LISTER OFFERS SATISFACTION
Desmond's informant had, as it happened, been quite warranted in
mentioning that Lister's proceedings had aroused the interest of the
English colony in Las Palmas. He provided those who belonged to it
with something to talk about as they lounged on the hotel verandas,
which was a cause for gratification, since a good many of them had no
more profitable occupation. That dusty city has, like others in the
south, distractions to offer the idler with liberal views, though a
certain proportion of them are of distinctly doubtful character. There
are also in it gentlemen of easy morality who are willing to act as
cicerone to the stranger with means, that is, provided he possesses a
generous disposition. Spaniards of the old régime call them the _Sin
Verguenza_, "men without shame," and there are one or two coarsely
forceful Anglo-Saxon terms that might be aptly applied to them. It is,
unfortunately, a fact that there are Englishmen among them.
Lister, who was young, and had never imposed much restraint upon
himself, profited by the opportunities they provided him. He had the
command of more money than was, perhaps, desirable, and for several
weeks the pace he made was hot. He was naturally preyed upon and
victimized, though, after all, the latter happened less frequently
than those who watched his proceedings supposed. The lad was careless
and generous, but there was a certain shrewdness in him as well as a
vein of cold British stubbornness which made him a trifle difficult to
handle when once his dislike was aroused. Indeed, one or two of his
acquaintances fancied he had not gone so very deep in the mire, after
all. How much Mrs. Ratcliffe knew about his doings did not appear. One
desires to be charitable, and since Major Chillingham had gone back to
England, it is possible, though far from likely, that she had not
heard of them at all. In any case, she took him up, and was gracious
to him in a motherly fashion, and there was suddenly a change in him.
Lister henceforward spent his evenings at the hotel, generally near
the piano when Ada Ratcliffe sang. He also planned excursions for her
and her mother to little palm-shrouded villages among the volcanic
hills, and, since there was nobody who understood exactly how Miss
Ratcliffe stood with regard to the man who had gone to Africa, the
onlookers chuckled, and said that the girl's mother was a clever
woman. She said that Lister was a very likable young man, who had no
mother of his own, which was always a misfortune, and that it was
almost a duty to look after him.
It was, in any case, one she discharged efficiently, and for a time
his former companions had very little of Lister's company. Several of
them were also sorry he had, apparently, as the result of their
persistent efforts to undermine her authority, flung off the
restraints Mrs. Ratcliffe had gradually imposed on him when at last he
spent a night with them again.
They had reasonable cause for dissatisfaction when they sat in a
certain _caffee_ which stood near the cathedral. The latter fact has a
significance for those acquainted with Spanish cities, but, after all,
the Church is needed most where sinners abound. The _caffee_ had wide
unglazed windows, and clear moonlight streamed down into the hot,
unsavory street, which under that pure radiance looked for once
curiously clean and white. Tall limewashed walls rose above it, and,
for the flat roofs lay beneath their crests, cut against the strip of
velvety indigo, while a little cool breeze swept between them with a
welcome freshness. There was no gleam of light behind any of the green
lattices that broke their flat monotony and, save for the deep rumble
of the surf, the city was very still. Once a measured tramp of feet
rang across the flat roofs and indicated that two of the armed
_civiles_ were patroling a neighboring _calle_ where the principal
shops stand, but their business would not take them near the _caffee_.
It is, in fact, not often that authority obtrudes itself unadvisedly
into certain parts of most Spanish towns.
The moonlight also streamed into the _caffee_ where a big lamp in
which the oil was running low burned dimly. The table beneath it was
stained with cheap red wine, and a good many bottles stood upon it
among a litter of Spanish cards. Four men sat about it, and two more
lounged upon the settee which ran along the discolored wall. The place
was filled with tobacco smoke and the sickly odor of anisado, which
was, however, no great disadvantage, since the natural reek of a
Spanish Alsatia is more unpleasant still. The men had been there four
or five hours when Lister flung down a card and noisily pushed back
his chair. His face was a trifle flushed, and his hands were not quite
steady, but his half-closed eyes were, as one or two of the others
noticed, almost unpleasantly calm. There was a pile of silver at his
side on the table, for he had, as the red-faced English skipper
opposite him had once or twice observed, been favored with an
astonishing run of luck. It is, however, possible that the skipper did
not go quite far enough. Lister had certainly been fortunate, but he
had also a nice judgment in such matters, and his nerve was unusually
good. He looked round at his companions with a little dry smile.
"You should have left me alone," he said. "I didn't want to come here,
but when you insisted I did it to oblige you. As you pointed out,
considering what I took out of some of you on another occasion, it
seemed the fair thing. Now I hope you're satisfied."
He indicated the pile of silver with a little wave of his hand, and
the others, among whom there were two Englishmen beside the skipper,
waited in some astonishment, with very little sign of content in their
faces, until he went on again.
"Well," he said, "I'm still willing to do the fair thing, though,
while I don't wish to be unduly personal, that is a point which has
evidently not caused one or two of you any undue anxiety. You can
explain that, Walters, to the Spanish gentlemen, though I don't
altogether confine my remarks to them."
An Englishman straightened himself suddenly, and one of the Spaniard's
eyes flashed when the man Lister turned to did his bidding. Lister,
however, grinned at them.
"The question," he said, "is simply do you feel I owe you any further
satisfaction, or have you had enough? I want you to understand that
I'm never coming here again, and if you care to double the stakes I'll
play you another round."
There was no doubt that they had had enough, and while three of them
might have taken another hand with a view to getting back the pile of
silver by certain means they were acquainted with they refrained,
perhaps because they felt that the man called Walters and the burly
steamboat skipper would in case of necessity stand by Lister. The
silence that lasted a moment or two grew uncomfortable, but it did not
seem to trouble Lister, who sat still looking at them with a little
sardonic smile.
"Well," he said, "it's evident that you don't expect anything more
from me. Will you and Captain Wilson come with me, Walters?"
He rose when the men addressed reached out for their hats, and then
clapped his hands until a girl came in. She was very young, and looked
jaded, which was not particularly astonishing considering that she
had been keeping the party supplied with refreshment for more than
half the night. The smudgy patches of powder on it emphasized the
weariness of her olive-tinted face, but there was for all that a
certain suggestion of daintiness and freshness about her which was not
what one would have expected in such surroundings.
Lister stood looking at her with half-closed eyes, while the others
watched them both until he made a little abrupt gesture.
"It is not you, but your father, the patron, the man who owns this
place, I want, but you can stop here and call him," he said in a
half-intelligible muddle of Castilian and Portuguese.
Walters made it a little plainer, and the girl spread out her hands.
"The patron does not live here," she said. "My father, he is only in
charge."
"Call him!" said Lister.
The man came in, and his dark eyes as well as those of all the others
were fixed expectantly on Lister when he once more turned to the girl.
"You like waiting on and singing for these pigs?" he asked.
Walters rendered the word _puerco_, which is not a complimentary term
in Spain, but the men it was applied to forgot to resent it in their
expectancy. A flicker of color swept into the girl's face, and it was
evident that her task was not a congenial one. She was, however, about
to retreat when Lister raised his hand in protest, and turned to the
man.
"What do you mean," he said, "by keeping a girl of that kind in a
place like this?"
Again Walters translated, and the little flicker of color grew a
trifle plainer in the girl's olive-tinted cheek. One could have
fancied that she had suddenly realized how others might regard her
occupation and surroundings. The man, however, spread his hands out.
"It is certainly not what one would wish for her, and she would be a
modista," he said. "But what would you--when one is very poor?"
Lister caught up a double handful of the silver which still lay upon
the table and signed to the girl.
"That should make it a little easier. It's for you," he said. "If it
is not enough you can let me know. You will go and learn to make hats
and dresses to-morrow. If your father makes any more objections I'll
send the little fat priest after him. You know the one I mean. He has
a cross eye and likes a good dinner as well as any man. He is a friend
of mine."
The others gazed at Lister in blank astonishment when Walters made
this clear, until the Spaniard became suddenly profuse. Lister,
however, disregarded him, and picking up the rest of the silver turned
towards the door. He went out, and Walters looked at him curiously
when he stopped and stood still a moment, apparently reflecting, with
the moonlight on his face. The combativeness with which he had
regarded his gaming companions had faded out of it, and left it, as it
usually was, heavy and inanimate. Lister was skillful at games of
chance, where his impassiveness served him well, but Walters fancied
he was by no means likely to shine at anything else. He was a young
man of no mental capacity, and his tastes were not refined, but there
was hidden in his dull nature a germ of the rudimentary chivalry which
now and then rouses such men as he was to deeds which astonish their
friends. It had lain inert until the dew of a beneficent influence had
rested on it, and then there was a sudden growth that was to result in
the production of unlooked for fruit. Because of the love he bore one
woman he had become compassionate, and, perhaps, it did not matter
greatly that she was unworthy, since the gracious impulse was merely
brought him by, and not born of, the reverence he had for her. After
all, its source was higher than that. It was, however, not to be
expected that he should realize such a fact, and he stood wrinkling
his brows as though ruminating over his proceedings, until he became
conscious that his companion was looking at him inquiringly.
"I don't know what made me do that," he said. "It's quite certain I
wouldn't have thought of it a month or two ago."
"No," said Walters, a trifle drily, "one would not have expected it
from you. Still, you have made a few changes lately. What has come over
you?"
Lister did not answer him. "If that blamed ass of a skipper means to
stop I'm not going to wait for him. He'll get a knife slipped into him
some night and it will serve him right," he said. "We'll get out of
this place. Once we strike the big calle it will be fresher."
They strode on down the hot, stale smelling street, and Lister
appeared to draw in a deep breath of relief when they turned into the
broad road that runs close by the surf-swept beach to the harbor.
Though there were tall white stores and houses on its seaward side the
night breeze swept down it exhilaratingly fresh and cool, and Lister
bared his hot forehead to it.
"Well," he said, "I've been down among the swine in a number of
places, and, though I suppose it sometimes falls out differently, I've
scratched some of the bristles off a few of them. Now I want to forget
the tricks they've taught me. You see, I'm never going back to any of
the--stys again. It's a thing I owe myself and somebody else."
He had certainly consumed a good deal of wine, but it was clear that
he was fully in command of his senses, and Walters endeavored to check
his laugh as comprehension suddenly dawned upon him. Still, he was not
quite successful, and his companion turned on him.
"I meant it," he said. "There'll probably be trouble between us if you
attempt to work off any of your assinine witticisms."
Walters said nothing. He had seen his companion calmly insult four men
whose dollars he had pocketed, and he did not consider it advisable to
explain what he thought about Mrs. Ratcliffe and the interest she had
taken in his friend. Still, like most of the English residents who had
made her acquaintance, he had his views upon the subject. Lister was,
at least, rich enough to make a desirable son-in-law, and if he
fancied it was essential that he should reform before he offered
himself as a candidate there was nothing to be gained by undeceiving
him.
They walked on until they left the tall white houses and little rows
of flat-topped dwellings that replaced them behind, and the dim, dusty
road stretched away before them with a filmy spray-cloud and
glistening Atlantic heave on one side of it. Lister glanced at the
fringe of crumbling combers with slow appreciation.
"In one way that's inspiriting," he said. "I might have sat and
watched them half the evening from the veranda of the hotel. In that
case I'd have had a clearer head and been considerably fresher
to-morrow. Still, those hogs would have me out. It's a consolation to
realize that it has cost them something."
Walters stopped when they reached the hotel and glanced at his
companion. "Aren't you going in?" he said. "You could still get a
little sleep before it's breakfast time."
"No," said Lister simply, "I'm going for a swim. It's no doubt an
assinine notion, but the smell of the sty seems to cling to me."
Walters laughed. "Is that a custom you mean to adopt invariably after
a night of this kind?"
"No," said Lister. "It won't be necessary. You see there will never be
another one."
They went on, and Walters sat down on the little mole not far away
while his comrade stripped off his thin attire. Then Lister stood a
moment, gleaming white in the moonlight, a big, loose-limbed figure,
on the head of the mole before he went down with flung-out hands and
stiffened body into the cool Atlantic swell. It closed about him
glittering, and he was well out in the harbor when he came up again
and slid away down the blaze of radiance with left arm swinging. The
chill of the deep sea water, at least, cooled his slightly fevered
skin, and, perhaps, there was something in his half pagan fancy that
it also washed a stain off him. In any case, the desire to escape from
the most unusual sense of contamination was a wholesome one.