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Not only himself but anybody from the Emma would be sure to be rushed upon and speared in twenty places. He reflected for a moment in silence. "Even you, Tuan, could not accomplish the feat." "True," muttered Jorgenson. When, after a period of meditation, he looked round, Jaffir was no longer by his side.
You, Tuan Jorgenson, are the only white man I care for. They heard Tuan Jorgenson say to Tengga: 'Now you have told me everything there is in your mind you had better go ashore with your friends and return to-morrow. And Tengga asked: 'Why! would you fight me to-morrow rather than live many days in peace with me? and he laughed and slapped his thigh.
It was of Tom that he had to think, of what was good or bad for Tom in that absurd and deadly game of his life. Finally he reached the conclusion that to be given the ring would be good for Tom Lingard. Just to be given the ring and no more. The ring and no more. "It will help him to make up his mind," muttered Jorgenson in his moustache, as if compelled by an obscure conviction.
"Yes," said Jorgenson, absently, "I heard you." Then, as if roused a little, he added less mechanically: "The whole ship heard you." Mrs. Travers asked herself whether perchance she had not simply screamed. It had never occurred to her before that perhaps she had. At the time it seemed to her she had no strength for more than a whisper. Had she been really so loud?
Against the faint clearness in the frame of the open shutter she presented to him the dark silhouette of her shoulders surmounted by a sleek head, because her hair was still in the two plaits. To Jorgenson Mrs. Travers in her un-European dress had always been displeasing, almost monstrous.
Florid and burly he could be seen, for a day or two, getting out of dusty gharries, striding in sunshine from the Occidental Bank to the Harbour Office, crossing the Esplanade, disappearing down a street of Chinese shops, while at his elbow and as tall as himself, old Jorgenson paced along, lean and faded, obstinate and disregarded, like a haunting spirit from the past eager to step back into the life of men.
You may believe every word he says. There isn't a thought or a purpose in that Settlement," he continued, pointing at the dumb solitude of the lagoon, "that this man doesn't know as if they were his own." "I know. Ask me," muttered Jorgenson, mechanically. Mrs. Travers said nothing but made a slight movement and her whole rigid figure swayed dangerously.
But upon the whole, and if you feel that Jorgenson has the power, I would yes, if I were in your place I think I would suppress anything I could not understand." Mrs. Travers listened to the very end. Her eyes they appeared incredibly sombre to d'Alcacer seemed to watch the fall of every deliberate word and after he had ceased they remained still for an appreciable time.
Jorgenson pointed at the mass of praus, coasting boats, and sampans that, jammed up together in the canal, lay covered with mats and flooded by the cold moonlight with here and there a dim lantern burning amongst the confusion of high sterns, spars, masts and lowered sails.
Waal that's nowhere. But I shall find him some day yes, siree." Jorgenson, utterly disregarded, looked down dreamily at the falling cards. "Spy I tell you," he muttered to himself. "If you want to know anything, ask me." When Lingard returned from Wajo after an uncommonly long absence everyone remarked a great change.
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