WOLF GIVES A FEAST
Kit returned for _comida_, which in Spanish countries is the second
proper meal. At Jefferson's it was served about five o'clock, and when
Kit arrived Mrs. Jefferson indicated a chair opposite Betty's at the
table in a big cool room.
"Now we can begin," she said and Jefferson clapped his hands for the
major-domo. In old Spanish houses there are no bells, and one uses
customs the Moors brought long since from the East.
"If I'm late, I'm sorry," Kit replied. "I had to call at the
_Commandancia_ and they kept me longer than I thought."
"I expect the _ayutante_ was getting his _comida_," Jefferson remarked.
"Anyhow, you didn't hold up our meal. Miss Jordan hadn't finished some
letters I wanted sent off by the Castle boat."
"That's some relief," Kit said to Mrs. Jefferson. "Although I hurried, I
was afraid----"
"To wait for one's dinner is not much relief," Jefferson rejoined.
"Then, since you know the Spanish rules, my notion is you ought to have
got on a hustle earlier."
Mrs. Jefferson gave him a quiet glance and he began to move some plates.
Betty did not look up, but Kit thought she was not at all embarrassed.
"I forgot about the _ayutante_'s _comida_. In fact----" he said, and
stopped. It was strange, but he had forgotten he had meant to go to Mrs.
Austin's.
"Give me the hot plates," said Mrs. Jefferson, and when Jefferson did so
one slipped and rattled.
"Perhaps it's lucky my touch is not light," he remarked. "If it had been
lighter, I'd have broken some crockery."
Kit imagined there was a joke, but since the joke was not obvious he
studied Betty. She now wore a thin black dress, made in the Spanish
fashion with black lace at the short sleeves and neck. Her skin was very
white and smooth and Kit thought she looked as if she had always worn a
dinner dress.
The room was spacious. Mrs. Jefferson's china and silver were good. A
bowl of splendid roses occupied the middle of the table, and although
they had no smell, the little _tierra_ roses, half hidden by the others,
were seductively sweet. Decanters of red and yellow wine shone among
coloured fruit, and in front of Betty a cluster of white Muscatel grapes
glimmered against dark vine leaves.
One got a hint of taste and cultivation, and Kit remembered that for a
time after his arrival he had felt raw and awkward at houses like his
host's. At Liverpool Betty had worn rather shabby clothes, and often
when he met her going home from the office her boots were wet and muddy.
Now she looked as if she belonged to Mrs. Jefferson's circle. Kit did
not know if this was strange or not; he began to think he had not really
known Betty.
All the same, he was conscious of keen satisfaction. Betty had fronted
poverty and smiled, but her smile was no longer forced. She had escaped,
like Cinderella, from dreary servitude, and Kit was very glad, although
he doubted if his analogy were good. Cinderella was splendidly
conspicuous when she went to the ball, but Betty was not. Her charm was
her gracious quietness; she did not stand out from her background, she
harmonised with it. Kit thought her like the Muscatels that glimmered
with pearly tints among the leaves.
"I guess you are thinking about Wolf's cargo," Jefferson remarked.
"Not at all," said Kit. "I was thinking about Liverpool. And Muscatel
grapes."
He imagined Betty's glance rested on him for a moment and was gone, but
Jefferson looked amused.
"Don't you get things mixed? When we towed out on board the old
_Orinoco_ in the sooty fog, Liverpool wasn't much like a vineyard.
However, I allow the Muscatel's a pretty good fruit. Doesn't catch your
eye like the red grapes, but when you put the _colorado_ in the press
the wine has a bite and some is mighty sour. The white wine's sweet and
fragrant. All the same, you don't get the proper bouquet until the
grapes are in the press. What d'you think about my philosophy, Miss
Jordan?"
"Sometimes the press hurts," Betty remarked quietly.
"It hurts all the time," said Jefferson and his thin face got grave.
"You know this when you have felt the screws. Well, I guess it's done
with, but when I hear them sing their Latin psalm _In exitu_, I
understand. Some of us have been in Egypt----"
"Now you are mixing things! You were not in Egypt," Mrs. Jefferson
rejoined, and Kit thought she meant to banish her husband's sombre mood.
"Anyhow, Egypt's in Africa and considerably cooler than the swamp where
the _Cumbria_ lay. Then I reckon Harry Austin and I made some bricks
without much straw."
"Jacinta helped. She has helped a number of people."
"Mrs. Austin has helped me," Kit agreed and looked at Betty. It was
strange, but he imagined she did not own her debt to Mrs. Austin.
Soon afterwards it got dark and they went to the flat roof. There was no
moon, but the stars were bright and the sky was clear. The soft
land-breeze had begun to blow and stirred the mist that rolled down the
dark rocks behind the town. Lights twinkled along the sweep of bay and
two that swung across a lower group marked _Mossamedes_ rolling at the
harbour mouth. Footsteps and broken talk echoed along the narrow street;
one heard guitars and somebody began to sing the _Africana_.
Kit was strangely content. Betty was getting strong again, and he
thought her happy; he, himself, had a post he liked, and all went well.
His ambitions were not important; he was not moved, as he was moved at
Mrs. Austin's, to efforts that would force people to own his talents. In
fact, he recovered something of the tranquillity that had marked the
afternoons when Betty and he gathered primroses in the woods.
Jefferson talked about the strain and suffering on board the sailing
ships. He pictured a battered wooden vessel, stripped to her topsails
and staysails and kept afloat by the windmill pump, beating round Cape
Horn while her exhausted crew got mutinous, and food got short. The
story harmonised with the languid rumble of the surf, for Jefferson's
voice was quiet, as if he talked about things that were done with. Man
had come out of bondage and steam was his deliverer.
Kit did not want to talk; he was satisfied to be near Betty and Mrs.
Jefferson. It was plain that they were friends, and he thought them
alike. Neither urged her rules on one, but one felt the rules were good.
One could do nothing shabby when one had been with them.
In the morning, Kit went to Wolf's office with some documents. Perhaps
it was the contrast between his employer and his recent hosts, but
somehow Wolf jarred. Kit began to feel vague doubts about the fellow.
Nevertheless, he admitted that Wolf's approval was flattering, and they
planned a dinner to be given on board _Mossamedes_.
The dinner was not like the captain's feast. It was served with much
ceremony, and the guests were important people, for the most part
Spanish merchants and government officers. All the chairs at the long
tables in the saloon were occupied, and Don Erminio, sitting at the end
of one, did not look comfortable. The captain liked old English clothes,
but now wore his tight, blue _correo_ uniform. Moreover, since Don
Ramon, the company's manager, was not far off, and his neighbors were
_Commandancia_ officials, he could not talk about animals and
anarchists.
Kit's chair was next to Jefferson's and opposite Austin's, and he was
satisfied to look on. He was rather interested by the captain of a
French gunboat that had recently anchored behind the mole. Captain
Revillon did not talk, but he looked about thoughtfully, and Kit
imagined he knew Castilian.
The giver of the loyal toast was a high official, who said the Spanish
crown stood for justice and steady progress. One lost much by rash
experiments, and to modify cautiously old traditions was a better plan.
A country's prosperity was built upon the efforts of all its citizens,
and men must know the reward of their labour was theirs. Just laws were
needed and the loyal _Canarios_ knew the Spanish laws were good. But
this was not all. Effort must be made for cultivation and commerce.
Although the islanders were industrious, much of the soil was barren and
sometimes food was short. Spain owned a belt of Africa with fertile
oases where corn was grown and flocks were fed. The country was richer
than people thought; it must be developed and extended until it made up
for the territories Spain had lost. This was why he wished the new
venture, launched under the Spanish flag, good luck.
There was a shout and a rattle of glasses, but Kit thought the little
French captain pondered.
"Since France claims the back country, I expect Revillon wonders how
they're going to extend the Rio de Oro," Jefferson remarked.
Don Ramon, urbane and smiling, got up. The islanders must live by trade,
he said. They were a virile race of sailors and small farmers, but since
modern ships and machines cost much, they could not refuse foreign help.
With English help they had made much progress and might go farther. They
had built up Cuba and now Cuba was gone they must build up their African
colony. The _Mossamedes_, flying the Spanish flag, was opening a new,
rich field. Don Ramon was proud he had some part in sending her out.
"He has struck the same note," Austin observed. "In a way it's the note
one would strike, but somehow I imagine Wolf has used the tuning fork.
When you make a speech to order, you rather like a hint about the line
you ought to take. However, the fellow is going to talk."
Kit afterwards thought Wolf's speech clever. To begin with, he indicated
the richness of the Rio de Oro belt and its hinterland. His venture was
small, but when he had opened the way, Spanish effort would make the
African oases another Cuba. He paused and turned to the high official,
who smiled as if he agreed. Then Wolf hinted at a community of interest
and talked as if his gains would be his guests'. Kit felt that a
stranger might imagine the merchants were shareholders and the others
had given the undertaking official patronage.
"Looks as if we were all in it," Jefferson commented. "On the whole, I'm
satisfied our house is not. I'd rather like to know what Revillon
thinks."
"Revillon's thoughts are not very obvious. Since he has stopped at Las
Palmas before, I expect he knows our friends are patriotic
sentimentalists," Austin replied.
Soon afterwards Kit went on deck. Wolf did not want him and the saloon
was hot. Leaning against the rails, he looked across the harbour, and
his glance rested on the French gunboat. She was a small, two-masted
vessel, of a type that was getting out of date but was used by French
and British for police duty on the African coast. Sometimes she touched
at Las Palmas for coal, and Kit understood she cruised from Morocco to
Senegal. She was not fast, and he thought her rather deep for use in
shallow water. When he was on board the _correillo_ he had seen her
hauled up on the beach after grounding. Hearing a step he turned and saw
Wolf.
"I came up for a few minutes to get away from Revillon; the fellow's
rather curious about your voyage," said Wolf. "Besides, I want to talk
to you. Let's go into the captain's room."
The captain's room was on the boat-deck below the bridge. One reached it
by a ladder, and nobody was about. Wolf turned on the electric light and
gave Kit a cigarette.
"I haven't told you much about your cargo for this run, but I had some
grounds for not doing so."
"The cargo's ready to put on board," said Kit.
"Not all," Wolf replied meaningly. "Yusuf, my agent in Morocco, will
supply or tell you where to get the rest. You will carry out his orders,
unless, of course, you resolve to turn down the job."
"Then, we are to carry goods the Spaniards would not allow us to land?"
Wolf smiled. "Now you, perhaps, see why I gave the feast. My guests, so
to speak, have given my venture the government's sanction. In Spain it
pays to have official friends, and a tactful present carries weight. The
officers are not as fastidious as yours----"
He stopped and Kit wondered whether he had said _yours_ unconsciously.
Kit had thought Wolf claimed to be English, but there was a hint of a
sneer in his voice.
"What are we to carry?" he asked.
"Cartridges! If you don't like the job, I think I can get another man."
Kit imagined all traffic with native Africans in breach-loading guns and
ammunition was forbidden. Moreover, it was obvious the Spanish
government would not approve Wolf's supplying the Berber tribes with
cartridges. This, however, was the government's business, and Kit was
young. Romantic smuggling had some charm; but he hesitated.
"Why do the Berbers want the cartridges?" he asked.
Wolf shrugged. "I don't know their plans. They're a turbulent,
independent lot, and sometimes quarrel with their neighbours who are
supposed to belong to France. I expect they have a dispute with another
tribe in the back country about an oasis, or perhaps the control of a
caravan road. Anyhow, I'm sending a small quantity of ammunition,
because I want to keep a good customer. Well, I won't persuade you. Are
you going?"
"I'll risk it," said Kit, rather doubtfully. "Does the captain know?"
"Of course," said Wolf, smiling. "Don Erminio's not scrupulous and sees
a chance of earning something besides his pay. All the same, he
understands that while he is navigator you are my representative. But I
mustn't leave the others long."
He went off and Kit smoked a fresh cigarette. The adventure had some
charm, but he was not altogether satisfied. He had, however, agreed to
go, and presently he banished his doubts.