'Oh, I didn't mind at all. I like these queer little things that happen to one when one's travelling. I just get a good laugh out of them.'
As soon as dinner was over and Miss Reid had left them the captain sent for the radio-operator.
'You idiot, what in heaven's name made you ask Miss Reid last night whether she wanted to send a radio?'
'Sir, you told me to act naturally. I am a radio-operator. I thought it natural to ask her if she wanted to send a radio. I didn't know what else to say.'
'God in heaven,' shouted the captain, 'when Siegfried saw Brunhilde lying on her rock and cried: Das ist kein Mann,' (the captain sang the words, and being pleased with the sound of his voice, repeated the phrase two or three times before he continued), 'did Siegfried when she awoke ask her if she wished to send a radio, to announce to her papa, I suppose, that she was sitting up after her long sleep and taking notice?'
'I beg most respectfully to draw your attention to the fact that Brunhilde was Siegfried's aunt. Miss Reid is a total stranger to me.'
'He did not reflect that she was his aunt. He knew only that she was a beautiful and defenceless woman of obviously good family and he acted as any gentleman would have done. You are young, handsome, Aryan to the tips of your fingers, the honour of Germany is in your hands.'
'Very good sir. I will do my best.'
That night there was another knock on Miss Reid's door.
'Who is it?'
'The radio-operator. I have a radio for you, Miss Reid.'
'For me?' She was surprised, but it at once occurred to her that one of her fellow-passengers who had got off at Haiti had sent her New Year's greetings. 'How very kind people are,' she thought. 'I'm in bed. Leave it outside the door.'
'It needs an answer. Ten words prepaid.'
Then it couldn't be a New Year's greeting. Her heart stopped beating. It could only mean one thing; her shop had been burned to the ground. She jumped out of bed.
'Slip it under the door and I'll write the answer and slip it back to you.'
The envelope was pushed under the door and as it appeared on the carpet it had really a sinister look. Miss Reid snatched it up and tore the envelope open. The words swam before her eyes and she couldn't for a moment find her spectacles. This is what she read:
'Happy New Year. Stop. Peace and goodwill to all men. Stop. You are very beautiful. Stop. I love you. Stop. I must speak to you. Stop. Signed: Radio Operator.'
Miss Reid read this through twice. Then she slowly took off her spectacles and hid them under a scarf. She opened the door.
'Come in,' she said.
Next day was New Year's Eve. The officers were cheerful and a little sentimental when they sat down to dinner. The stewards had decorated the saloon with tropical creepers to make up for holly and mistletoe, and the Christmas tree stood on a table with the candles ready to be lit at supper time. Miss Reid did not come in till the officers were seated, and when they bade her good morning she did not speak but merely bowed. They looked at her curiously. She ate a good dinner, but uttered never a word. Her silence was uncanny. At last the captain could stand it no longer, and he said:
'You're very quiet today, Miss Reid.'
'I'm thinking,' she remarked.
'And will you not tell us your thoughts, Miss Reid?' the doctor asked playfully.
She gave him a cool, you might almost have called it a supercilious, look.
'I prefer to keep them to myself, Doctor. I will have a little more of that hash, I've got a very good appetite.'
They finished the meal in a blessed silence. The captain heaved a sigh of relief. That was what meal-time was for, to eat, not to chatter. When they had finished he went up to the doctor and wrung his hand.
'Something has happened, Doctor.'
'It has happened. She's a changed woman.'
'But will it last?'
'One can only hope for the best.'
Miss Reid put on an evening dress for the evening's celebration, a very quiet black dress, with artificial roses at her bosom and a long string of imitation jade round her neck. The lights were dimmed and the candles on the Christmas tree were lit. It felt a little like being in church. The junior officers were supping in the saloon that evening and they looked very smart in their white uniforms. Champagne was served at the company's expense and after supper they had a Maibowle. They pulled crackers. They sang songs to the gramophone, Deutschland, Deutschland über Alles, Alt Heidelberg, and Auld Lang Syne. They shouted out the tunes lustily, the captain's voice rising loud above the others, and Miss Reid joining in with a pleasing contralto. The doctor noticed that Miss Reid's eyes from time to time rested on the radio-operator, and in them he read an expression of some bewilderment.
'He's a good-looking fellow, isn't he?' said the doctor.
Miss Reid turned round and looked at the doctor coolly.
'Who?'
'The radio-operator. I thought you were looking at him.'
'Which is he?'
'The duplicity of women,' the doctor muttered, but with a smile he answered: 'He's sitting next to the chief engineer.'
'Oh, of course, I recognize him now. You know, I never think it matters what a man looks like. I'm so much more interested in a man's brains than in his looks.'
'Ah,' said the doctor.
They all got a little tight, including Miss Reid, but she did not lose her dignity and when she bade them good night it was in her best manner.
'I've had a very delightful evening. I shall never forget my New Year's Eve on a German boat. It's been very interesting. Quite an experience.'
She walked steadily to the door, and this was something of a triumph, for she had drunk drink for drink with the rest of them through the evening.
They were all somewhat jaded next day. When the captain, the mate, the doctor, and the chief engineer came down to dinner they found Miss Reid already seated. Before each place was a small parcel tied up in pink ribbon. On each was written: Happy New Year. They gave Miss Reid a questioning glance.
'You've all been so very kind to me I thought I'd like to give each of you a little present. There wasn't much choice at Port au Prince, so you mustn't expect too much.'
There was a pair of briar pipes for the captain, half a dozen silk handkerchiefs for the doctor, a cigar-case for the mate, and a couple of ties for the chief engineer. They had dinner and Miss Reid retired to her cabin to rest. The officers looked at one another uncomfortably. The mate fiddled with the cigar-case she had given him.
'I'm a little ashamed of myself,' he said at last.
The captain was pensive and it was plain that he too was a trifle uneasy.
'I wonder if we ought to have played that trick on Miss Reid,' he said. 'She's a good old soul and she's not rich; she's a woman who earns her own living. She must have spent the best part of a hundred marks on these presents. I almost wish we'd left her alone.'
The doctor shrugged his shoulders.
'You wanted her silenced and I've silenced her.'
'When all's said and done, it wouldn't have hurt us to listen to her chatter for three weeks more,' said the mate.
'I'm not happy about her,' added the captain. 'I feel there's something ominous in her quietness.'
She had spoken hardly a word during the meal they had just shared with her. She seemed hardly to listen to what they said.
'Don't you think you ought to ask her if she's feeling quite well, doctor?' suggested the captain.
'Of course she's feeling quite well. She's eating like a wolf. If you want inquiries made you'd much better make them of the radio-operator.'
'You may not be aware of it, Doctor, but I am a man of great delicacy.'
'I am a man of heart myself,' said the doctor.
For the rest of the journey those men spoilt Miss Reid outrageously. They treated her with the consideration they would have shown to someone who was convalescent after a long and dangerous illness. Though her appetite was excellent they sought to tempt he
r with new dishes. The doctor ordered wine and insisted on her sharing his bottle with him. They played dominoes with her. They played chess with her. They played bridge with her. They engaged her in conversation. But there was no doubt about it, though she responded to their advances with politeness, she kept herself to herself. She seemed to regard them with something very like disdain; you might almost have thought that she looked upon those men and their efforts to be amiable as pleasantly ridiculous. She seldom spoke unless spoken to. She read detective stories and at night sat on deck looking at the stars. She lived a life of her own.
At last the journey drew to its close. They sailed up the English Channel on a still grey day; they sighted land. Miss Reid packed her trunk. At two o'clock in the afternoon they docked at Plymouth. The captain, the mate, and the doctor came along to say good-bye to her.
'Well, Miss Reid,' said the captain in his jovial way, 'we're sorry to lose you, but I suppose you're glad to be getting home.'
'You've been very kind to me, you've all been very kind to me, I don't know what I've done to deserve it. I've been very happy with you. I shall never forget you.'
She spoke rather shakily, she tried to smile, but her lips quivered, and tears ran down her cheeks. The captain got very red. He smiled awkwardly.
'May I kiss you, Miss Reid?'
She was taller than he by half a head. She bent down and he planted a fat kiss on one wet cheek and a fat kiss on the other. She turned to the mate and the doctor. They both kissed her.
'What an old fool I am,' she said. 'Everybody's so good.'
She dried her eyes and slowly, in her graceful, rather absurd way, walked down the companion. The captain's eyes were wet. When she reached the quay she looked up and waved to someone on the boat deck.
'Who's she waving to?' asked the captain.
'The radio-operator.'
Miss Price was waiting on the quay to welcome her. When they had passed the Customs and got rid of Miss Reid's heavy luggage they went to Miss Price's house and had an early cup of tea. Miss Reid's train did not start till five. Miss Price had much to tell Miss Reid.
'But it's too bad of me to go on like this when you've just come home. I've been looking forward to hearing all about your journey.'
'I'm afraid there's not very much to tell.'
'I can't believe that. Your trip was a success, wasn't it?'
'A distinct success. It was very nice.'
'And you didn't mind being with all those Germans?'
'Of course they're not like English people. One has to get used to their ways. They sometimes do things that -well, that English people wouldn't do, you know. But I always think that one has to take things as they come.'
'What sort of things do you mean?'
Miss Reid looked at her friend calmly. Her long, stupid face had a placid look, and Miss Price never noticed that in the eyes was a strangely mischievous twinkle.
'Things of no importance really. Just funny, unexpected, rather nice things. There's no doubt that travel is a wonderful education.'
Mabel
I was at Pagan, in Burma, and from there I took the steamer to Mandalay, but a couple of days before I got there, when the boat tied up for the night at a riverside village, I made up my mind to go ashore. The skipper told me that there was a pleasant little club in which I had only to make myself at home; they were quite used to having strangers drop off like that from the steamer, and the secretary was a very decent chap; I might even get a game of bridge. I had nothing in the world to do, so I got into one of the bullock—carts that were waiting at the landing-stage and was driven to the club. There was a man sitting on the veranda and as I walked up he nodded to me and asked whether I would have a whisky and soda or a gin and bitters. The possibility that I would have nothing at all did not even occur to him. I chose the longer drink and sat down. He was a tall, thin, bronzed man, with a big moustache, and he wore khaki shorts and a khaki shirt. I never knew his name, but when we had been chatting a little while another man came in who told me he was the secretary, and he addressed my friend as George.
'Have you heard from your wife yet?' he asked him.
The other's eyes brightened.
'Yes, I had letters by this mail. She's having no end of a time.'
'Did she tell you not to fret?'
George gave a little chuckle, but was I mistaken in thinking that there was in it the shadow of a sob?
'In point of fact she did. But that's easier said than done. Of course I know she wants a holiday, and I'm glad she should have it, but it's devilish hard on a chap.' He turned to me. 'You see, this is the first time I've ever been separated from my missus, and I'm like a lost dog without her.'
'How long have you been married?'
'Five minutes.'
The secretary of the club laughed.
'Don't be a fool, George. You've been married eight years.' After we had talked for a little, George, looking at his watch said he must go and change his clothes for dinner and left us. The secretary watched him disappear into the night with a smile of not unkindly irony.
'We all ask him as much as we can now that he's alone,' he told me. 'He mopes so terribly since his wife went home.'
'It must be very pleasant for her to know that her husband is as devoted to her as all that.'
'Mabel is a remarkable woman.'
He called the boy and ordered more drinks. In this hospitable place they did not ask you if you would have anything; they took it for granted. Then he settled himself in his long chair and lit a cheroot. He told me the story of George and Mabel.
They became engaged when he was home on leave, and when he returned to Burma it was arranged that she should join him in six months. But one difficulty cropped up after another; Mabel's father died, the war came, George was sent to a district unsuitable for a white woman, so that in the end it was seven years before she was able to start. He made all arrangements for the marriage, which was to take place on the day of her arrival, and went down to Rangoon to meet her. On the morning on which the ship was due he borrowed a motor-car and drove along to the dock. He paced the quay.
Then, suddenly, without warning, his nerve failed him. He had not seen Mabel for seven years. He had forgotten what she was like. She was a total stranger. He felt a terrible sinking in the pit of his stomach and his knees began to wobble. He couldn't go through with it. He must tell Mabel that he was very sorry, but he couldn't, he really couldn't marry her. But how could a man tell a girl a thing like that when she had been engaged to him for seven years and had come six thousand miles to marry him? He hadn't the nerve for that either. George was seized with the courage of despair. There was a boat at the quay on the very point of starting for Singapore,- he wrote a hurried letter to Mabel, and without a stick of luggage, just in the clothes he stood up in, leaped on board.
The letter Mabel received ran somewhat as follows:
Dearest Mabel,
I have been suddenly called away on business and do not know when I shall be back. I think it would be much wiser if you returned to England. My plans are very uncertain. Your loving George.
But when he arrived at Singapore he found a cable waiting for him.
QUITE UNDERSTAND. DON'T WORRY. LOVE. MABEL.
Terror made him quick-witted.
'By Jove, I believe she's following me,' he said.
He telegraphed to the shipping-office at Rangoon and sure enough her name was on the passenger list of the ship that was now on its way to Singapore. There was not a moment to lose. He jumped on the train to Bangkok. But he was uneasy; she would have no difficulty in finding out that he had gone to Bangkok and it was just as simple for her to take the train as it had been for him. Fortunately there was a French tramp sailing next day for Saigon. He took it. At Saigon he would be safe; it would never occur to her that he had gone there; and if it did, surely by now she would have taken the hint. It is five days' journey from Bangkok to Saigon and the boat is dirty, cramped, and uncomfortable. He
was glad to arrive and took a rickshaw to the hotel. He signed his name in the visitors' book and a telegram was immediately handed to him. It contained but two words: Love. Mabel. They were enough to make him break into a cold sweat.
'When is the next boat for Hong-Kong?' he asked.
Now his flight grew serious. He sailed to Hong-Kong, but dared not stay there; he went to Manila; Manila was ominous; he went on to Shanghai: Shanghai was nerve-racking; every time he went out of the hotel he expected to run straight into Mabel's arms; no, Shanghai would never do. The only thing was to go to Yokohama. At the Grand Hotel at Yokohama a cable awaited him:
SO SORRY TO HAVE MISSED YOU AT MANILA. LOVE. MABEL.
He scanned the shipping intelligence with a fevered brow. Where was she now? He doubled back to Shanghai. This time he went straight to the club and asked for a telegram. It was handed to him:
ARRIVING SHORTLY. LOVE. MABEL.
No, no, he was not so easy to catch as all that. He had already made his plans. The Yangtse is a long river and the Yangtse was falling. He could just about catch the last steamer that could get up to Chungking and then no one could travel till the following spring except by junk. Such a journey was out of the question for a woman alone. He went to Hankow and from Hankow to Ichang, he changed boats here and from Ichang through the rapids went to Chungking. But he was desperate now, he was not going to take any risks: there was a place called Cheng-tu, the capital of Szechuan, and it was four hundred miles away. It could only be reached by road, and the road was infested with brigands. A man would be safe there.
George collected chair-bearers and coolies and set out. It was with a sigh of relief that he saw at last the crenellated walls of the lonely Chinese city. From those walls at sunset you could see the snowy mountains of Tibet.
He could rest at last: Mabel would never find him there. The consul happened to be a friend of his and he stayed with him. He enjoyed the comfort of a luxurious house, he enjoyed his idleness after that strenuous escape across Asia, and above all he enjoyed his divine security. The weeks passed lazily one after the other.