Part 19 (2/2)
”He says,” answered Smith, ”that you can have all those flowers for a pair of old trousers.”
The girl stared at him with a look of astonishment that gradually gave place to amus.e.m.e.nt.
”It's the truth, straight,” went on Smith, as though she had questioned the accuracy of his translation.
”What am I to do?” she asked helplessly. ”I wanted those flowers.”
”I dunno, unless--half a mo' though. I'll be back in a jiff,” and the second-mate darted off towards his cabin.
He returned a couple of minutes later with a pair of greasy, paint-daubed trousers over his arm.
”Here, corffee-dial,” he said, and flung the garments into the sampan.
The native's face expanded into a broad grin, he cast an approving eye over the discarded trousers, and then started to hand up the flowers.
”How's that?” demanded Smith triumphantly, when the sampan had been emptied.
”It's very kind of you,” answered the girl. ”How much do I owe you for the trousers?”
”Owe me!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the other. Then he smiled. ”Well, I reckon I could have got a bob for them from a Whitechapel Sheeny.”
”Then I owe you a s.h.i.+lling.”
Smith nodded. He knew she would insist on paying him that s.h.i.+lling and was wondering how on earth she would raise it. He helped her to carry the flowers away and heap them on the bunk in her cabin.
”Oh, aren't they lovely?” she murmured.
”Um--m, I s'pose so,” answered Smith, eyeing them critically, ”but I'd rather have a c.o.kernut myself,” whereupon he departed.
Dora Fletcher, susceptible to beauty herself, was amused at the second-mate's polite contempt for the flowers. She began to arrange them about the cabin, and, while doing so, was struck by a whimsical thought.
What, she wondered, would the grim and taciturn Captain think if he came back and found his cabin full of tastefully arranged flowers?
She paused for a minute with one finger on her underlip, considering the startling proposition. Then her mouth curved in an ironical little smile, and, half-amused, half-contemptuous of her action, she gathered up some scarlet hibiscus into a bunch and made her way towards the Captain's cabin. Descending the companion quietly, she found herself for the second time in that mysterious sanctum. It was not very large, and there were none of the homely decorations--photographs, pictures, and so forth--with which some skippers decorate their quarters. Some maps and charts, a pair of pistols, one or two bracket-shelves with books hung from the bulkheads, and the sideboards were littered with odds and ends--tobacco-pipes, half-empty boxes of matches, and other masculine lumber. The place reeked, too, of strong tobacco, and there were two or three cigar-b.u.t.ts lying on the table.
The girl glanced around her with an expression of mingled amus.e.m.e.nt and perplexity, then took a tumbler from the rack and filled it with water.
Having arranged the flowers in it to her satisfaction, she stood for a moment surveying the effect, with that half-ironical smile still playing about her lips.
As she stood thus, the cabin door opened softly and she swung round, the blood mounting in a crimson flood to her face. But, with a gasp of relief, she saw that the intruder was Sing-hi and not the Captain, and her heart ceased beating tumultuously.
The imperturbable celestial showed not the slightest sign of surprise at finding her there, and merely greeted her with his usual urbane smile.
”Sing-hi, I have been putting some flowers here for the Captain,” she said; ”but you're not to tell him I've been here--savee?”
”Savee,” answered Sing-hi, and the girl left the cabin feeling tolerably sure that the Chinaman would not betray her.
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