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"
What
is
it
you
're
making
up
to
Mr.
Van
Wyk
for
,
now
?
"
"
Far
from
it
,
Mr.
Massy
.
I
am
not
good
enough
for
Mr.
Van
Wyk
.
Neither
are
you
,
sir
,
in
his
opinion
,
I
am
afraid
.
Captain
Whalley
is
,
it
seems
.
He
's
gone
to
ask
him
to
dine
up
at
the
house
this
evening
.
"
Then
he
murmured
to
himself
darkly
--
"
I
hope
he
will
like
it
.
"
Mr.
Van
Wyk
,
the
white
man
of
Batu
Beru
,
an
ex-naval
officer
who
,
for
reasons
best
known
to
himself
,
had
thrown
away
the
promise
of
a
brilliant
career
to
become
the
pioneer
of
tobacco-planting
on
that
remote
part
of
the
coast
,
had
learned
to
like
Captain
Whalley
.
The
appearance
of
the
new
skipper
had
attracted
his
attention
.
Nothing
more
unlike
all
the
diverse
types
he
had
seen
succeeding
each
other
on
the
bridge
of
the
Sofala
could
be
imagined
.
At
that
time
Batu
Beru
was
not
what
it
has
become
since
:
the
center
of
a
prosperous
tobacco-growing
district
,
a
tropically
suburban-looking
little
settlement
of
bungalows
in
one
long
street
shaded
with
two
rows
of
trees
,
embowered
by
the
flowering
and
trim
luxuriance
of
the
gardens
,
with
a
three-mile-long
carriage-road
for
the
afternoon
drives
and
a
first-class
Resident
with
a
fat
,
cheery
wife
to
lead
the
society
of
married
estate-managers
and
unmarried
young
fellows
in
the
service
of
the
big
companies
.
All
this
prosperity
was
not
yet
;
and
Mr.
Van
Wyk
prospered
alone
on
the
left
bank
on
his
deep
clearing
carved
out
of
the
forest
,
which
came
down
above
and
below
to
the
water
's
edge
.
His
lonely
bungalow
faced
across
the
river
the
houses
of
the
Sultan
:
a
restless
and
melancholy
old
ruler
who
had
done
with
love
and
war
,
for
whom
life
no
longer
held
any
savor
(
except
of
evil
forebodings
)
and
time
never
had
any
value
.
He
was
afraid
of
death
,
and
hoped
he
would
die
before
the
white
men
were
ready
to
take
his
country
from
him
.
He
crossed
the
river
frequently
(
with
never
less
than
ten
boats
crammed
full
of
people
)
,
in
the
wistful
hope
of
extracting
some
information
on
the
subject
from
his
own
white
man
.
There
was
a
certain
chair
on
the
veranda
he
always
took
:
the
dignitaries
of
the
court
squatted
on
the
rugs
and
skins
between
the
furniture
:
the
inferior
people
remained
below
on
the
grass
plot
between
the
house
and
the
river
in
rows
three
or
four
deep
all
along
the
front
.
Not
seldom
the
visit
began
at
daybreak
.
Mr.
Van
Wyk
tolerated
these
inroads
.
He
would
nod
out
of
his
bedroom
window
,
tooth-brush
or
razor
in
hand
,
or
pass
through
the
throng
of
courtiers
in
his
bathing
robe
.
He
appeared
and
disappeared
humming
a
tune
,
polished
his
nails
with
attention
,
rubbed
his
shaved
face
with
eau-de-Cologne
,
drank
his
early
tea
,
went
out
to
see
his
coolies
at
work
:
returned
,
looked
through
some
papers
on
his
desk
,
read
a
page
or
two
in
a
book
or
sat
before
his
cottage
piano
leaning
back
on
the
stool
,
his
arms
extended
,
fingers
on
the
keys
,
his
body
swaying
slightly
from
side
to
side
.
When
absolutely
forced
to
speak
he
gave
evasive
vaguely
soothing
answers
out
of
pure
compassion
:
the
same
feeling
perhaps
made
him
so
lavishly
hospitable
with
the
aerated
drinks
that
more
than
once
he
left
himself
without
soda-water
for
a
whole
week
.
That
old
man
had
granted
him
as
much
land
as
he
cared
to
have
cleared
:
it
was
neither
more
nor
less
than
a
fortune
.
Whether
it
was
fortune
or
seclusion
from
his
kind
that
Mr.
Van
Wyk
sought
,
he
could
not
have
pitched
upon
a
better
place
.
Even
the
mail-boats
of
the
subsidized
company
calling
on
the
veriest
clusters
of
palm-thatched
hovels
along
the
coast
steamed
past
the
mouth
of
Batu
Beru
river
far
away
in
the
offing
.
The
contract
was
old
:
perhaps
in
a
few
years
'
time
,
when
it
had
expired
,
Batu
Beru
would
be
included
in
the
service
;
meantime
all
Mr.
Van
Wyk
's
mail
was
addressed
to
Malacca
,
whence
his
agent
sent
it
across
once
a
month
by
the
Sofala
.
It
followed
that
whenever
Massy
had
run
short
of
money
(
through
taking
too
many
lottery
tickets
)
,
or
got
into
a
difficulty
about
a
skipper
,
Mr.
Van
Wyk
was
deprived
of
his
letter
and
newspapers
.
In
so
far
he
had
a
personal
interest
in
the
fortunes
of
the
Sofala
.
Though
he
considered
himself
a
hermit
(
and
for
no
passing
whim
evidently
,
since
he
had
stood
eight
years
of
it
already
)
,
he
liked
to
know
what
went
on
in
the
world
.
