The Shadow of the East

“Persuaded!” he exploded, “A dam’ queer notion of persuasion. Shanghaied, I call it. Ran me to earth at the club at five o’clock, and we sailed at eight. If my man hadn’t been fond of the sea and keen on the trip himself, I should have left America for a cruise round the world in the clothes I stood up in—and Jermyn’s duds would be about as useful to me as a suit of reach-me-downs off the line. Persuasion? Shucks! Jermyn thought it was kind of funny to start right off on an ocean trip at a moment’s notice and show Nina he didn’t care a durn. Crazy notion of humour.” He lay back languidly and covered his face with a large silk handkerchief.

Barry Craven turned toward his host with amused curiosity in his grey eyes.

“Well?” He asked at length.

Atherton returned his look with a slightly embarrassed smile.

“It hasn’t been so blamed funny after all,” he said quietly. “A Chinese coffin-ship from ‘Frisco would be hilarious compared with this trip,” rapped a sarcastic voice from behind the silk handkerchief.

“I’ve felt a brute ever since we lost sight of Sandy Hook,” continued Atherton, looking away toward the twinkling lights on shore, “and as soon as we put in here I couldn’t stand it any longer, so I cabled to Nina that I was returning at once. I’m quite prepared to eat humble pie and all the rest of it—in fact I shall relish it,” with a sudden shy laugh.

His brother heaved his vast bulk clear of the deck chair with a mighty effort.

“Humble pie! Huh!” he snorted contemptuously. “She’ll kill the fatted calf and put a halo of glory round your head and invite in all the neighbours ‘for this my prodigal husband has returned to me!’” He ducked with surprising swiftness to avoid a book that Atherton hurled at his head and shook a chubby forefinger at him reprovingly.

“Don’t assault the only guide, philosopher and friend you’ve got who has the courage to tell you a few home truths. Say, Jermyn, d’y’know why I finally consented to come on this crazy cruise, anyway? Because Nina got me on the phone while you were hammering away at me at the club and ordered me to go right along with you and see you didn’t do any dam foolishness. Oh, she’s got me to heel right enough. Well! I guess I’ll turn in and get to sleep before those fool engines start chump-chumping under my pillow. You boys will want a pow-wow to your two selves; there are times when three is a crowd. Good-bye, Mr. Craven, pleased to have met you. Hope to see you in the Adirondacks next summer—a bit more crowded than the Rockies, which are Jermyn’s Mecca, but more home comforts—appeal to a man of my build.” He slipped away with the noiseless tread that is habitual to heavy men.

Jermyn Atherton looked after his retreating figure and laughed uproariously.

“Isn’t he the darndest? A clam is communicative compared with Leslie. Fancy him having that card up his sleeve all the while. Nina’s had the bulge on me right straight along.”

He pushed a cigar-box across the wicker table between them.

“No, thanks,” said Craven, taking a case from his pocket. “I’ll have a cigarette, if you don’t mind.”

The American settled himself in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head, staring at the harbour lights, his thoughts very obviously some thousands of miles away. Craven watched him speculatively. Atherton the big game-hunter, Atherton the mine-owner, he knew perfectly—but Atherton the New York broker, Atherton married, he was unacquainted with and he was trying to adjust and consolidate the two personalities.

It was the same Atherton—but more human, more humble, if such a word could be applied to an American millionaire. He felt a sudden curiosity to see the woman who had brought that new look into his old friend’s keen blue eyes. He was conscious of an odd feeling of envy. Atherton became aware at last of his attentive gaze and grinned sheepishly.

“Must seem a bit of a fool to you, old man, but I feel like a boy going home for the holidays and that’s the truth. But I’ve been yapping about my own affair all evening. What about you—staying on in Japan? Been here quite a while now, haven’t you?”

“Just over a year.”

“Like it?”

“Yes, Japan has got into my bones.”

“Lazy kind of life, isn’t it?”

There was no apparent change in Atherton’s drawl, but Craven turned his head quickly and looked at him before answering.

“I’m a lazy kind of fellow,” he replied quietly.

“You weren’t lazy in the Rockies,” said Atherton sharply.

“Oh, yes I was. There are grades of laziness.”

Atherton flung the stub of his cigar overboard and selecting a fresh one, cut the end off carefully.

“Still got that Jap boy who was with you in America?”

“Yoshio? Yes. I picked him up in San Francisco ten years ago. He’ll never leave me now.”

“Saved his life, didn’t you? He spun me a great yarn one day in camp.”