“I have. Awkward. Hey?” he said, with a puzzled look upwards.
“Upon my word,” said Almayer, tearfully. “I can’t understand you at all. What will you do next! cWillems’ wife!”
“Wife and child. Small boy, you know. They are on board the schooner.”
Almayer looked at Lingard with sudden suspicion, then turning away busied himself in picking up the chair, sat down in it turning his back upon the old seaman, and tried to whistle, but gave it up directly. Lingard went on—
“Fact is, the fellow got into trouble with Hudig. Worked upon my feelings. I promised to arrange matters. I did. With much trouble. Hudig was angry with her for wishing to join her husband. Unprincipled old fellow. You know she is his daughter. Well, I said I would see her through it all right; help Willems to a fresh start and so on. I spoke to Craig in Palembang. He is getting on in years, and wanted a manager or partner. I promised to guarantee Willems’ good behaviour. We settled all that. Craig is an old crony of mine. Been shipmates in the forties. He’s waiting for him now. A pretty mess! What do you think?”
Almayer shrugged his shoulders.
“That woman broke with Hudig on my assurance that all would be well,” went on Lingard, with growing dismay. “She did. Proper thing, of course. Wife, husband …together …as it should be … Smart fellow … Impossible scoundrel … Jolly old go! Oh! damn!”
Almayer laughed spitefully.
“How delighted he will be,” he said, softly. “You will make two people happy. Two at least!” He laughed again, while Lingard looked at his shaking shoulders in consternation.
“I am jammed on a lee shore this time, if ever I was,” muttered Lingard.
“Send her back quick,” suggested Almayer, stifling another laugh.
“What are you sniggering at?” growled Lingard, angrily. “I’ll work it out all clear yet. Meantime you must receive her into this house.”
“My house!” cried Almayer, turning round.
“It’s mine too—a little isn’t it?” said Lingard. “Don’t argue,” he shouted, as Almayer opened his mouth. “Obey orders and hold your tongue!”
“Oh! If you take it in that tone!” mumbled Almayer, sulkily, with a gesture of assent.
“You are so aggravating too, my boy,” said the old seaman, with unexpected placidity. “You must give me time to turn round. I can’t keep her on board all the time. I must tell her something. Say, for instance, that he is gone up the river. Expected back every day. That’s it. D’ye hear? You must put her on that tack and dodge her along easy, while I take the kinks out of the situation. By God!” he exclaimed, mournfully, after a short pause, “life is foul! Foul like a lee forebrace on a dirty night. And yet. And yet. One must see it clear for running before going below—for good. Now you attend to what I said,” he added, sharply, “if you don’t want to quarrel with me, my boy.”
“I don’t want to quarrel with you,” murmured Almayer with unwilling deference. “Only I wish I could understand you. I know you are my best friend, Captain Lingard; only, upon my word, I can’t make you out sometimes! I wish I could . . .”
Lingard burst into a loud laugh which ended shortly in a deep sigh. He closed his eyes, tilting his head over the back of his armchair; and on his face, baked by the unclouded suns of many hard years, there appeared for a moment a weariness and a look of age which startled Almayer, like an unexpected disclosure of evil.
“I am done up,” said Lingard, gently. “Perfectly done up. All night on deck getting that schooner up the river. Then talking with you. Seems to me I could go to sleep on a clothes-line. I should like to eat something though. Just see about that, Kaspar.”
Almayer clapped his hands, and receiving no response was going to call, when in the central passage of the house, behind the red curtain of the doorway opening upon the verandah, they heard a child’s imperious voice speaking shrilly.
“Take me up at once. I want to be carried into the verandah. I shall be very angry. Take me up.”