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."
"But what do
you intend to do?"
"Find some
spot where I shall escape the
indignity of being
patronized and bossed by the
superior sex."
"Come now, that is putting
it a bit too strongly." Sheldon
laughed, but the strain in his
voice destroyed the effect of
spontaneity. "You know yourself
how impossible the situation
is."
"I know nothing
of the sort, sir. And if it
is impossible,
well, haven't I achieved it?"
"But it cannot
continue. Really--"
"Oh, yes, it
can. Having achieved it, I
can go on achieving it.
I intend to remain in the Solomons,
but not on Berande. To-morrow
I am going to take the whale-boat
over to Pari-Sulay. I was talking
with Captain Young about it.
He says there are at least four
hundred acres, and every foot
of it good for planting. Being
an island, he says I won't have
to bother about wild pigs destroying
the young trees. All I'll have
to do is to keep the weeds hoed
until the trees come into bearing.
First, I'll buy the island; next,
get forty or fifty recruits and
start clearing and planting;
and at the same time I'll run
up a bungalow; and then you'll
be relieved of my embarrassing
presence--now don't say that
it isn't."
"It is embarrassing," he said
bluntly. "But you refuse to see
my point of view, so there is
no use in discussing it. Now
please forget all about it, and
consider me at your service concerning
this . . . this project of yours.
I know more about cocoanut- planting
than you do. You speak like a
capitalist. I don't know how
much money you have, but I don't
fancy you are rolling in wealth,
as you Americans say. But I do
know what it costs to clear land.
Suppose the government sells
you Pari-Sulay at a pound an
acre; clearing will cost you
at least four pounds more; that
is, five pounds for four hundred
acres, or, say, ten thousand
dollars. Have you that much?"
She was keenly interested,
and he could see that the previous
clash between them was already
forgotten. Her disappointment
was plain as she confessed:
"No; I haven't
quite eight thousand dollars."
"Then here's
another way of looking at it.
You'll need, as
you said, at least fifty boys.
Not counting premiums, their
wages are thirty dollars a year."
"I pay my Tahitians fifteen
a month," she interpolated.
"They won't
do on straight plantation work.
But to return.
The wages of fifty boys each
year will come to three hundred
pounds-- that is, fifteen hundred
dollars. Very well. It will be
seven years before your trees
begin to bear. Seven times fifteen
hundred is ten thousand five
hundred dollars--more than you
possess, and all eaten up by
the boys' wages, with nothing
to pay for bungalow, building,
tools, quinine, trips to Sydney,
and so forth."
Sheldon shook
his head gravely. "You'll
have to abandon the idea."
"But I won't go to Sydney," she
cried. "I simply won't. I'll
buy in to the extent of my money
as a small partner in some other
plantation. Let me buy in in
Berande!"
"Heaven forbid!" he
cried in such genuine dismay
that she
broke into hearty laughter.
"There, I won't
tease you. Really, you know,
I'm not accustomed
to forcing my presence where
it is not desired. Yes, yes;
I know you're just aching to
point out that I've forced myself
upon you ever since I landed,
only you are too polite to say
so. Yet as you said yourself,
it was impossible for me to go
away, so I had to stay. You wouldn't
let me go to Tulagi. You compelled
me to force myself upon you.
But I won't buy in as partner
with any one. I'll buy Pari-Sulay,
but I'll put only ten boys on
it and clear slowly. Also, I'll
invest in some old ketch and
take out a trading license. For
that matter, I'll go recruiting
on Malaita."
She looked for protest, and
found it in Sheldon's clenched
hand and in every line of his
clean-cut face.
"Go ahead and say it," she
challenged. "Please don't mind
me. I'm--I'm getting used to
it, you know. Really I am."
"I wish I were a woman so as
to tell you how preposterously
insane and impossible it is," he
blurted out.
She surveyed him with deliberation,
and said:
"Better than
that, you are a man. So there
is nothing to
prevent your telling me, for
I demand to be considered as
a man. I didn't come down here
to trail my woman's skirts over
the Solomons. Please forget that
I am accidentally anything else
than a man with a man's living
to make."
Inwardly Sheldon fumed and
fretted. Was she making game
of him? Or did there lurk in
her the insidious unhealthfulness
of unwomanliness? Or was it merely
a case of blank, staring, sentimental,
idiotic innocence?
"I have told you," he began
stiffly, "that recruiting on
Malaita is impossible for a woman,
and that is all I care to say--or
dare."
"And I tell
you, in turn, that it is nothing
of the sort. I've
sailed the Miele here, master,
if you please, all the way from
Tahiti--even if I did lose her,
which was the fault of your Admiralty
charts. I am a navigator, and
that is more than your Solomons
captains are. Captain Young told
me all about it. And I am a seaman--a
better seaman than you, when
it comes right down to it, and
you know it. I can shoot. I am
not a fool. I can take care of
myself. And I shall most certainly
buy a ketch, run her myself,
and go recruiting on Malaita."
Sheldon made a hopeless gesture.
"That's right," she rattled
on. "Wash your hands of me. But
as Von used to say, 'You just
watch my smoke!'"
"There's no
use in discussing it. Let us
have some music."
He arose and went over to the
big phonograph; but before the
disc started, and while he was
winding the machine, he heard
her saying:
"I suppose
you've been accustomed to Jane
Eyres all your life.
That's why you don't understand
me. Come on, Satan; let's leave
him to his old music."
He watched her morosely and
without intention of speaking,
till he saw her take a rifle
from the stand, examine the magazine,
and start for the door.
"Where are you going?" he
asked peremptorily.
"As between man and woman," she
answered, "it would be too terribly--er--indecent
for you to tell me why I shouldn't
go alligatoring. Good-night.
Sleep well."
He shut off the phonograph
with a snap, started toward the
door after her, then abruptly
flung himself into a chair.
"You're hoping a 'gator catches
me, aren't you?" she called from
the veranda, and as she went
down the steps her rippling laughter
drifted tantalizingly back through
the wide doorway.
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