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"
Do
n't
you
dare
to
say
anything
against
George
Massy
,
Esquire
.
When
he
's
tired
of
waiting
he
will
do
away
with
her
.
Look
out
!
Down
she
goes
--
chum
and
all
.
He
'll
know
how
to
...
"
The
voice
hesitated
,
weary
,
dreamy
,
lost
,
as
if
dying
away
in
a
vast
open
space
.
"
...
Find
a
trick
that
will
work
.
He
's
up
to
it
--
never
fear
...
"
He
must
have
been
very
drunk
,
for
at
last
the
heavy
sleep
gripped
him
with
the
suddenness
of
a
magic
spell
,
and
the
last
word
lengthened
itself
into
an
interminable
,
noisy
,
in-drawn
snore
.
And
then
even
the
snoring
stopped
,
and
all
was
still
.
But
it
seemed
as
though
Mr.
Massy
had
suddenly
come
to
doubt
the
efficacy
of
sleep
as
against
a
man
's
troubles
;
or
perhaps
he
had
found
the
relief
he
needed
in
the
stillness
of
a
calm
contemplation
that
may
contain
the
vivid
thoughts
of
wealth
,
of
a
stroke
of
luck
,
of
long
idleness
,
and
may
bring
before
you
the
imagined
form
of
every
desire
;
for
,
turning
about
and
throwing
his
arms
over
the
edge
of
his
bunk
,
he
stood
there
with
his
feet
on
his
favorite
old
coat
,
looking
out
through
the
round
port
into
the
night
over
the
river
.
Sometimes
a
breath
of
wind
would
enter
and
touch
his
face
,
a
cool
breath
charged
with
the
damp
,
fresh
feel
from
a
vast
body
of
water
A
glimmer
here
and
there
was
all
he
could
see
of
it
;
and
once
he
might
after
all
suppose
he
had
dozed
off
,
since
there
appeared
before
his
vision
,
unexpectedly
and
connected
with
no
dream
,
a
row
of
flaming
and
gigantic
figures
--
three
naught
seven
one
two
--
making
up
a
number
such
as
you
may
see
on
a
lottery
ticket
.
And
then
all
at
once
the
port
was
no
longer
black
:
it
was
pearly
gray
,
framing
a
shore
crowded
with
houses
,
thatched
roof
beyond
thatched
roof
,
walls
of
mats
and
bamboo
,
gables
of
carved
teak
timber
.
Rows
of
dwellings
raised
on
a
forest
of
piles
lined
the
steely
band
of
the
river
,
brimful
and
still
,
with
the
tide
at
the
turn
.
This
was
Batu
Beru
--
and
the
day
had
come
.
Mr.
Massy
shook
himself
,
put
on
the
tweed
coat
,
and
,
shivering
nervously
as
if
from
some
great
shock
,
made
a
note
of
the
number
.
A
fortunate
,
rare
hint
that
.
Yes
;
but
to
pursue
fortune
one
wanted
money
--
ready
cash
.
Then
he
went
out
and
prepared
to
descend
into
the
engine-room
.
Several
small
jobs
had
to
be
seen
to
,
and
Jack
was
lying
dead
drunk
on
the
floor
of
his
cabin
,
with
the
door
locked
at
that
.
His
gorge
rose
at
the
thought
of
work
.
Ay
!
But
if
you
wanted
to
do
nothing
you
had
to
get
first
a
good
bit
of
money
.
A
ship
wo
n't
save
you
.
He
cursed
the
Sofala
.
True
,
all
true
.
He
was
tired
of
waiting
for
some
chance
that
would
rid
him
at
last
of
that
ship
that
had
turned
out
a
curse
on
his
life
.
The
deep
,
interminable
hoot
of
the
steam-whistle
had
,
in
its
grave
,
vibrating
note
,
something
intolerable
,
which
sent
a
slight
shudder
down
Mr.
Van
Wyk
's
back
.
It
was
the
early
afternoon
;
the
Sofala
was
leaving
Batu
Beru
for
Pangu
,
the
next
place
of
call
.
She
swung
in
the
stream
,
scantily
attended
by
a
few
canoes
,
and
,
gliding
on
the
broad
river
,
became
lost
to
view
from
the
Van
Wyk
bungalow
.
Its
owner
had
not
gone
this
time
to
see
her
off
.
Generally
he
came
down
to
the
wharf
,
exchanged
a
few
words
with
the
bridge
while
she
cast
off
,
and
waved
his
hand
to
Captain
Whalley
at
the
last
moment
.
This
day
he
did
not
even
go
as
far
as
the
balustrade
of
the
veranda
.
"
He
could
n't
see
me
if
I
did
,
"
he
said
to
himself
.
"
I
wonder
whether
he
can
make
out
the
house
at
all
.
"
And
this
thought
somehow
made
him
feel
more
alone
than
he
had
ever
felt
for
all
these
years
.
What
was
it
?
six
or
seven
?
Seven
.
A
long
time
.
