Overhead a blue sky without a cloud; in the distance the sound of
the surf--a muffled bass which broke on the tink of the bell at the
French Mission or the scream of the parrot on the broad verandah of the
Exiles’ Club.
On the lawn in front of the verandah two natives had just finished
their reluctant work with the mower. They wore loin-cloths of tappa and
nothing else. The head-gardener wore a loin-cloth of tappa and a white
evening-dress waistcoat, the latter being the gift of Dr Soames Pryce.
The waistcoat was splendid but unclean. The head-gardener had been
inspecting the work of the others from a recumbent position. All three
passed away now along the grass path under the laden orange trees. Two
gorgeous butterflies chased one another over the lawn in the sunshine.
The plaited blind in front of the French windows was pushed back
and Sir John Sweetling appeared on the verandah. He was a man of
fifty-five, six feet in height and inclined to corpulence. On the whole
a handsome man, with a short white beard and moustache neatly trimmed,
and fearless blue eyes under shaggy white brows. The nose was perhaps a
trifle nosey. He wore a white silk shirt, white ducks, a brown holland
jacket and a panama of the finest texture.
Sir John lingered for a moment beside the parrot’s perch. He scratched
the bird’s neck, and said in an affectionate voice, “Poor old Polly.”
The parrot bent down and got to work with its beak on the perch, much
as if the perch had been a steel and the beak a carving-knife which it
was trying to sharpen. Then it sat up, drew its indecent lids over its
solemn eyes once or twice, and spoke distinctly.
“You damned thief,” said the parrot.
It was an observation which had been addressed to Sir John before, and
not only by parrots.
Sir John shook his head. “Naughty bird,” he said, “naughty bird!” Then
he came down the steps of the verandah on to the lawn. Three lounge
chairs were grouped about a small table, and Sir John took the most
comfortable of the three. On the table were books of a ledger-like
appearance, writing materials, and a bell. Sir John struck the bell
with a fat brown forefinger.
The head-gardener came out from the orange trees. After all, he was not
only the head-gardener. He smiled ingratiatingly, as if to say that
he took a personal interest in Sir John, and it would be a positive
pleasure to him to do anything for him. From a natural friendliness,
which only broke down under severe stress, all the natives wore this
air of interest in the white man and of readiness to serve them in any
way. As a matter of fact no native, with the solitary exception of King
Smith, ever did anything that he could possibly avoid. The climate is
relaxing, and the cokernut palm supplies many wants.
Sir John looked at the man doubtfully. “Well, yes, you’ll do,” he said.
“Go and tell Thomas that I want a lime-squash, no sugar, and a double
Hollands in it.”
The head-gardener repeated the order, with a careworn look beginning to
gather on his handsome, dusky face. The club-house was at least twenty
yards away, and he would have to walk every step of it. He walked very
gracefully and very slowly, a slight wind fluttering the buckle straps
of his waistcoat behind. On the verandah he paused to rest and to tease
the parrot.
“Get on, you dog,” shouted Sir John. And the head-gardener got on.
Presently Thomas appeared with the drink. At one time he had been
desk-waiter at the Cabinet Club, London. At the Exiles’ Club, in this
very tiny and remote island, he was a combination of steward and
head-waiter. He wore black trousers and neck-tie and a white jacket. He
was grey-haired, round-faced, and loose-mouthed.
Sir John let the ice clink musically against the glass. It was almost
the only æsthetic pleasure that he enjoyed. He took a long suck
at a couple of straws and then, as he fumbled for his money, said
plaintively:
“I say, Thomas, aren’t they coming?”
“Coming directly, sir. The green lizard won, and they are not racing
again, Mr Bassett having no more ready money with him.”
“Childish--utterly childish,” said Sir John, irritably.
“Your change, sir?”
“It was half-a-crown I gave you.”
“I took it for a florin,” said Thomas, quite unembarrassed. “My
mistake. Sorry, sir.”
Down the steps of the verandah towards Sir John came Mr Bassett and Dr
Soames Pryce. Mr Bassett was a very short man. His face was ape-like
and had a fringe beard of sandy grey. He was overshadowed by an immense
Terai felt hat, and was a quaint figure until you got used to him.
He occupied the honorary position of secretary to the Exiles’ Club.
Dr Soames Pryce was a man of medium height and magnificent figure--a
chest deep and broad, small waist and hips, powerful muscles, and no
spare flesh. He was clean-shaven, and his ugly, strong face suggested a
cynical Napoleon. He wore a shirt and trousers of white flannel and a
pith helmet.
“My lizard won, Sweetling,” he said, as he sank into one of the lounge
chairs.
“So Thomas has been telling me,” said Sir John, reflectively. “Wish I’d
backed it.”
“Tell you what, Bassett,” said the doctor, sharply. “You were
grumbling--said you’d never seen your browny run so badly. I’ll back
my green one against him once more for another sovereign--run it off
to-morrow morning.”
“Can’t,” said Bassett. “Killed mine--always kill losers.” His manner
was jerky and nervous. He was already turning over the volumes on the
table. “We have business of some importance to the club before us this
morning--the election of--”
He stopped short as a native waiter approached with a tray. The doctor
apparently shared the taste of Sir John in morning beverages; Mr
Bassett drank iced barley-water with a slice of lemon in it.
“Yes, yes,” said Sir John as the waiter retired. “Mr Bassett is right;
business of very serious importance. We must be getting on. I will ask
Mr Bassett to read the minutes of the last meeting.”
Mr Bassett jerked rapidly through the data of the meeting and the names
of the committee-men who attended. In addition to the names of those
now present the name of the Rev. Cyril Mast was read.
Dr Soames Pryce took his mouth away from a drinking-straw to observe,
“Mast not coming to-day?”
“I shall have something to say presently as to that,” said Sir John.
“Myself also,” said Mr Bassett, and went on with the minutes in a quick
staccato.
There were certain financial matters “examined and found correct.”
There was a history of two backed bills; in one case the secretary
would write and express regrets; in the other the committee had found
that the price charged for giant asparagus was not unreasonable.
Sir John took the formal vote that he should sign the minutes as
correct, and proceeded to routine business. Financial questions were
considered with care, and were a little complicated by the use of more
than one currency. The club was in a very satisfactory position. It had
only thirty-two members, but the subscription was high and the expenses
were small.
At last came the important business. Sir John opened the candidates’
book and spoke with a voice of deliberate impartiality:
“Gentlemen, we have a candidate up for election. He is a native of this
island, known to us all, I think, as King Smith. I see that he is
described here as John Smith, trader and chief of Faloo. He is proposed
by Mr Page and seconded by the Rev. Cyril Mast. He is supported by
Mr Bassett, Mr Mandelbaum, Mr Duncombe, Mr Clarence Mills, and Lord
Charles Baringstoke--under ordinary circumstances, I should say a
strong list. Before proceeding to discussion I will ask our secretary
to read the letters of the proposer and the seconder.”
The letters were unusually long and apologetic, but this was the first
time that a native had been proposed for membership of the Exiles’ Club.
Mr Page, in his letter, pointed out that this was no ordinary native.
He was of the blood royal, and was recognised by all the natives as
chief or King of Faloo. It was to be remembered that certainly in
the old days and in a neighbouring group of the islands white men
had not thought it beneath their dignity to take positions--and even
subordinate positions--at the court of native kings and queens.
Dr Soames Pryce gave a short contemptuous laugh; Mr Bassett glared at
him out of mean eyes and continued the letter.
Mr Page pointed out further that Smith had shown a readiness to absorb
European ideas which was without parallel in the case of a native. His
business, in which a syndicate of members of the club were financially
interested, was solid and progressive. He had shown enterprise
and talent for organisation. He spoke French well and English to
perfection. He had been of great assistance to the white men on the
island. “And of his wide and generous hospitality most of us have had
pleasant experience.”
“Good letter,” commented the doctor, briefly.
The letter of the Rev. Cyril Mast repeated much that Mr Page had said,
but contained some additional items of information. As regards the name
of John Smith, Smith was merely the Anglicised form of its owner’s
native name.
The doctor’s laugh was perhaps excusable. The native name was of four
syllables, began with “m,” ended with “oo,” and had a “k” in it.
The laugh was repeated when the Rev. Cyril Mast asserted that Smith
had received the name John upon baptism into the Church of England,
performed during boyhood when on a visit to another island.
“Name,” said the doctor.
“Order,” said Sir John. “We can discuss the letter afterwards.”
“I presume,” said Mr Bassett, savagely, “that Dr Pryce does not venture
to question the veracity of a member of the club.”
“Rot,” said the doctor.
“Order, order,” said Sir John. “Read on, please, Mr Bassett.”
He read on. The Rev. Cyril Mast pointed out that King Smith’s attitude
in religious matters was one of the broadest toleration, as exemplified
by the fact that he permitted the French Catholic mission on his
island. He had lessened the superstitious observances of the natives,
had deported the priests, and now held solely in his own person
the important power of “taboo.” In view of labour difficulties and
other difficulties with the natives it was imperatively necessary to
conciliate the possessor of this power. It was hardly too much to say
that their existence depended upon it. It would be necessary to elect
King Smith, “even if he were not the genial, open-handed sportsman whom
we all know him to be.”
There was a moment’s silence. It was for the President to speak first.
Sir John spoke with ease and fluency. He had addressed many meetings,
and soothed for the time many angry shareholders.
“Well, gentlemen,” said Sir John, “Mr Smith comes before you under
very good auspices. He is seconded by one member of the committee and
underwritten by another. Among his supporters we have noted the names
of Lord Charles Baringstoke and--er--others. But it must be remarked
that his seconder is not here this morning to speak for him. Why is he
not here?”
“He was so very drunk last night,” said Dr Soames Pryce. There was
not the least shade of moral accusation in his voice; it was a plain
statement of a cause having a certain effect.
“Nonsense!” snapped Mr Bassett.
“I assure you, my diagnosis is correct.”
“Gentlemen!” said Sir John, in mild protest. Both men apologised to the
President for the interruption. He continued:
“From whatever cause it arises it is at least unfortunate that Mr Mast
is not here; there are questions that I should have felt it my duty,
unpleasant though it might be, to put to him. However, we will leave
him and consider the candidature of Mr Smith.”
Here Sir John paused to light a cigar and refresh himself from the
glass before him.
“Now, gentlemen, I think if I may claim any virtue at all it is
the virtue of foresight. When the circumstances arose which made
it advisable for me to leave England, I had already foreseen those
circumstances and I knew that Faloo was the place. From its want of an
accessible harbour, its small size, and its position out of the usual
line of trading and other vessels, and also perhaps from a pardonable
ignorance, Faloo has been omitted by statesmen and their advisers from
treaties innumerable. It has independence on sufferance. Any European
power that claimed Faloo would be met by a counter-claim from another
power, and at present it is considered too obscure and insignificant
for diplomacy, or for sterner methods of arbitration. Briefly, it is
not worth fighting about. But I know that you will agree with me that
it is just what we require. Life is soft and easy, and the climate is
always summer. Nature has showered her gifts upon this island--gorgeous
flowers and luscious fruits, the graceful and useful palm, the orange
trees in the shade of which we sit.”
“Pardon the correction,” said Dr Soames Pryce. “The orange trees
were brought by Smith’s grandfather from Tahiti, and they were not
indigenous even there.”
“Thank you, Dr Pryce. At least I may say that this kindly and prolific
soil has, in the case of the orange trees as in our own case, welcomed
the stranger. The natives are friendly--except in some cases which I
can explain--and though their natural laziness makes it difficult to
find useful and trustworthy servants, we have managed to get along so
far by a temperate firmness on our part. For such hostility as exists
I regret to say that certain members of this club have only themselves
to thank, and I may add in confidence that Mr Mast is one of the worst
offenders. This--er--philandering with the wives and daughters of
natives is a thing that must definitely be stopped or there will be
awful trouble.”
Sir John paused for another sip, and surveyed his companions. Dr Soames
Pryce looked straight down his nose; Mr Bassett toyed innocently with a
pen-holder.
“Well, gentlemen, to make a long story short, insignificant little
Faloo precisely suits me. Personally, I ask nothing better than that I
may live the rest of my life here, enjoying--if you find some worthier
President--”
“No, no,” said the other two men.
“Well, enjoying at least my membership of the Exiles’ Club. Now I
do not want to break a tacit understanding by referring to the past
history of any of us. Some may have made mistakes, or yielded to some
unfortunate impulse; some--my own is a case in point--may be the
victims of conspiracy on the one part and misunderstanding on another.
But in any case, if ever we had to leave Faloo, where could we go? I
know of no place from which we should not promptly be sent back to our
native land, to be tried by some clumsy tribunal that on half the facts
of the case judges a man’s isolated acts apart from his motives and his
general character and his mode of life.”
“Hear, hear,” said Mr Bassett.
“Now comes my point. Our safety lies in the obscurity and
insignificance of Faloo. Make it of importance--get it talked
about--and we are lost. Now Smith’s great idea is to boom Faloo, to
extend his own trade indefinitely, and he even has dreams of finally
getting its independence formally acknowledged. This last he will
probably never do, because the island would be annexed, but if he did,
part of the price of independence would be an extradition treaty. He
has been described as enterprising, and the description is true. He
even now has a plan for blasting the reef and throwing open the harbour
for his own trading ships. He speaks often of the loss and the danger
occasioned by loading and unloading by canoes a vessel lying outside
the reef. Well, there is only room for a canoe or a small boat to
get through the reef now, and there will never be any more room, so
long as we have the whip-hand of Mr Smith. His interests and ours are
diametrically opposed. How can we admit such a man to terms of perfect
equality as would be implied by membership of this club? Why should he
ask it except as a means to push his schemes with injudicious members,
lured by the prospect of a money advantage? What would it profit us,
gentlemen, if we gained all the money in the world and lost--er--this
quiet retreat from the malicious people who are anxious to interfere
with us? Believe me, he has no love for the white man. If he permits
the French Mission it is because the French Mission is a regular and
lucrative customer and the priests help to educate him. He is genial
and hospitable; but we also are regular and lucrative customers and
much more than that. He has been of service to us; two or three times
he has sent off, with almost needless brutality, low-class English
and Americans, without a five-pound note to call their own, who have
attempted to establish themselves here. He serves us, because we do not
want that type. But he serves himself too, for they are no use to him
either. I have known Smith longer than any white man on this island,
and I know that extension of trade and the making of money is his first
aim. He’d like a regular trading fleet instead of the ramshackle tramps
he owns at present. When I came here he lived in a leaf-thatched shanty
and had hardly anything. See how far he has got on already; he means to
go twenty times as far as that. And when he’s got the money he’s on to
something else--he doesn’t talk about it, and I don’t know much about
it, but I do know that it will be something with King Smith in it
and ourselves outside. Now at present we’ve got the whip-hand of that
gentleman, and we’ve got to keep it. We’ve got the whip-hand, because
the money on which his business is run is our money and under our own
control. I have put seven hundred golden sovereigns into it, Dr Pryce
has two hundred, Mr Bassett two hundred, and other members have smaller
sums, making fifteen hundred in all. From the very beginning I took the
line that (in the absence of ordinary legal safeguards) the borrower
must trust the lender and the lender must trust nobody. We see such
books as he keeps; we practically control the bank. We know what he’s
doing. We can say ‘go on’ and we can say ‘stop.’ Smith controls the
natives? He does. He can enforce the ‘taboo’? He can. And what on earth
does it matter so long as we control Smith? It’s money that talks. And
that reminds me that I’ve been doing a lot of talking myself, though
I’ve still got one more point to raise. You don’t mind?”
“I want to hear everything you’ve got against Smith; it’ll help me to
show the other side,” said Mr Bassett.
“My own mind is still open,” said Dr Soames Pryce. “Let me hear you
both by all means. At present it doesn’t seem to me to matter a curse
whether we elect him or not. But might I suggest an interlude?”
“Certainly,” said Sir John. “The same idea had just occurred to me.” He
struck the bell repeatedly, until Thomas appeared on the verandah. A
sign gave the order, and fresh drinks were brought out.
“Now for my last point,” said Sir John. “England has not treated me
well, and it would probably treat me worse if it could get me, but I
can never forget that I am an Englishman. We white men here”--his voice
vibrated--“are the representatives of the conquering races.”
Dr Soames Pryce concealed a smile.
“We have a certain amount of prestige among the natives, and we cannot
give away prestige and keep it. Our action in electing Mr Smith would
be read by the natives as a concession made from fear. He would be
exalted, and we should be debased. A rule of the club prohibits the
introduction of any native as a guest; I have not the least doubt that
the election of a native would also have been prohibited, had it ever
been supposed that such an event was possible. Let us treat Mr Smith
with kindness and civility. He likes to exercise hospitality, and I
sometimes look in at his place and take a drink with him. But we must
not elect him as an equal. If you two gentlemen are divided in your
opinions my casting vote goes against Mr Smith.”
Sir John leaned back in his chair, removed his hat and mopped his bald
head with his handkerchief. He was convinced that the election of Smith
would be disastrous, and he had done his best to prevent it. Bassett,
he knew, would support Smith, but Sir John counted on opposition from
the doctor.
“Well, now, Mr Bassett,” said Sir John.
But Mr Bassett suddenly adopted a conciliatory and even flattering
attitude towards Dr Soames Pryce.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Better take things in their order of importance.
Dr Pryce--most popular and representative--better hear him first.”
“My mind’s still open,” said Dr Pryce. “Sir John’s been talking rather
as if the Exiles’ Club were the Athenæum and King Smith were a doubtful
archdeacon. We aren’t the Athenæum. We represent the dead-beat section
of the conquering races. As we have referred to the past I may mention
that we comprise men who have had to skip and can’t go back.”
“A little too strongly put,” said Sir John.
“I’m only saying what you’ve been thinking,” said Dr Pryce. “Poor old
Thomas messed his accounts at the Cabinet Club and he had to skip, and
it’s supposed to be the same all the way up through the members. All we
ask about a white candidate is how much he brought with him or can have
sent out to him. If he can afford it he’s a member. Our rules are easy,
but we don’t change members’ cheques, and it’s a recognised principle
with us that we believe in the money we see and in no other money. If
the cash isn’t on the table there’s no bet. That being so, ought we to
put on side? Can we carry it?”
“Certainly not. Hear hear!” said Mr Bassett with enthusiasm.
“Sir John says we’ve got the whip-hand of King Smith now. True. So we
have. So we shall still have if he’s made a member. Sir John thinks
that if Smith opens the harbour and widens the trade the island will
be grabbed and we shall be grabbed too. I should say rats!”
“Really?” said Sir John, frigidly.
“I mean, with all respect, that there’s not enough in Faloo to make any
power restless in its sleep--except ourselves, and it is not likely
to be known that we are here. As for Smith himself, he’s a clever
blackguard, but I doubt if he’s as deep as our President thinks. There
are good streaks about him. The natives get none of the filth that
he brews in the still at the back of his office--that’s traded away
under the rose to other islands. He’s got an open hand, and keeps
good whisky, and what persuaded our reverend friend Mast to get tight
on curaçoa last night beats me altogether. What I don’t like is that
while his business is financed by some of us he’s lending money out of
his share of the profits to others. Three of the men who underwrote
him have got an advance on their remittances from him--Charley
Baringstoke’s one of them. That might make awkwardness. He’s playing it
all out for John Smith too, as our President says. Well, I’m playing it
for Dr Pryce. If Bassett isn’t playing it for a man whose name begins
with B I’m wrong. Fire in, Bassett. As I say, my mind’s still open.”
Mr Bassett spoke briefly and nervously, with a sickly, ingratiating
smile, fingering at times that uncomely fringe of beard. He was sure
that Sir John had presented the arguments on his side of the question
with great skill and power. But he must confess that he thought the
greater part of those arguments had already been fully answered in a
few sentences by Dr Pryce. As for the absence of the Rev. Cyril Mast,
that was really due to delicacy and good feeling; he had felt that the
discussion of a candidate whom he had seconded could be more free and
open in the seconder’s absence. That being so, Mast might possibly have
felt free to indulge last night in the--er--lapse which Dr Pryce had
described. Certainly, the money-lending to which Dr Pryce had objected
was a serious point. But he believed that Mr Smith had only given way
from good-nature, only in a few cases, and only for small sums. He
would guarantee that an expression of opinion would be enough to stop
it. There was one matter with which Dr Pryce had not dealt, and that
was the native question. Here Mr Bassett became very impressive.
“It’s not foreign powers and extradition treaties we’ve got to fear. If
John Smith wants to blast the reef, and can give us twenty per cent.
for our money instead of ten, let him do it, and I’ve got more money
waiting for him. But we’ve got to fear the natives of this island here
and now.”
“I suppose it’s necessary for you to be in a funk of something,” said
Mr Soames Pryce.
“Order,” said Sir John. “Really, that’s rather an insulting remark.”
“Sorry. I withdraw it,” said Pryce, placidly.
“Sir John himself said that unless this--er--interference with the
native women were stopped there would be awful trouble. Mr Mast’s name
has been mentioned. Two nights ago, as he was coming home from Smith’s,
a spear went too near him to be pleasant. Doesn’t that mean something
to fear? Let me ask Dr Pryce if he were managing an insurance office if
he would accept Mast’s life?”
“If I were the physician he’d never get as far as the manager,” said
the doctor, grimly.
“Mast’s is not the only case. Mr Mandelbaum has had stones thrown
at him. Lord Charles Baringstoke has been threatened. Natives have
been found skulking round the club-house at night. Sir John says that
this--er--philandering must be stopped absolutely. But nature is
stronger than Sir John; the women are said to be attractive, and young
men won’t live ascetic lives. Even if it could be stopped now, much
of the harm is done already. The election of Mr Smith would bring the
natives round again, and in the meantime something could be done to
regularise the situation--some form of marriage which would satisfy
native susceptibilities without imposing too onerous an obligation upon
us. The help of Mr Smith in a matter of the kind would be invaluable.
If we refuse to elect him the natives will get to hear of it--they get
to hear of everything--and we stand a good chance of being burned in
our beds. I don’t say we might elect Mr Smith--I say that for our own
safety we must elect him.”
As Mr Bassett finished there was a sound a little like distant
applause; it was merely the club parrot stropping his beak on his perch
with furious energy.
“We will proceed to vote, gentlemen,” said Sir John. “You know which
way my casting vote will go if there is any difference of opinion
between you.”
“You damned thief!” screamed the parrot.
“I shall certainly vote that Mr Smith be elected,” said Mr Bassett.
“You damned thief!” screamed the parrot again.
“Well, I’m quite decided now,” said Dr Pryce.
“You damned thief!” shrieked the parrot once more. Sir John banged the
bell again and again.
“Thomas!” he shouted, “take that infernal bird inside. We can’t hear
ourselves speak. Now,” he added more suavely, “we are ready for your
vote, Dr Pryce, and the election turns on it.”