“Hot, Yank?” grinned the Englishman. “That’s what all the lads finds ’em when they first get out here. In a week they’ll be just right. In a month you’ll be longin’ for Madras where they make ’em ’otter.”
The dinner over, the guests threw under their feet the food that remained; washed their fingers, surreptitiously, of course, in a chettie of drinking water; and sauntered out into the starlit night. Across the way lay the cricket ground of Colombo, a twelve-acre field, silent and deserted. While the policeman yawned at the far end of his beat, I scrambled over the bamboo fence, and, choosing a spot where the grass was not entirely worn off, went to bed. The proverbial white elephant was never more of a burden than my kodak had become. Hitherto, I had easily concealed it in a pocket of my corduroy coat. Now my entire wardrobe could have been packed inside the apparatus, and wherever I wandered I was forced to lug the thing under one arm, like a pet poodle, wrapped in a ragged cover that deceived the covetous as to its real value. By night it served as pillow, and so fixed a habit had its possession become, that I ran no more risk of leaving it behind than of going away without my cap.
The grassy slope was as soft as a mattress, the tepid night breeze just the right covering. I quickly fell asleep. A feeling, as of someone close at hand, aroused me. Slowly I opened my eyes. Within a foot of me, his naked body glistening in the moonlight, crouched a coolie. I bounded to my feet. But the native was quicker than I. With a leap that would have done credit to a kangaroo, he shot suddenly into the air, landed noiselessly on his bare feet some three yards away, and, before I could take a step in his direction, was gone.
Midnight, certainly, had passed. The flanking streets were utterly deserted. Not a light shone in the long rows of shops. Only the ceaseless chanting of myriads of insects tempered the stillness of the night. I drew a cord from my pocket, tied one end to the kodak and another to a wrist, and lay down again. The precaution was wisely taken. A tug at my arm awakened me a second time and, as I started up, a black rascal, closely resembling my first visitor, scampered away across the playground. Dawn was drawing a thin gray line on the black canvas of night. I left my bed unmade and wandered away into the city.
Before the sun was high I had found employment. A resident in the Cinnamon Gardens had advertised for a carpenter, and for the three days following I superintended the labors of a band of coolies in laying a hardwood floor in his bungalow. During that period, a rumor, spreading among the beachcombers, aroused them to new wakefulness. Colombo was soon to be visited by a circus! It was not that the mixed odor of sawdust and pink lemonade appealed greatly to “the boys.” But tradition whispered that the annual show would bring employment to more than one whose curry and rice advanced with laggard steps.
Dropping in at Almeida’s when my task was ended, I found Askins agog with news of the coming spectacle.
“She’ll be here in a week or ten days,” he cried, gayly. “That means a few dibs a day for some of us. For circuses must have white men. Niggers won’t do. That’s our game, Franck. Just lay low and when she blows in, we’ll swoop down on the supe and get our cognoms on the pay roll.
“Or say!” he went on, in more excited tones. “Better still! You won’t need to lie idle meantime, either. An idea strikes me. Remember the arrack shop where the two stokers set us up a bottle of fire-water the other day? Well, just across the street is the Salvation Army. Now you waltz down to the meeting there to-night and get converted. They’ll hand you down a swell white uniform, put you right in a good hash-house, and throw a few odd grafts in your way. All you’ll have to do’ll be to baste a drum or something of the kind twice a day, and you can have quite a few chips tucked away by the time the circus comes.”
“Good scheme,” I answered, “but I’ve got a few chips tucked away now, and if she isn’t due for ten days that will give me time for a jaunt into the interior of the island.”
“Well, it’s a ramble worth making,” admitted the Irishman, “but look out for the sun, and be sure you’re on hand again for the big show.”