“Who’s he?”
“Don’t you know him? He’s the skipper. The only man out here who thanks God at table with his head bowed over tinned food. It’s a fact.” His cabin mate chuckled while his head struggled with his shirt. “And he’s against the booze and the ladies. But I ain’t. Not in this God-forsaken world. How does he live?” His cabin mate dropped his heavy bulk suddenly on the settee and began to pull off his drawers.
So he left that small place to his chance companion. The collars, hair brushes, cigar boxes, boots, and clothes of that big, prompt, perspiring fellow were scattered over both bunks, the hooks, and the floor. Just forward of the cabin a little man in uniform was leaning over the rail, and in a mild voice was calling some advice to the lower deck. Then the little man turned wearily and absently, but saw him and surveyed him with friendly eyes for a moment in a detachment which seemed to put centuries between them.
“Good morning. Are you Mr. Royden? I’ve a parcel for you. Come with me.” The little man led young Royden to a door over the top of which was the word “Captain.” The uproar of the anchorage remained outside that cabin; it might have been an insulated compartment. Over a table by the forward bulkhead, between two port windows looking ahead, was a card with a bright floral design round the text, “Lo, I am with you alway.” A pair of spectacles rested on a large Bible, which lay beside a blotting-pad covered with shipping documents.
“We shall be leaving in an hour, Mr. Royden. I hope you will be comfortable aboard. She’s very small, this ship, and bad when she rolls, but she’ll stand anything.” The captain looked up at his tall young passenger, and touched his arm in a reassuring way; he seemed tired and gray, as if he were holding on to a task of which now he knew the best and worst. His clipped and grizzled mustache and square chin checked an easy presumption on his good nature which might have been encouraged by his kindly brown eyes.
“If you want any books to read, there you are,” said the captain. He nodded to a small glass-fronted cupboard. Royden took one step and glanced at the books with interest. Then he shook his head. He would not have shown a smile about it, only when he turned the captain met his look with whimsical amusement.
“I thought not,” said Bible Brown. “Yet I don’t know how I should have lived without them, out here, out here.” The captain talked of politics, of the war, and of the affairs of the big town just outside, as though these were matters he had certainly heard about, were matters which experience teaches a man he should expect to meet in this world, and may take his notice for a moment from the real concerns of life. So Royden had been in the war, in France? Yes? He gazed at his passenger thoughtfully for a second, but asked no questions. Royden felt a little indignant. That had been the most awful thing in history; and he had seen it. But this cold little man, with his Bible, thought nothing of human life. That didn’t worry him. He didn’t care what became of it.
Macassar Is a Convenient Meeting Place for Traders