An Outcast of the Islands | Page 7

of the white stone days that had marked the path of
his existence. He thought of the trip to Lombok for ponies--that first important
transaction confided to him by Hudig; then he reviewed the more important affairs: the
quiet deal in opium; the illegal traffic in gunpowder; the great affair of smuggled firearms,
the difficult business of the Rajah of Goak. He carried that last through by sheer pluck; he
had bearded the savage old ruler in his council room; he had bribed him with a gilt glass
coach, which, rumour said, was used as a hen-coop now; he had over-persuaded him; he
had bested him in every way. That was the way to get on. He disapproved of the
elementary dishonesty that dips the hand in the cash-box, but one could evade the laws
and push the principles of trade to their furthest consequences. Some call that cheating.
Those are the fools, the weak, the contemptible. The wise, the strong, the respected, have
no scruples. Where there are scruples there can be no power. On that text he preached
often to the young men. It was his doctrine, and he, himself, was a shining example of its
truth. Night after night he went home thus, after a day of toil and pleasure, drunk with the
sound of his own voice celebrating his own prosperity. On his thirtieth birthday he went
home thus. He had spent in good company a nice, noisy evening, and, as he walked along
the empty street, the feeling of his own greatness grew upon him, lifted him above the
white dust of the road, and filled him with exultation and regrets. He had not done
himself justice over there in the hotel, he had not talked enough about himself, he had not
impressed his hearers enough. Never mind. Some other time. Now he would go home and
make his wife get up and listen to him. Why should she not get up?--and mix a cocktail
for him--and listen patiently. Just so. She shall. If he wanted he could make all the Da
Souza family get up. He had only to say a word and they would all come and sit silently
in their night vestments on the hard, cold ground of his compound and listen, as long as
he wished to go on explaining to them from the top of the stairs, how great and good he
was. They would. However, his wife would do--for to-night. His wife! He winced
inwardly. A dismal woman with startled eyes and dolorously drooping mouth, that would
listen to him in pained wonder and mute stillness. She was used to those night-discourses
now. She had rebelled once--at the beginning. Only once. Now, while he sprawled in the
long chair and drank and talked, she would stand at the further end of the table, her hands
resting on the edge, her frightened eyes watching his lips, without a sound, without a stir,
hardly breathing, till he dismissed her with a contemptuous: "Go to bed, dummy." She
would draw a long breath then and trail out of the room, relieved but unmoved. Nothing

could startle her, make her scold or make her cry. She did not complain, she did not rebel.
That first difference of theirs was decisive. Too decisive, thought Willems,
discontentedly. It had frightened the soul out of her body apparently. A dismal woman! A
damn'd business altogether! What the devil did he want to go and saddle himself. . . . Ah!
Well! he wanted a home, and the match seemed to please Hudig, and Hudig gave him the
bungalow, that flower-bowered house to which he was wending his way in the cool
moonlight. And he had the worship of the Da Souza tribe. A man of his stamp could
carry off anything, do anything, aspire to anything. In another five years those white
people who attended the Sunday card-parties of the Governor would accept
him--half-caste wife and all! Hooray! He saw his shadow dart forward and wave a hat, as
big as a rum barrel, at the end of an arm several yards long. . . . Who shouted hooray? . . .
He smiled shamefacedly to himself, and, pushing his hands deep into his pockets, walked
faster with a suddenly grave face. Behind him--to the left--a cigar end glowed in the
gateway of Mr. Vinck's front yard. Leaning against one of the brick pillars, Mr. Vinck,
the cashier of Hudig & Co., smoked the last cheroot of the evening. Amongst the
shadows of the trimmed bushes Mrs. Vinck crunched slowly, with measured steps, the
gravel of the circular path before the house. "There's Willems going home on foot--and
drunk I fancy," said Mr. Vinck over his shoulder. "I saw him jump and wave his hat."
The crunching