satanic exultation when at last he dragged her through the path, his body shielding her from the worst blows of the wind.
Bill wrote to him about the two freighters, describing the new wharves with the company’s name printed across them facing the sea, and boasted of the new white villa. Nick replied that all of it was good work; he had severed his connections with his former shippers and Bill could expect the first boat l oads down the river within the next fortnight.
Bryant, the young agent whom Bill had relieved, came back and took over. Till their own house was ready, the Bradings moved into the one that was vacated when the Melvilles packed up and went home to England. Bill bought up the old shooting car that Melville had left for his successor.
Soon the villa above the casuarinas emerged white and striking, with pillared screened verandas and a high green roof. Later the garden would be planted with palms and hibiscus, jacaranda and bougainvillaea. Furniture was being made in the town, fabrics had been ordered, and baths were on their way from Marseilles.
Bill fretted in enforced idleness, waiting for the promised loads of crepe rubber. He wrote again to Makai: “Devil take it, Nick, your plantation had better yield quicker than this or we’ll all go hungry.”
To which came the reply: “Keep your shirt on, Bill, you’ll soon be wondering where to store it all. By the way, how’s finance? I’m thinking of cutting a section of road to meet the jungle highway so that we can use trucks.”
Although at least several months must pass before a new road could be completed, Bill ordered lorries in readiness.
Then came the great morning when the first laden boats tied up in the small harbour at the river mouth. Thousands of thin, milky sheets of rubber were transferred straight into surf-boats which zigzagged through the flats to the steamers. In spite of all the business with customs officials, one of the freighters left at midnight and the other in the misty dawn.
Two ships were not enough, Bill growled. There was a chap down the coast with a fleet of idle vessels and he meant to have some of them.
It was astonishing, in this place where everything moved with painful slowness, how soon the sheds were bursting with rubber, and the boats plying at regular intervals. Bill, unable to resist a spot of trading, had hardware and salt and cheap clothes brought in the empty boats from England, which he sold at a profit to Cliff Grey, who in turn made his own percentage out of the natives.
For Pat, despite the heat, life at this time was full of interest and excitement. After mail day, and a letter from Steve, she would feel faintly restless. But England was so distant, its cool shores so utterly remote from this tropic strand, that along with Steve it assumed in her mind the shape of some land she had visited in dreams; elusive and unreal.
She had an office built on to the Farland-Brading sheds and ordered account books with the firm’s name indented on the covers. A desk was put in, and a typewriter, and the drawers were filled with printed stationery and office sundries. For a few weeks she had lessons from an accountant she had met at the club and gradually, with the aid of a native clerk, she took over the whole of Bill’s office work, which pleased him mightily.
Bill was having a grand time. Between shipments he cruised up the coast and made contracts with export agents of foreign firms. “They’re fighting for our stuff,” he reported to Pat. “Nick’s rubber is the best quality down the coast and they know it. Look at these contracts, kitten!”
Then one lunch time, Bill waved a letter of Nick’s under her nose. “Nick’s invited me to Makai for a few days, to see how the rubber’s made.”
“How soon can we go?” Pat asked, smiling.
“He doesn’t include you, kitten.”
“He’s probably forgotten my existence.” She shrugged. “But I might as well see how they get that infernal rubber
Bill wrote to him about the two freighters, describing the new wharves with the company’s name printed across them facing the sea, and boasted of the new white villa. Nick replied that all of it was good work; he had severed his connections with his former shippers and Bill could expect the first boat l oads down the river within the next fortnight.
Bryant, the young agent whom Bill had relieved, came back and took over. Till their own house was ready, the Bradings moved into the one that was vacated when the Melvilles packed up and went home to England. Bill bought up the old shooting car that Melville had left for his successor.
Soon the villa above the casuarinas emerged white and striking, with pillared screened verandas and a high green roof. Later the garden would be planted with palms and hibiscus, jacaranda and bougainvillaea. Furniture was being made in the town, fabrics had been ordered, and baths were on their way from Marseilles.
Bill fretted in enforced idleness, waiting for the promised loads of crepe rubber. He wrote again to Makai: “Devil take it, Nick, your plantation had better yield quicker than this or we’ll all go hungry.”
To which came the reply: “Keep your shirt on, Bill, you’ll soon be wondering where to store it all. By the way, how’s finance? I’m thinking of cutting a section of road to meet the jungle highway so that we can use trucks.”
Although at least several months must pass before a new road could be completed, Bill ordered lorries in readiness.
Then came the great morning when the first laden boats tied up in the small harbour at the river mouth. Thousands of thin, milky sheets of rubber were transferred straight into surf-boats which zigzagged through the flats to the steamers. In spite of all the business with customs officials, one of the freighters left at midnight and the other in the misty dawn.
Two ships were not enough, Bill growled. There was a chap down the coast with a fleet of idle vessels and he meant to have some of them.
It was astonishing, in this place where everything moved with painful slowness, how soon the sheds were bursting with rubber, and the boats plying at regular intervals. Bill, unable to resist a spot of trading, had hardware and salt and cheap clothes brought in the empty boats from England, which he sold at a profit to Cliff Grey, who in turn made his own percentage out of the natives.
For Pat, despite the heat, life at this time was full of interest and excitement. After mail day, and a letter from Steve, she would feel faintly restless. But England was so distant, its cool shores so utterly remote from this tropic strand, that along with Steve it assumed in her mind the shape of some land she had visited in dreams; elusive and unreal.
She had an office built on to the Farland-Brading sheds and ordered account books with the firm’s name indented on the covers. A desk was put in, and a typewriter, and the drawers were filled with printed stationery and office sundries. For a few weeks she had lessons from an accountant she had met at the club and gradually, with the aid of a native clerk, she took over the whole of Bill’s office work, which pleased him mightily.
Bill was having a grand time. Between shipments he cruised up the coast and made contracts with export agents of foreign firms. “They’re fighting for our stuff,” he reported to Pat. “Nick’s rubber is the best quality down the coast and they know it. Look at these contracts, kitten!”
Then one lunch time, Bill waved a letter of Nick’s under her nose. “Nick’s invited me to Makai for a few days, to see how the rubber’s made.”
“How soon can we go?” Pat asked, smiling.
“He doesn’t include you, kitten.”
“He’s probably forgotten my existence.” She shrugged. “But I might as well see how they get that infernal rubber
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