It was Satan’s inexhaustible energy and good
spirits that most impressed them. His teeth
seemed perpetually to ache with desire, and in lieu
of black legs he husked the cocoanuts that fell from
the trees in the compound, kept the enclosure clear
of intruding hens, and made a hostile acquaintance
with every boss-boy who came to report. He was
unable to forget the torment of his puppyhood, wherein
everlasting hatred of the black had been woven into
the fibres of consciousness; and such a terror did
he make himself that Sheldon was forced to shut him
up in the living room when, for any reason, strange
natives were permitted in the compound. This
always hurt Satan’s feelings and fanned his wrath,
so that even the house-boys had to watch out for him
when he was first released.
Christian Young sailed away in the Minerva,
carrying an invitation (that would be delivered nobody
knew when) to Tommy Jones to drop in at Berande the
next time he was passing.
“What are your plans when you get to Sydney?”
Sheldon asked, that night, at dinner.
“First I’ve heard that I’m going
to Sydney,” Joan retorted. “I suppose
you’ve received information, by bush-telegraph,
that that third assistant understrapper and ex-sailorman
at Tulagi is going to deport me as an undesirable
immigrant.”
“Oh, no, nothing of the sort, I assure you,”
Sheldon began with awkward haste, fearful of having
offended, though he knew not how. “I was
just wondering, that was all. You see, with
the loss of the schooner and . . and all the rest
. . . you understand . . I was thinking that
if—a—if—hang it all,
until you could communicate with your friends, my
agents at Sydney could advance you a loan, temporary
you see, why I’d be only too glad and all the
rest, you know. The proper—”
But his jaw dropped and he regarded her irritably
and with apprehension.
“What is the matter?” he demanded,
with a show of heat. “What have
I done now?”
Joan’s eyes were bright with battle, the curve
of her lips sharp with mockery.
“Certainly not the unexpected,” she said
quietly. “Merely ignored me in your ordinary,
every-day, man-god, superior fashion. Naturally
it counted for nothing, my telling you that I had
no idea of going to Sydney. Go to Sydney I must,
because you, in your superior wisdom, have so decreed.”
She paused and looked at him curiously, as though
he were some strange breed of animal.
“Of course I am grateful for your offer of assistance;
but even that is no salve to wounded pride.
For that matter, it is no more than one white man
should expect from another. Shipwrecked mariners
are always helped along their way. Only this
particular mariner doesn’t need any help.
Furthermore, this mariner is not going to Sydney, thank
you.”
