’Tis to be wished it had been sooner done,
But stories somehow lengthen when begun.”
The reader may mentally alter the title of this concluding chapter to “At Last!” and if he has found my reminiscences dull or humdrum, he will soon have his reward by closing the book and consigning it to oblivion—or to Mudie’s cart!
Nevertheless, in glancing back over the foregoing pages—a retrospect of a retrospect—I seem to have fulfilled what I undertook at the outset—even though that be little.
Digressions there are, I know, “innumerable as the temples in Pagan,” to borrow an old Burmese proverb; and the bare outline of my story, stripped of such embellishments, might easily be reduced to the dimensions of a certain celebrated signboard, which set forth the fame of one John Thompson.
That worthy man, a hatter by trade, composed it himself as follows: “John Thompson, hatter; makes and sells hats for ready money,” under which was depicted a large hat. This he submitted to half a dozen cronies, who modified it as follows. The first thought the word “hatter” unnecessary, because followed by the words “makes hats.” It was therefore struck out. The next objected to the word “makes,” as no one, he argued, would care who made the hats, as long as they were good. That was also omitted.
A third found fault with the expression “sells,” as no one imagined for a moment that he gave them away. “Sells,” therefore, followed the fate of its predecessors. Another took exception at “hats,” in consideration of the painting underneath. Hats was accordingly obliterated.
The fifth condemned the clause referring to ready money, since that was the custom of the place; while the sixth and last, vexed beyond measure at finding nothing left to erase, would have pulled the signboard down bodily, but for the remonstrances of the others.
To resume the beginning of the end.
The business in teak-wood was now drawing to a close, for ere long the rains would cease, and there would no longer be any means of floating the timber down to the coast on the swollen tributaries of the Salween. Few vessels therefore remained, and the river looked deserted, but for an unusually large craft painted white, and therefore conspicuous in more ways than one.