Part 12 (1/2)

”Are you really?” he said with an incredulous smile.

”Oh, yes, I attend the convent school; I am learning French and dancing, I go to ma.s.s; mother goes to the paG.o.da festivals--mother is a heathen.”

”Rosetta! Mind what you are saying,” sharply interposed Salter; ”your mother's no more a heathen than yourself.”

”Rosetta is a nasty little girl,” said Mrs. Salter, rising, ”she forgets herself before company, and must go away to be----”

A succession of shrieks interrupted the verdict.

”Oh, do forgive her, please!” implored Shafto; ”I ask it as a favour, a special favour.”

Meanwhile Rosetta clung to her mother apostrophising her in an unknown tongue, then with piercing screams, entirely regardless of her beautiful clean frock, she flung herself flat upon the floor.

If Shafto had been inclined to meditation, he might have reflected on the future of the offspring of two such divergent countries as the West Riding of Yorks.h.i.+re and Pegu. At one moment the prim, well-mannered English girl; the next, an impulsive, emotional daughter of the Far East. When she grew to woman's estate, which of the races would predominate?

Meanwhile, as Rosetta lay p.r.o.ne and kicking upon the _dhurri_, her father murmured apologetically:

”When the la.s.sie is a bit over-fired and excited, she doesn't know what she is saying.”

Mee Lay raised her struggling offspring, was about to bear her away and give her ”Tap Tap,” when again Shafto interposed:

”Oh, I say, do forgive her this time, please, Mrs. Salter. This is my first day in Rangoon--and I ask it as a particular favour.”

Mee Lay, an adoring parent, was by no means reluctant to grant his pet.i.tion, and when the tearful culprit was released and set down, she turned to Shafto and said in her piping treble:

”Thank you, nice gentleman, but she would not have hurt me much. It was not I who said mother was a heathen savage, but Ethel Lucas, and I slapped her, so I did--and Sister gave me a bad mark. I, too, go to the paG.o.da festivals and like them awfully much. There are bells and beads, and flowers and priests, the same as in the convent.”

”Now that peace has been declared, Rosetta, here is a chocolate,” said her father, ”and you can go to bed. Shafto, we will adjourn into the veranda to smoke, watch the rising moon, and listen to the hum of the bazaar--a new sound for your ears!”

In a few minutes both were extended in comfortable, long cane chairs, no doubt experiencing an agreeable sense of _bien etre_. The outlook, with its heavy foliage, was restful to the eye, and the air was charged with a spicy warmth.

Presently Salter began: ”On Monday you are due at the office to report yourself. You need not be scared at the Head, although he has a stiff, discouraging sort of manner, and they say that, like the east wind, he finds out all your weak points in the twinkling of an eye! He is just and impartial, and no man is more respected in the whole of Burma than George Gregory. I suppose you know that Gregory's is one of the oldest-established houses here?”

Shafto nodded; he had learned this fact on board s.h.i.+p.

”We do a great trade and employ a number of young fellows, mostly from public schools and universities. One or two other firms do not engage gentlemen--for reasons that, perhaps, you may guess. Out of business hours our house keeps a sharp eye on their employes. A young chap can get into any amount of mischief in Rangoon--Rangoon is full of temptations.”

”Oh, is it?” muttered Shafto indifferently--what could its temptations offer in comparison to London?

”Anyhow it seems a huge, stirring sort of place,” he added, as he watched motors, bicycles, and _gharries_ whirring past the entrance.

”Stirring! Why you may say so--it's humming like a hive day and night.

There are so many taps to turn in this wealthy country--timber, rice, wolfram, jade, tin, oil, rubies. A man with a little capital, if he does not lose his head, can make a fortune in ten years, especially in paddy. Our particular trade is teak and paddy--that's rice, you know.

I expect your work will be on the wharf and pretty heavy at first.”

”Well, anyway, it's an open-air job.”

”Yes, you have the pull now; this is our cold season--October to March; but the hot weather is no joke; as for the rains, you might as well live in a steam laundry; we get a hundred inches here in Lower Burma.”