Sterne crossed the deck upon the track of the chief engineer. Jack, the second, retreating backwards down the engine-room ladder, and still wiping his hands, treated him to an incomprehensible grin of white teeth out of his grimy hard face; Massy was nowhere to be seen. He must have gone straight into his berth.
Sterne scratched at the door softly, then, putting his lips to the rose of the ventilator, said--"I must speak to you, Mr. Massy. Just give me a minute or two."
"I am busy. Go away from my door."
"But pray, Mr. Massy . . ."
"You go away. D'you hear? Take yourself off alto-gether--to the other end of the ship--quite away . . ."
The voice inside dropped low. "To the devil."
Sterne paused: then very quietly--"It's rather pressing. When do you think you will be at liberty, sir?"
The answer to this was an exasperated "Never"; and at once Sterne, with a very firm expression of face, turned the handle.
Mr. Massy's stateroom--a narrow, one-berth cabin--smelt strongly of soap, and presented to view a swept, dusted, unadorned neatness, not so much bare as barren, not so much severe as starved and lacking in humanity, like the ward of a public hospital, or rather (owing to the small size) like the clean retreat of a desperately poor but exemplary person. Not a single photograph frame ornamented the bulkheads; not a single article of clothing, not as much as a spare cap, hung from the brass hooks. All the inside was painted in one plain tint of pale blue; two big sea-chests in sailcloth covers and with iron padlocks fitted exactly in the space under the bunk. One glance was enough to embrace all the strip of scrubbed planks within the four unconcealed corners. The absence of the usual settee was striking; the teak-wood top of the washing-stand seemed hermeti-cally closed, and so was the lid of the writing-desk, which protruded from the partition at the foot of the bed-place, containing a mattress as thin as a pancake under a threadbare blanket with a faded red stripe, and a folded mosquito-net against the nights spent in harbor.
There was not a scrap of paper anywhere in sight, no boots on the floor, no litter of any sort, not a speck of dust anywhere; no traces of pipe-ash even, which, in a heavy smoker, was morally revolting, like a manifesta-tion of extreme hypocrisy; and the bottom of the old wooden arm-chair (the only seat there), polished with much use, shone as if its shabbiness had been waxed.
The screen of leaves on the bank, passing as if unrolled endlessly in the round opening of the port, sent a waver-ing network of light and shade into the place.
Sterne, holding the door open with one hand, had thrust in his head and shoulders. At this amazing intrusion Massy, who was doing absolutely nothing, jumped up speechless.
"Don't call names," murmured Sterne hurriedly. "I won't be called names. I think of nothing but your good, Mr. Massy."
A pause as of extreme astonishment followed. They both seemed to have lost their tongues. Then the mate went on with a discreet glibness.
"You simply couldn't conceive what's going on on board your ship. It wouldn't enter your head for a moment. You are too good--too--too upright, Mr. Massy, to suspect anybody of such a . . . It's enough to make your hair stand on end."
He watched for the effect: Massy seemed dazed, un-comprehending. He only passed the palm of his hand on the coal-black wisps plastered across the top of his head. In a tone suddenly changed to confidential au-dacity Sterne hastened on.
"Remember that there's only six weeks left to run . . ." The other was looking at him stonily . . .
"so anyhow you shall require a captain for the ship before long."
Then only, as if that suggestion had scarified his flesh in the manner of red-hot iron, Massy gave a start and seemed ready to shriek. He contained himself by a great effort.
"Require a captain," he repeated with scathing slow-ness. "Who requires a captain? You dare to tell me that I need any of you humbugging sailors to run my ship. You and your likes have been fattening on me for years. It would have hurt me less to throw my money overboard. Pam--pe--red us--e--less f-f-f-frauds. The old ship knows as much as the best of you." He snapped his teeth audibly and growled through them, "The silly law requires a captain."
Sterne had taken heart of grace meantime.
"And the silly insurance people too, as well," he said lightly. "But never mind that. What I want to ask is: Why shouldn't _I_ do, sir? I don't say but you could take a steamer about the world as well as any of us sailors. I don't pretend to tell YOU that it is a very great trick . . ." He emitted a short, hollow guffaw, familiarly . . . "I didn't make the law--but there it is; and I am an active young fellow! I quite hold with your ideas; I know your ways by this time, Mr. Massy.
I wouldn't try to give myself airs like that--that--er lazy specimen of an old man up there."
He put a marked emphasis on the last sentence, to lead Massy away from the track in case . . . but he did not doubt of now holding his success. The chief engineer seemed nonplused, like a slow man invited to catch hold of a whirligig of some sort.
"What you want, sir, is a chap with no nonsense about him, who would be content to be your sailing-master.
Quite right, too. Well, I am fit for the work as much as that Serang. Because that's what it amounts to.
Do you know, sir, that a dam' Malay like a monkey is in charge of your ship--and no one else. Just listen to his feet pit-patting above us on the bridge--real officer in charge. He's taking her up the river while the great man is wallowing in the chair--perhaps asleep; and if he is, that would not make it much worse either--take my word for it."
He tried to thrust himself farther in. Massy, with lowered forehead, one hand grasping the back of the arm-chair, did not budge.
