"And clearly showed that he had studied your commentary more than the text, as is the way with students of English," said Bob. "Never mind, Miss Charteris; Ah-Sam's a good fellow. I am hardly yet reconciled to his transference of allegiance from me to you."
"Nor I," said Mr. Charteris drily, with a grim look at his sister.
"Now, Andrew, don't go into that again," said Mrs. Pottle. "There's no rule without an exception. Our legislators are mostly right, I allow; but when they make a law that excludes all Chinamen from our shores—well, they have to reckon with me. I confess I smuggled Ah-Sam on board; he's the exception, a most exceptional China boy. Ethel took a fancy to have him for a servant, and I'll land him right down at San Francisco, laws or no laws."
Mr. Charteris shrugged.
"Fawcett," he said, "come and take a turn with me. We must talk over that prospectus—eh, what?"
"Yes, and I must write up my diary for the Argonaut," said Mrs. Pottle, rising, and sailing away towards a table specially reserved for her beneath the awning. Herr Schwab looked glum on her departure; he took no part in the conversation of the others, and when Ethel by and by left the group and strolled away by herself, he too got up, refilled his big pipe, and walked to a spot where, leaning on the rail, he had Mrs. Pottle in full view. Puffing solemnly, he watched her for a long time as she wrote on and on in complete unconsciousness of his lingering gaze. At last, putting his pipe into his pocket without knocking out the ashes, he went below. Soon he returned, laden with several bulky tomes, and staggered up to Mrs. Pottle's sheltered corner, where he placed the volumes in a pile beside her table, and heaved a sonorous sigh. Mrs. Pottle looked up, glanced from Schwab's face to the books, then resumed her writing, just as the German was bringing his right hand down on the crown of his wideawake. He wiped his gold-rimmed spectacles, replaced them on his nose, and sighed again.
"Don't you feel well, Mr. Schwab?" said the lady, preparing to pack up her papers.
"Quite vell, madame, I zank you—egzept in vun sbot," he said. He had his hat off now, and as Mrs. Pottle looked curiously at him he made her a profound obeisance, and in a hurried, slightly anxious tone, said:
"I beg leaf, dear madame, to bresent you zese few volumes Brockhaus Encyglobaedia—last edition, viz colour blates."
"Really, Mr. Schwab, it is very good of you, but—no, I couldn't think of it—I—"