, her rich
youth, her lavish strength. With that powerful
and immaculate vitality, her girlish form must have
shouted aloud of life to that man, whereas poor
Miss Vanlo could only sing sentimental songs to
the strumming of a piano.
"And that Hermann hates me, I know it!" he
cried in his undertone, with a sudden recrudescence
of anxiety. "I must tell them. It is proper that
they should know. You would say so yourself."
He then murmured an utterly mysterious allu-
sion to the necessity for peculiar domestic arrange-
ments. Though my curiosity was excited I did not
want to hear any of his confidences. I feared he
might give me a piece of information that would
make my assumed role of match-maker odious--
however unreal it was. I was aware that he could
have the girl for the asking; and keeping down a
desire to laugh in his face, I expressed a confident
belief in my ability to argue away Hermann's dis-
like for him. "I am sure I can make it all right,"
I said. He looked very pleased.
And when we rose not a word had been said about
towage! Not a word! The game was won and the
honour was safe. Oh! blessed white cotton um-
brella! We shook hands, and I was holding myself
with difficulty from breaking into a step dance of
joy when he came back, striding all the length of
the verandah, and said doubtfully:
"I say, captain, I have your word? You--you
--won't turn round?"
Heavens! The fright he gave me. Behind his
tone of doubt there was something desperate and
menacing. The infatuated ass. But I was equal to
the situation.
"My dear Falk," I said, beginning to lie with
a glibness and effrontery that amazed me even at
the time--"confidence for confidence." (He had
made no confidences.) "I will tell you that I am
already engaged to an extremely charming girl at
home, and so you understand. . . ."
He caught my hand and wrung it in a crushing
grip.
"Pardon me. I feel it every day more difficult
to live alone . . ."
"On rice and fish," I interrupted smartly, gig-
gling with the sheer nervousness of a danger es-
caped.
He dropped my hand as if it had become sud-
denly red hot. A moment of profound silence en-
sued, as though something extraordinary had hap-
pened.
"I promise you to obtain Hermann's consent,"
I faltered out at last, and it seemed to me that he
could not help seeing through that humbug-
ging promise. "If there's anything else to get
over I shall endeavour to stand by you," I conceded
further, feeling somehow defeated and overborne;
"but you must do your best yourself."
"I have been unfortunate once," he muttered
unemotionally, and turning his back on me he went
away, thumping slowly the plank floor as if his feet
had been shod with iron.
Next morning, however, he was lively enough as
man-boat, a combination of splashing and shout-
ing; of the insolent commotion below with the
steady overbearing glare of the silent head-piece
above. He turned us out most unnecessarily at an
ungodly hour, but it was nearly eleven in the morn-
ing before he brought me up a cable's length from
Hermann's ship. And he did it very badly too, in
a hurry, and nearly contriving to miss altogether
the patch of good holding ground, because, for-
sooth, he had caught sight of Hermann's niece on
the poop. And so did I; and probably as soon as
he had seen her himself. I saw the modest, sleek
glory of the tawny head, and the full, grey shape
of the girlish print frock she filled so perfectly, so
satisfactorily, with the seduction of unfaltering
curves--a very nymph of Diana the Huntress.
And Diana the ship sat, high-walled and as solid
as an institution, on the smooth level of the water,
the most uninspiring and respectable craft upon
the seas, useful and ugly, devoted to the support
of domestic virtues like any grocer's shop on shore.
At once Falk steamed away; for there was some
work for him to do. He would return in the even-
ing.
He ranged close by us, passing out dead slow,
without a hail. The beat of the paddle-wheels re-
verberating amongst the stony islets, as if from the
ruined walls of a vast arena, filled the anchorage
confusedly with the clapping sounds of a mighty
and leisurely applause. Abreast of Hermann's
ship he stopped the engines; and a profound si-
lence reigned over the rocks, the shore and the sea,
for the time it took him to raise his hat aloft before
the nymph of the grey print frock. I had snatched
up my binoculars, and I can answer for it she didn't
stir a limb, standing by the rail shapely and erect,
with one of her hands grasping a rope at the height
of her head, while the way of the tug carried slowly
past her the lingering and profound homage of the
man. There was for me an enormous significance
in the scene, the sense of having witnessed a solemn
declaration. The die was cast. After such a man-
ifestation he couldn't back out. And I reflected
that it was nothing whatever to me now. With a
rush of black smoke belching suddenly out of the
funnel, and a mad swirl of paddle-wheels provoking
a burst of weird and precipitated clapping, the tug
shot out of the desolate arena. The rocky islets
lay on the sea like the heaps of a cyclopean ruin
on a plain; the centipedes and scorpions lurked un-
der the stones; there was not a single blade of grass
in sight anywhere, not a single lizard sunning him-
self on a boulder by the shore. When I looked
again at Hermann's ship the girl had disappeared.
I could not detect the smallest dot of a bird on the
immense sky, and the flatness of the land continued
the flatness of the sea to the naked line of the hori-
zon.
This is the setting now inseparably connected
with my knowledge of Falk's misfortune. My di-
plomacy had brought me there, and now I had only
to wait the time for taking up the role of an ambas-
sador. My diplomacy was a success; my ship was
safe; old Gambril would probably live; a feeble
sound of a tapping hammer came intermittently
from the Diana. During the afternoon I looked
at times at the old homely ship, the faithful nurse
of Hermann's progeny, or yawned towards the dis-
tant temple of Buddha, like a lonely hillock on the
plain, where shaven priests cherish the thoughts of
that Annihilation which is the worthy reward of us
all. Unfortunate! He had been unfortunate once.
Well, that was not so bad as life goes. And what
the devil could be the nature of that misfortune?
I remembered that I had known a man before who
had declared himself to have fallen, years ago, a
victim to misfortune; but this misfortune, whose
effects appeared permanent (he looked desper-
ately hard up) when considered dispassionately,
seemed indistinguishable from a breach of trust.
Could it be something of that nature? Apart,
however, from the utter improbability that he
would offer to talk of it even to his future uncle-
in-law, I had a strange feeling that Falk's physique
unfitted him for that sort of delinquency. As the
person of Hermann's niece exhaled the profound
physical charm of feminine form, so her ador-
er's big frame embodied to my senses the hard,
straight masculinity that would conceivably kill
but would not condescend to cheat. The thing
was obvious. I might just as well have suspected
the girl of a curvature of the spine. And I per-
ceived that the sun was about to set.
The smoke of Falk's tug hove in sight, far
away at the mouth of the river. It was time for
me to assume the character of an ambassador, and
the negotiation would not be difficult except in the
matter of keeping my countenance. It was all too
extravagantly nonsensical, and I conceived that it
would be best to compose for myself a grave de-
meanour. I practised this in my boat as I went
along, but the bashfulness that came secretly upon
me the moment I stepped on the deck of the Diana
is inexplicable. As soon as we had exchanged
greetings Hermann asked me eagerly if I knew
whether Falk had found his white parasol.
"He's going to bring it to you himself directly,"
I said with great solemnity. "Meantime I am
charged with an important message for which he
begs your favourable consideration. He is in love
with your niece. . . ."
"Ach So!" he hissed with an animosity that
made my assumed gravity change into the most
genuine concern. What meant this tone? And I
hurried on.
"He wishes, with your consent of course, to ask
her to marry him at once--before you leave here,
that is. He would speak to the Consul."
Hermann sat down and smoked violently. Five
minutes passed in that furious meditation, and
then, taking the long pipe out of his mouth, he
burst into a hot diatribe against Falk--against his
cupidity, his stupidity (a fellow that can hardly
be got to say "yes" or "no" to the simplest ques-
tion)--against his outrageous treatment of the
shipping in port (because he saw they were at his
mercy)--and against his manner of walking,
which to his (Hermann's) mind showed a conceit
positively unbearable. The damage to the old
Diana was not forgotten, of course, and there was
nothing of any nature said or done by Falk (even
to the last offer of refreshment in the hotel) that
did not seem to have been a cause of offence.
"Had the cheek" to drag him (Hermann) into
that coffee-room; as though a drink from him could
make up for forty-seven dollars and fifty cents of
damage in the cost of wood alone--not counting
two days' work for the carpenter. Of course he
would not stand in the girl's way. He was going
home to Germany. There were plenty of poor
girls walking about in Germany.
"He's very much in love," was all I found to
say.
"Yes," he cried. "And it is time too after mak-
ing himself and me talked about ashore the last
voyage I was here, and then now again; coming on
board every evening unsettling the girl's mind, and
saying nothing. What sort of conduct is that?"
The seven thousand dollars the fellow was always
talking about did not, in his opinion, justify such
behaviour. Moreover, nobody had seen them. He
(Hermann) seriously doubted if there were seven
thousand cents, and the tug, no doubt, was mort-
gaged up to the top of the funnel to the firm of
Siegers. But let that pass. He wouldn't stand in
the girl's way. Her head was so turned that she
had become no good to them of late. Quite unable
even to put the children to bed without her aunt.
It was bad for the children; they got unruly; and
yesterday he actually had to give Gustav a thrash-
ing.
For that, too, Falk was made responsible ap-
parently. And looking at my Hermann's heavy,
puffy, good-natured face, I knew he would not ex-
ert himself till greatly exasperated, and, therefore,
would thrash very hard, and being fat would resent
the necessity. How Falk had managed to turn the
girl's head was more difficult to understand. I sup-
posed Hermann would know. And then hadn't
there been Miss Vanlo? It could not be his silvery
tongue, or the subtle seduction of his manner; he
had no more of what is called "manner" than an
animal--which, however, on the other hand, is
never, and can never be called vulgar. Therefore
it must have been his bodily appearance, exhibiting
a virility of nature as exaggerated as his beard, and
resembling a sort of constant ruthlessness. It was
seen in the very manner he lolled in the chair. He
meant no offence, but his intercourse was charac-
terised by that sort of frank disregard of suscepti-
bilities a man of seven foot six, living in a world of
dwarfs, would naturally assume, without in the
least wishing to be unkind. But amongst men of
his own stature, or nearly, this frank use of his ad-
vantages, in such matters as the awful towage bills
for instance, caused much impotent gnashing of
teeth. When attentively considered it seemed ap-
palling at times. He was a strange beast. But
maybe women liked it. Seen in that light he was
well worth taming, and I suppose every woman at
the bottom of her heart considers herself as a tamer
of strange beasts. But Hermann arose with pre-
cipitation to carry the news to his wife. I had
barely the time, as he made for the cabin door, to
grab him by the seat of his inexpressibles. I
begged him to wait till Falk in person had spoken
with him. There remained some small matter to
talk over, as I understood.
He sat down again at once, full of suspicion.
"What matter?" he said surlily. "I have had
enough of his nonsense. There's no matter at all,
as he knows very well; the girl has nothing in the
world. She came to us in one thin dress when my
brother died, and I have a growing family."
"It can't be anything of that kind," I opined.
"He's desperately enamoured of your niece. I
don't know why he did not say so before. Upon
my word, I believe it is because he was afraid to
lose, perhaps, the felicity of sitting near her on
your quarter deck."
I intimated my conviction that his love was so
great as to be in a sense cowardly. The effects of
a great passion are unaccountable. It has been
known to make a man timid. But Hermann looked
at me as if I had foolishly raved; and the twilight
was dying out rapidly.
"You don't believe in passion, do you, Her-
mann?" I said cheerily. "The passion of fear will
make a cornered rat courageous. Falk's in a cor-
ner. He will take her off your hands in one thin
frock just as she came to you. And after ten years'
service it isn't a bad bargain," I added.
