This slight deviation added some ten miles to Davidson's round trip, but
as that was sixteen hundred miles it did not matter much.
"I have told my owner of it," said the conscientious commander of the
Sissie.
His owner had a face like an ancient lemon. He was small and
wizened--which was strange, because generally a Chinaman, as he grows in
prosperity, puts on inches of girth and stature. To serve a Chinese firm
is not so bad. Once they become convinced you deal straight by them,
their confidence becomes unlimited. You can do no wrong. So Davidson's
old Chinaman squeaked hurriedly:
"All right, all right, all right. You do what you like, captain--"
And there was an end of the matter; not altogether, though. From time to
time the Chinaman used to ask Davidson about the white man. He was still
there, eh?
"I never see him," Davidson had to confess to his owner, who would peer
at him silently through round, horn-rimmed spectacles, several sizes too
large for his little old face. "I never see him."
To me, on occasions he would say:
"I haven't a doubt he's there. He hides. It's very unpleasant." Davidson
was a little vexed with Heyst. "Funny thing," he went on. "Of all the
people I speak to, nobody ever asks after him but that Chinaman of
mine--and Schomberg," he added after a while.
Yes, Schomberg, of course.
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