"Of course, my lord. I should be your most obedient humble servant."
"Good," said Willatopy. "Then since I am already a great English lord you are now my servant. I should like to see a white man working in my garden under the hot sun and jumping when I lay my stick upon him. You shall work in my garden. Come."
"Certainly, my lord, with the utmost pleasure. But may I first change my clothes? I have some others in this suit case."
"Clothes?" cried Willatopy contemptuously. "It is always clothes with you foolish white people. When I go with Madame in a boat she makes me wear my trousers, though I throw them off when I plunge into the water. Madame will never swim like Joy and Cry if she always wears that tight blue bathing dress. Now that I am a great English Lord, all men and women shall be my servants, and shall do what I command. Put on your foolish trousers, white man, and come with me. I will make you labour in my garden, and presently when the sun grows hot at noon you will be glad to put them off for coolness. For now that you are my servant, I shall make you work very hard."
"I cannot work too hard in your service, my lord," replied Clifford obsequiously. He had been successful beyond all expectation, and was willing to sweat copiously in Willie's garden as a sacrifice to the High Gods.
Meanwhile, Madame Gilbert had changed into the white crepe de chine and muslin gear which was her toilet on land and in the yacht. She sat in the entrance of her big tent, smoking Russian cigarettes, and mildly wondering what had become of Clifford, the "sharks' food." She anticipated with some pleasure hearing the howls of a dog which would announce the hollow emptiness of his stomach. She intended to feed him sparingly as evidence of her punctilious hospitality, though under her austere regimen there would be no margin for pride and fatness. And while she smoked there, ignorantly idle, Clifford had fought and won the first and most difficult battle in his campaign. He was already the victor, though for long hours he sweated outrageously in Willie's garden while that lordly task-master looked on, and now and then administered painful stimulus. John Clifford was, I am convinced, almost flattered by receiving upon his servile, middle-class back the haughtily administered blows of an undoubted Baron of ancient lineage.
It was not until late that afternoon that Madame Gilbert had an opportunity to perceive the changed relations between the Hedge Lawyer and his baronial client. There had been no starving yelps from the beach, and though she had despatched her steward to look for the little stranger, the man of food had returned with his supplies undevoured. None of the sailors had seen the black-coated intruder, and Madame began to hope that Willatopy, true to his instincts, had completed the despatch of John Clifford, and had consigned his remains to his brother sharks of the bay. Madame, I regret to say, has no respect for the lives of those whom she dislikes. When she acted as the lawyer's shield in the early morning, she had not yet made his professional acquaintance. Afterwards, Willatopy might have carved him into pieces if he chose.
In the late afternoon, Madame was roaming in search of some rare tropical flowers which grew at the head of the bay when she came upon Willatopy, attended at a respectful distance by a bare-headed and bare-footed menial dressed in grey flannels.
"Hullo, Willie," cried Madame, not recognising Clifford in this new incarnation, "whom have you picked up?"
"This, Madame," replied Willatopy with hauteur, "is John, my white slave. He works much better than my brown boys, and I shall keep him on my island. He has hoed the weeds all day in my garden, and I have given him food in payment. Now I am taking him to my yawl that he may clean it properly inside and polish up the brass-work. John, can you clean my yawl properly, so that the brass shines?"