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"I have had Kanakas who could read and write in Dutch, and English, though. The Kanaka which means man is a Sandwich Islander, with a Malayan base. He's the only native I trust in these parts. My boys are all Sandwich Island born. I wouldn't trust a Malay, not if he were reared in the Vatican." Spurlock, who was absorbing this talk thirstily, laughed. "What's that?" demanded McClintock.
She was vaguely happy over this arrangement which put her in the wing across the middle hall, alone. "This will be very comfortable." "Isn't that lagoon gorgeous? I wonder if there'll be sharks?" "Not in the lagoon. Mr. McClintock says they can't get in there, or at least they never try it." "Lord! think of having sharks for neighbours? Every morning I'll take a dip into the lagoon.
Here Ruth returned with the broth; and McClintock strode aft, convinced that he was going to have something far more interesting than books to read. Spurlock stared at Ruth across the rim of his bowl. He was vaguely uneasy; he knew not what about. Here was the same Ruth who had left him a few minutes since: the same outwardly; and yet...!
The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke. Into this new world, vivid with colour, came Spurlock, receptively. For a few days he was able to relegate his conscience to the background. There was so much to see, so much to do, that he became what he had once been normally, a lovable boy. McClintock was amused.
It had been built in the shipyards of McClintock & Hundley at Mobile, Alabama, and had been brought to Charleston by rail. On her trial she proved very clumsy and difficult to manage. For her first trip a crew of nine men volunteered.
You could return to civilization and have a good time all the rest of your days." "Two weeks in Hong-Kong," replied McClintock, "is more than enough." "But, Lord, man! don't you ever get lonesome?" "Don't you?" "I'm too busy." "So am I. I am carrying back a hundred new books and forty new records for the piano-player.
And he's got what's better than money: he has learned to do without what he hasn't got." "You say he has proved himself a good man of his hands?" demanded McClintock sharply. "Yessir Stanley is sure one double-fisted citizen," said Pete. "Here is what I heard spoken of him by highest authority the day before I left: 'He'll make a hand! That was the word said of Stan to me.
As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. And, decently as he could, McClintock was giving the man the boot. There was, it might be said, a double illumination. But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably damned. The Dawn Pearl.
The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. He had been for months without music of the character he loved and he dared not play any of it! McClintock, after the music began, left the piano and sat in a corner just beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp.
Before the first month was gone, McClintock admitted that the boy was a find. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. The cheating of the boys in the stores ceased. If there were any pearls, none came into the light. Gradually McClintock shifted the burden to Spurlock's shoulders and retired among his books and music rolls.
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