Shafto nodded curtly.
“An’ ye never tuk no notice! Ye might have given her just a small sign to ease her heart—but I’m thinkin’ ye have a hard drop in ye.”
“I dare say I have,” assented Shafto, “and I’m glad of it, for now and then it has prevented me from making an awful fool of myself.”
“Ah, well, sometimes the fools have the best of it; not that I’m sayin’ a word in favour of Ma Chit—only that if ye’d waved yer hand she’d a gone away with a small bit of consolation and comfort.”
“By the way, Ryan, what did you mean by saying you were a magician?”
“Oh, that was only a bit of a boast, sir. I know a few tricks I learnt in the regiment; one of the privates was a professional conjurer and mighty clever when sober. When I showed off one or two little tricks with stones, or buttons, or bits of string, the Burmans were sure I was a real wizard, and looked up to me, so they did, and then the birds and animals being so friendly—I was always so much at my ease with them, and the childher—they said I cast spells!”
The steerage passengers were not a little surprised to note the forgathering of a first-class passenger with this odd reserved person (whose shaven head was associated in their opinion with the interior of Rangoon jail). Nor was this all; now and then a remarkably pretty young lady accompanied the said first-class passenger and brought fruit, and books, and cakes, and the three appeared to be on the best of terms. The pongye and Shafto had many long talks together; they discussed life among the Burmese, the prospects of war, the changes that might awake and shake the world, and, appropriate supplement to the topic of war, more than once they spoke of death.
“I’ve been so long with the Buddhists that the fear of the grave is wore out of me,” said Ryan; “I’d a’most as soon be dead as not—it’s only another new life—ye just step in, an’ meet yer old friends. I suppose, sir, you do not go along with me there.”
“No,” replied Shafto, who had all an Englishman’s shrinking reluctance to discuss his belief, or his inner life; “yours is a nice easy path—too good to be true, I’m afraid. My creed is, to do our best, to help other people, and to take what comes.”
“Goodness knows you have helped me, Mr. Shafto”—and the pongye drew back a step and looked at him queerly—“what with saving me life and then makin’ sort o’ friends with me—as man to man—your kindness will stand in me memory till the clay is over me!”