Chapter XII--Mr. Morgan and Mr. Raff

by Jack London

　　Sheldon was back in the plantation superintending the building of abridge, when the schooner Malakula ran in close and dropped anchor.Joan watched the taking in of sail and the swinging out of the boatwith a sailor's interest, and herself met the two men who cameashore. While one of the house-boys ran to fetch Sheldon, she hadthe visitors served with whisky and soda, and sat and talked withthem.

　　They seemed awkward and constrained in her presence, and she caughtfirst one and then the other looking at her with secret curiosity.She felt that they were weighing her, appraising her, and for thefirst time the anomalous position she occupied on Berande sanksharply home to her. On the other hand, they puzzled her. Theywere neither traders nor sailors of any type she had known. Nordid they talk like gentlemen, despite the fact that there wasnothing offensive in their bearing and that the veneer of ordinarysocial nicety was theirs. Undoubtedly, they were men of affairs--business men of a sort; but what affairs should they have in theSolomons, and what business on Berande? The elder one, Morgan, wasa huge man, bronzed and moustached, with a deep bass voice and analmost guttural speech, and the other, Raff, was slight andeffeminate, with nervous hands and watery, washed-out gray eyes,who spoke with a faint indefinable accent that was hauntinglyreminiscent of the Cockney, and that was yet not Cockney of anybrand she had ever encountered. Whatever they were, they wereself-made men, she concluded; and she felt the impulse to shudderat thought of falling into their hands in a business way. There,they would be merciless.

　　She watched Sheldon closely when he arrived, and divined that hewas not particularly delighted to see them. But see them he must,and so pressing was the need that, after a little perfunctorygeneral conversation, he led the two men into the stuffy office.Later in the afternoon, she asked Lalaperu where they had gone.

　　"My word," quoth Lalaperu; "plenty walk about, plenty look 'm.Look 'm tree; look 'm ground belong tree; look 'm all fella bridge;look 'm copra-house; look 'm grass-land; look 'm river; look 'mwhale-boat--my word, plenty big fella look 'm too much."

　　"What fella man them two fella?" she queried.

　　"Big fella marster along white man," was the extent of hisdescription.

　　But Joan decided that they were men of importance in the Solomons,and that their examination of the plantation and of its accountswas of sinister significance.

　　At dinner no word was dropped that gave a hint of their errand.The conversation was on general topics; but Joan could not helpnoticing the troubled, absent expression that occasionally cameinto Sheldon's eyes. After coffee, she left them; and at midnight,from across the compound, she could hear the low murmur of theirvoices and see glowing the fiery ends of their cigars. Up earlyherself, she found they had already departed on another tramp overthe plantation.

　　"What you think?" she asked Viaburi.

　　"Sheldon marster he go along finish short time little bit," was theanswer.

　　"What you think?" she asked Ornfiri.

　　"Sheldon marster big fella walk about along Sydney. Yes, me t'inkso. He finish along Berande."

　　All day the examination of the plantation and the discussion wenton; and all day the skipper of the Malakula sent urgent messagesashore for the two men to hasten. It was not until sunset thatthey went down to the boat, and even then a final talk of nearly anhour took place on the beach. Sheldon was combating something--that she could plainly see; and that his two visitors were notgiving in she could also plainly see.

　　"What name?" she asked lightly, when Sheldon sat down to dinner.

　　He looked at her and smiled, but it was a very wan and wistfulsmile.

　　"My word," she went on. "One big fella talk. Sun he go down--talk-talk; sun he come up--talk-talk; all the time talk-talk. Whatname that fella talk-talk?

　　"Oh, nothing much." He shrugged his shoulders. "They were tryingto buy Berande, that was all."

　　She looked at him challengingly.

　　"It must have been more than that. It was you who wanted to sell."

　　"Indeed, no, Miss Lackland; I assure you that I am far fromdesiring to sell."

　　"Don't let us fence about it," she urged. "Let it be straight talkbetween us. You're in trouble. I'm not a fool. Tell me.Besides, I may be able to help, to--to suggest something."

　　In the pause that followed, he seemed to debate, not so muchwhether he would tell her, as how to begin to tell her.

　　"I'm American, you see," she persisted, "and our American heritageis a large parcel of business sense. I don't like it myself, but Iknow I've got it--at least more than you have. Let us talk it overand find a way out. How much do you owe?"

　　"A thousand pounds, and a few trifles over--small bills, you know.Then, too, thirty of the boys finish their time next week, andtheir balances will average ten pounds each. But what is the needof bothering your head with it? Really, you know--"

　　"What is Berande worth?--right now?"

　　"Whatever Morgan and Raff are willing to pay for it." A glance ather hurt expression decided him. "Hughie and I have sunk eightthousand pounds in it, and our time. It is a good property, andworth more than that. But it has three years to run before itsreturns begin to come in. That is why Hughie and I engaged intrading and recruiting. The Jessie and our stations came very nearto paying the running expenses of Berande."

　　"And Morgan and Raff offered you what?"

　　"A thousand pounds clear, after paying all bills."

　　"The thieves!" she cried.

　　"No, they're good business men, that is all. As they told me, athing is worth no more than one is willing to pay or to receive."

　　"And how much do you need to carry on Berande for three years?"Joan hurried on.

　　"Two hundred boys at six pounds a year means thirty-six hundredpounds--that's the main item."

　　"My, how cheap labour does mount up! Thirty-six hundred pounds,eighteen thousand dollars, just for a lot of cannibals! Yet theplace is good security. You could go down to Sydney and raise themoney."

　　He shook his head.

　　"You can't get them to look at plantations down there. They'vebeen taken in too often. But I do hate to give the place up--morefor Hughie's sake, I swear, than my own. He was bound up in it.You see, he was a persistent chap, and hated to acknowledge defeat.It--it makes me uncomfortable to think of it myself. We wererunning slowly behind, but with the Jessie we hoped to muddlethrough in some fashion."

　　"You were muddlers, the pair of you, without doubt. But youneedn't sell to Morgan and Raff. I shall go down to Sydney on thenext steamer, and I'll come back in a second-hand schooner. Ishould be able to buy one for five or six thousand dollars--"

　　He held up his hand in protest, but she waved it aside.

　　"I may manage to freight a cargo back as well. At any rate, theschooner will take over the Jessie's business. You can make yourarrangements accordingly, and have plenty of work for her when Iget back. I'm going to become a partner in Berande to the extentof my bag of sovereigns--I've got over fifteen hundred of them, youknow. We'll draw up an agreement right now--that is, with yourpermission, and I know you won't refuse it."

　　He looked at her with good-natured amusement.

　　"You know I sailed here all the way from Tahiti in order to becomea planter," she insisted. "You know what my plans were. Now I'vechanged them, that's all. I'd rather be a part owner of Berandeand get my returns in three years, than break ground on Pari-Sulayand wait seven years."

　　"And this--er--this schooner. . . . " Sheldon changed his mind andstopped.

　　"Yes, go on."

　　"You won't be angry?" he queried.

　　"No, no; this is business. Go on."

　　"You--er--you would run her yourself?--be the captain, in short?--and go recruiting on Malaita?"

　　"Certainly. We would save the cost of a skipper. Under anagreement you would be credited with a manager's salary, and I witha captain's. It's quite simple. Besides, if you won't let me beyour partner, I shall buy Pari-Sulay, get a much smaller vessel,and run her myself. So what is the difference?"

　　"The difference?--why, all the difference in the world. In thecase of Pari-Sulay you would be on an independent venture. Youcould turn cannibal for all I could interfere in the matter. Buton Berande, you would be my partner, and then I would beresponsible. And of course I couldn't permit you, as my partner,to be skipper of a recruiter. I tell you, the thing is what Iwould not permit any sister or wife of mine--"

　　"But I'm not going to be your wife, thank goodness--only yourpartner."

　　"Besides, it's all ridiculous," he held on steadily. "Think of thesituation. A man and a woman, both young, partners on an isolatedplantation. Why, the only practical way out would be that I'd haveto marry you--"

　　"Mine was a business proposition, not a marriage proposal," sheinterrupted, coldly angry. "I wonder if somewhere in this worldthere is one man who could accept me for a comrade."

　　"But you are a woman just the same," he began, "and there arecertain conventions, certain decencies--"

　　She sprang up and stamped her foot.

　　"Do you know what I'd like to say?" she demanded.

　　"Yes," he smiled, "you'd like to say, 'Damn petticoats!'"

　　She nodded her head ruefully.

　　"That's what I wanted to say, but it sounds different on your lips.It sounds as though you meant it yourself, and that you meant itbecause of me."

　　"Well, I am going to bed. But do, please, think over myproposition, and let me know in the morning. There's no use in mydiscussing it now. You make me so angry. You are cowardly, youknow, and very egotistic. You are afraid of what other fools willsay. No matter how honest your motives, if others criticized youractions your feelings would be hurt. And you think more about yourown wretched feelings than you do about mine. And then, being acoward--all men are at heart cowards--you disguise your cowardiceby calling it chivalry. I thank heaven that I was not born a man.Good-night. Do think it over. And don't be foolish. What Berandeneeds is good American hustle. You don't know what that is. Youare a muddler. Besides, you are enervated. I'm fresh to theclimate. Let me be your partner, and you'll see me rattle the drybones of the Solomons. Confess, I've rattled yours already."

　　"I should say so," he answered. "Really, you know, you have. Inever received such a dressing-down in my life. If any one hadever told me that I'd be a party even to the present situation. . .. Yes, I confess, you have rattled my dry bones prettyconsiderably."

　　"But that is nothing to the rattling they are going to get," sheassured him, as he rose and took her hand. "Good-night. And do,do give me a rational decision in the morning."