Chapter 6 - Page 2

somber; and across the eastern sweep of
the shore the white obelisk, marking the landing-place of the
telegraph-cable, stood like a pale ghost on the beach before the dark
spread of uneven roofs, intermingled with palms, of the native town.
Captain Whalley began again.

"Sofala. Savee So-fa-la, John?"

This time the Chinaman made out that bizarre sound, and grunted his
assent uncouthly, low down in his bare throat. With the first yellow
twinkle of a star that appeared like the head of a pin stabbed deep into
the smooth, pale, shimmering fabric of the sky, the edge of a keen chill
seemed to cleave through the warm air of the earth. At the moment of
stepping into the sampan to go and try for the command of the Sofala
Captain Whalley shivered a little.

When on his return he landed on the quay again Venus, like a choice
jewel set low on the hem of the sky, cast a faint gold trail behind him
upon the roadstead, as level as a floor made of one dark and
polished stone. The lofty vaults of the avenues were black--all
black overhead--and the porcelain globes on the lamp-posts resembled
egg-shaped pearls, gigantic and luminous, displayed in a row whose
farther end seemed to sink in the distance, down to the level of his
knees. He put his hands behind his back. He would now consider calmly
the discretion of it before saying the final word to-morrow. His feet
scrunched the gravel loudly--the discretion of it. It would have been
easier to appraise had there been a workable alternative. The honesty
of it was indubitable: he meant well by the fellow; and periodically
his shadow leaped up intense by his side on the trunks of the trees,
to lengthen itself, oblique and dim, far over the grass--repeating his
stride.

The discretion of it. Was there a choice? He seemed already to have lost
something of himself; to have given up to a hungry specter something of
his truth and dignity in order to live. But his life was necessary. Let
poverty do its worst in exacting its toll of humiliation. It was certain
that Ned Eliott had rendered him, without knowing it, a service for
which it would have been impossible to ask. He hoped Ned would not think
there had been something underhand in his action. He supposed that now
when he heard of it he would understand--or perhaps he would only think
Whalley an eccentric old fool. What would have been the good of telling
him--any more than of blurting the whole tale to that man Massy? Five
hundred pounds ready to invest. Let him make the best of that. Let him
wonder. You want a captain--I want a ship. That's enough. B-r-r-r-r.
What a disagreeable impression that empty, dark, echoing steamer had
made upon him. . . .

A laid-up steamer was a dead thing and no