Adventure, July 1, 1928 — page 144: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

138 Tamil or Malay. Tamil women wept for nothing, though their oily, unfaithful, talkative husbands usually took good care they had something to cry about. He hated Tamils, as much as _ he liked Malays; but he knew how to handle their womenfolk. Indeed, life on a jungle estate consisted as much of settling family disputes as tapping rubber or weeding lalang. He would put her right in two shakes, tell her to send her husband to the devil and hit the other lady over the head with the empty gin bottle that had doubtless started the trouble. It would give him something to do. And besides, when . you’re at the end of your tether, it’s en- couraging to be told—even by a long- haired, weeping Asiatic, black as sin, and all grease except her earrings—that you are her father and mother, that the light of your countenance eclipses the sun. He got to his feet, stepped off the paved esplanade on to the stiff “kiss grass” under a traveler’s palm and beheld —the woman of his life. WHITE woman! Indeed, the face that looked up at him in startled surprise was the whitest face that he had ever seen, for it caught the moon- light and the lights from the street lamps opposite, and it was powdered. Black eyes and scarlet lips; and a coloured shawl that half concealed a short skirted evening dress that sparkled. A slim little woman, beautiful, graceful, dejected, wearing silly satin shoes for the dewy grass, her black hair shingled—and that white, powdered face. “I beg your pardon,” he stammered. - “T thought perhaps I might be of some assistance.” As he felt an unutterable fool, there was nothing either presumptuous or insinuat- ing in the tones of his voice. ‘She just stared at him. As for Cart: wright, he felt he had to explain things, to find out who she was, what she was doing there. It occurred to him that he had seen pictures like her, but never anything real. CHARLES GILSON “You see,” he went on, “I heard you, and I thought you were erying. I ex- pected to find a native woman; and being darned miserable myself, I thought I might be able to put her right. They’re rather like children, you know.” With this illuminating statement, he came to a full stop, observing that she had not yet taken her eyes from him. “You speak French?” she asked, with a slightly foreign accent. “I’m wise enough not to try,” said he. “My vocabulary consists of Tamil, Malay, a choice collection of Chinese swear words and a few Latin tags. For example, facilis descensus Averno—highly applicable to myself at the present time.” “Tf, as you say, you are in trouble,” she observed, “you are able to make light of it. That is not so with me.” “I’m sorry,” he answered. “But, it’s not much good worrying. As often as not, it only makes matters worse.” “What can be worse,” she asked, with such spirit as to be almost vehement, “than to be tied to a man you fear and a life you hate, to see the father you love being slowly poisoned in both body and mind, to know that there can never be any release, except through death itself?” A startling announcement for a powdered lady in an evening dress on the praya in Singapore! **You’re in a worse way than I,” said he. “T’m only stone broke—out of a job.” She regarded him critically, but with marked approval. She beheld a good looking young Hercules in the crumpled suit of white ducks. The open collar of both shirt and coat displayed a bare, muscular neck; a somewhat battered solar topee perched well on the back of his head. He stood awkwardly in front of her, with legs parted, a fist in one of his trouser pockets grasping his only dollar. She gave a little shrug of the shoulders and drew her shawl] closer around her slim little body. “TI do not know why I should tell you about my private affairs,” she said. “I’m afraid you caught me in a weak moment.” “Though I’ve not the remotest idea comnlicloooks.com