The latter asked under his breath for another cup of coffee, and nibbled
ascetically at a piece of very hard ship’s biscuit. I don’t think he
consumed a square inch in the end; but meantime he gave me, casually as
it were, a complete account of the sugar crop, of the local business
houses, of the state of the freight market. All that talk was
interspersed with hints as to personalities, amounting to veiled
warnings, but his pale, fleshy face remained equable, without a gleam, as
if ignorant of his voice. As you may imagine I opened my ears very wide.
Every word was precious. My ideas as to the value of business friendship
were being favourably modified. He gave me the names of all the
disponible ships together with their tonnage and the names of their
commanders. From that, which was still commercial information, he
condescended to mere harbour gossip. The _Hilda_ had unaccountably lost
her figurehead in the Bay of Bengal, and her captain was greatly affected
by this. He and the ship had been getting on in years together and the
old gentleman imagined this strange event to be the forerunner of his own
early dissolution. The _Stella_ had experienced awful weather off the
Cape—had her decks swept, and the chief officer washed overboard. And
only a few hours before reaching port the baby died.
Poor Captain H— and his wife were terribly cut up. If they had only been
able to bring it into port alive it could have been probably saved; but
the wind failed them for the last week or so, light breezes, and . . .
the baby was going to be buried this afternoon. He supposed I would
attend—
“Do you think I ought to?” I asked, shrinkingly.
He thought so, decidedly. It would be greatly appreciated. All the
captains in the harbour were going to attend. Poor Mrs. H— was quite
prostrated. Pretty hard on H— altogether.
“And you, Captain—you are not married I suppose?”
“No, I am not married,” I said. “Neither married nor even engaged.”
Mentally I thanked my stars; and while he smiled in a musing, dreamy
fashion, I expressed my acknowledgments for his visit and for the
interesting business information he had been good enough to impart to me.
But I said nothing of my wonder thereat.
“Of course, I would have made a point of calling on you in a day or two,”
I concluded.
He raised his eyelids distinctly at me, and somehow managed to look
rather more sleepy than before.
“In accordance with my owners’ instructions,” I explained. “You have had
their letter, of course?”
By that time he had raised his eyebrows too but without any particular
emotion. On the contrary he struck me then as absolutely imperturbable.
“Oh! You must be thinking of my brother.”
It was for me, then, to say “Oh!” But I hope that no more than civil
surprise appeared in my voice when I asked him to what, then, I owed the
pleasure. . . . He was reaching for an inside pocket leisurely.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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