“But as you happen to be in Rangoon, and not Piccadilly Circus, why don’t you open your eyes and see the place, and enjoy it?”
“Enjoy!” repeated FitzGerald with a dramatic gesture; “see it? I see a deal too much of it; while you fellows are snoozing in bed, I’m turning out filthy liquor shops, drug stores, tea houses, and stopping Chinese fights, smuggling and murder.”
“Yes, we know all that,” rejoined Roscoe; “you look into the dark, Shafto and I see the bright side of this country.”
“Oh, yes, you’re a bright pair, and here, I’m off!” exclaimed the police officer, as he suddenly caught sight of a mounted orderly and thundered down the stairs.
Roscoe was neither economical, nor yet extravagant; he patronised the theatres and shows, made expeditions into the country on “Later On,” read many books, and occasionally took a trip up the river in a cargo boat.
Shafto and Roscoe had one taste in common—a craving to see, know, understand and, as it were, get under the skin of this wonderful land. An impossible achievement! From the first they had been drawn together; they were searching in an eager way for the same object; they had both been at a public school and once, when Shafto dropped a word about Sandhurst, Roscoe said:
“I was intended for the Army, but I couldn’t pass the doctor—rather a facer after scraping through the exam.; when that was knocked on the head, I got a post as assistant-master, but I couldn’t stick it for more than a couple of years; after that, I was in a newspaper office; then I got badly stage-struck and went on the boards. Unfortunately, I was not a success; I never could do the love parts—I neither bellowed nor whined; at last my people got fairly sick of me, I was so often ‘resting,’ and they made a combined effort and hustled me out here into the oil business, and here I am in my element.”
“I can’t say you look particularly oily,” observed his companion.
“Perhaps not, but I dare say to lots of young fellows I seem a dry old stick—anyhow, I was a stick in ‘the Profession.’”
Occasionally Roscoe invited Shafto to accompany him of an evening, and introduced him to strange and wonderful sights—wrestling, cock-fighting, puppet pwes, or plays in the Burmese character. These were acted by little figures wonderfully manipulated by strings behind the scenes; the holder of the string also supplied any amount of dialogue (not always of the most decorous description), and also all the latest and coarsest jokes from the bazaar. To the Europeans these entertainments offered scanty amusement, but to natives they proved enthralling. An audience would sit spell-bound and motionless for a whole night, soothed and cheered by the strains of the Burmese band—that unique and original collection of sounds and instruments.