Part 18 (1/2)

”I say, that's bad; can't you take a pull at yourself?”

”Too late now.”

”Nothing's too late,” declared Shafto; ”believe that and buck up.

Well, here are four rupees for you.”

As he put them into a shaking hand the match went out, and the loafer noiselessly melted away into the soft and impenetrable darkness.

Next morning Shafto informed Roscoe of this strange encounter.

”Such a water-logged derelict was never seen! One of your underworld friends, I take it?”

”Worse than that,” rejoined Roscoe; ”he's my own first cousin.”

In reply to Shafto's exclamation he added: ”His father was the officer I told you about, who was so terribly worried by the plays. This chap was erratic, but a clever fellow and great at languages; he pa.s.sed into the Woods and Forests out here, and enjoyed the wild jungle life for a good many years; now you see what he is--a wild man of the bazaars.”

”But I say, Roscoe; can you do nothing?”

”Absolutely nothing; a cocaine case is hopeless. Opium you might tackle; the other is beyond the power of man or woman.”

”But how does the fellow live?”'

”G.o.d knows!” replied Roscoe. ”Most of these chaps keep body and soul together by stealing; there's a lot of smuggling going on in Burma, and I shouldn't be the least surprised if my cousin Richard had a hand in that!”

CHAPTER XVI

MR. AND MRS. ABEL SALTER

Shafto had been six weeks in Rangoon and, thanks to his chums, was beginning to feel completely at home--as is sometimes the case with adaptable young people in a strange and fascinating country.

His neighbours, the Salters, who were hospitable and friendly, had lent him a hand to find his bearings. Occasionally, of an evening, he and Roscoe would stroll over there after dinner, and sit in the deep veranda discussing many matters with the master of the house. Roscoe and Salter were more nearly of an age, and mutually interested in subjects that to Shafto seemed deadly dull and obscure. He liked to hear about sport, the country, and the Burmese; to all such topics he was an eager and ready listener, but when philosophy and sociology were on the tapis he would join Mrs. Salter indoors, to discuss the paddy crop, inspect her great rice bins, and argue over prices and sales; or he would listen to blood-curdling tales about _nats_, or house spirits, related by his hostess in animated, broken English, and with appropriate gesticulations. Mee Lay had a high opinion of the young man, and this was shared by her daughter, for ”Shaft,” as she called him, helped her to fly her kite, mended broken toys and brought her chocolates such as her soul loved.

During one of their prowling expeditions Roscoe had imparted the life-history of Salter to his chum. Salter's forbears were Yorks.h.i.+re folk--thrifty, self-respecting, stiff-backed Nonconformists. His father and grandfather belonged to what is called ”the old school,”

when parents ruled their families with an iron rod, and the meek, down-trodden children accepted punishment without question. Salter's grandmother had dismissed grown-up sons from table and kept a rebellious daughter for weeks incarcerated in her room. Salter's father had inherited her stern, Spartan spirit; he gave his heir a first-cla.s.s education in the neighbourhood of London and, when he was twenty, recalled him to Bradford, there to take his place in the works and live at home. But Salter, junior, having tasted the delights of liberty, found home life unspeakably irksome; the laws against drink, dancing, smoking and the theatre were Draconic. He hated the long chapel service on Sunday, the endless hymns and emotional exhortations; the day concluding with family wors.h.i.+p, which lasted three-quarters of an hour. The young fellow dreaded the Sabbath and rebelled against his gloomy, comfortable, middle-cla.s.s home, where he had no individuality, no rights--and no latch-key! At last he broke loose--the flesh and blood of twenty-two years old revolted. At twelve o'clock one night he found himself locked out and, as the first bold peal of the bell elicited no reply, he never again applied for admittance, but with four pounds in his pockets and a good saleable watch, launched his little skiff upon the great, wide world.

Behold him now comfortably established in a foreign land, occupying a responsible position in a well-known firm, the husband of a clever, thrifty woman, who was actively engaged in building up his fortune.

After an interval of some years, the Salters at home discovered that their prodigal had undoubtedly killed and thriven on his own fatted calf. The usual little bird had informed them that ”Abel was much thought of and prosperous; had a grand home in Rangoon, dozens of servants, and was married.” Friendly letters were dispatched--for ”Nothing succeeds like success”--and a brisk correspondence ensued.

Information and photographs were promptly exchanged, and the family received a nicely-finished presentment of Rosetta in her smartest and shortest frock. They were much impressed by the grandchild born to them in Burma, and she was immediately installed in a handsome silver frame, introduced to all their neighbours and to most of their chapel friends.

But what would have been the sensation of these worthy people if they had received a portrait of Mee Lay in full festival costume--flowers in hair and white cheroot in hand!

On the subject of Mrs. Abel Salter there was but scanty information; her old maid sisters-in-law were given to understand that she sent them her best good-wishes--she also forwarded silks and jars of Burmese condiments, but her husband declared that she was very lazy about letter-writing and const.i.tutionally shy. Her maiden name, they were told, had been Mary Lee, and this information had sufficed.

Besides having the entree to the Salters' domestic circle, Shafto had been elected a member of the Gymkhana Club, where he made various new acquaintances--and these increased in number as his prowess in tennis and cricket became evident; then, with the advice--and, indeed, almost under the compulsion--of FitzGerald, he purchased a smart stud-bred mare, certainly no longer in her first youth, but sound, clever and full of ”go.” She was not called upon to s.h.i.+ne on a race-course, but carried her master admirably in Station paper-chases on Thursday afternoons.

By the MacNab this investment was looked upon with a dubious and unfavourable eye, although he was aware that the price of ”Moons.h.i.+ne”