'It must come expensive if he always loses when he shakes,' Mrs Wilkins murmured to the coast-line.
'I guess Egbert would like a sip of your lemonade, my dear,' said Mr Wilkins.
Mrs Wilkins slightly turned her head and looked at the monkey sitting on her lap.
'Would you like a sip of mother's lemonade, Egbert?'
The monkey gave a little squeak and putting her arm round him she handed him a straw. The monkey sucked up a little lemonade and having drunk enough sank back against Mrs Wilkins's ample bosom.
'Mrs Wilkins thinks the world of Egbert,' said her husband. 'You can't wonder at it, he's her youngest.'
Mrs Wilkins took another straw and thoughtfully drank her lemonade.
'Egbert's all right,' she remarked. 'There's nothin' wrong with Egbert.'
Just then the French official, who had been sitting down, got up and began walking up and down. He had been accompanied on board by the French minister at Bangkok, one or two secretaries, and a prince of the royal family. There had been a great deal of bowing and shaking of hands and as the ship slipped away from the quay much waving of hats and handkerchiefs. He was evidently a person of consequence. I had heard the captain address him as Monsieur le Gouverneur.
'That's the big noise on this boat,' said Mr Wilkins. 'He was Governor of one of the French colonies and now he's makin' a tour of the world. He came to see my circus at Bangkok. I guess I'll ask him what he'll have. What shall I call him, my dear?'
Mrs Wilkins slowly turned her head and looked at the Frenchman, with the rosette of the Legion of Honour in his buttonhole, pacing up and down.
'Don't call him anythin',' she said. 'Show him a hoop and he'll jump right through it.'
I could not but laugh. Monsieur le Gouverneur was a little man, well below the average height, and smally made, with a very ugly little face and thick, almost negroid features; and he had a bushy grey head, bushy grey eyebrows, and a bushy grey moustache. He did look a little like a poodle and he had the poodle's soft, intelligent and shining eyes. Next time he passed us Mr Wilkins called out:
'Monsoo. Qu'est-ce que vous prenez?' I cannot reproduce the eccentricities of his accent. 'Une petite verre de porto.' He turned to me. 'Foreigners, they all drink porto. You're always safe with that.'
'Not the Dutch,' said Mrs Wilkins, with a look at the sea. 'They won't touch nothin' but Schnapps.'
The distinguished Frenchman stopped and looked at Mr Wilkins with some bewilderment. Whereupon Mr Wilkins tapped his breast and said:
"Moa, proprietarre Cirque. Vous avez visitГ©'.
Then, for a reason that escaped me, Mr Wilkins made his arms into a hoop and outlined the gestures that represented a poodle jumping through it. Then he pointed at the Wa-Wa that Mrs Wilkins was still holding on her lap.
'La petit fils de mon femme,' he said.
Light broke upon the Governor and he burst into a peculiarly musical and infectious laugh. Mr Wilkins began laughing too.
'Oui, oui,' he cried. 'Moa, circus proprietor. Une petite verre de porto. Oui. Oui. Nest-ce-pas?'
'Mr Wilkins talks French like a Frenchman,' Mrs Wilkins informed the passing sea.
'Mais tres volontiers,' said the Governor, still smiling. I drew him up a chair and he sat down with a bow to Mrs Wilkins.
'Tell poodle-face his name's Egbert,' she said, looking at the sea. I called the boy and we ordered a round of drinks.
'You sign the chit, Elmer,' she said. 'It's not a bit of good Mr What's-his-name shakin' if he can't shake nothin' better than a pair of treys.'
'Vous comprenez le français, madame?' asked the Governor politely.
'He wants to know if you speak French, my dear.'
'Where does he think I was raised? Naples?'
Then the Governor, with exuberant gesticulation, burst into a torrent of English so fantastic that it required all my knowledge of French to understand what he was talking about.
Presently Mr Wilkins took him down to look at his animals and a little later we assembled in the stuffy saloon for luncheon. The Governor's wife appeared and was put on the captain's right. The Governor explained to her who we all were and she gave us a gracious bow. She was a large woman, tall and of a robust build, of fifty-five perhaps, and she was dressed somewhat severely in black silk. On her head she wore a huge round topee. Her features were so large and regular, her form so statuesque, that you were reminded of the massive females who take part in processions. She would have admirably suited the role of Columbia or Britannia in a patriotic demonstration. She towered over her diminutive husband like a skyscraper over a shack. He talked incessantly, with vivacity and wit, and when he said anything amusing her heavy features relaxed into a large fond smile.
'Que tu es bГЄte, mon ami,' she said. She turned to the captain. 'You must not pay any attention to him. He is always like that.'
We had indeed a very amusing meal and when it was over we separated to our various cabins to sleep away the heat of the afternoon. In such a small ship having once made the acquaintance of my fellow passengers, it would have been impossible, even had I wished it, not to pass with them every moment of the day that I was not in my cabin. The only person who held himself aloof was the Italian tenor. He spoke to no one, but sat by himself as far forward as he could get, twanging a guitar in an undertone so that you had to strain your ears to catch the notes. We remained in sight of land and the sea was like a pail of milk. Talking of one thing and another we watched the day decline, we dined, and then we sat out again on deck under the stars. The two traders played picquet in the hot saloon, but the Belgian colonel joined our little group. He was shy and fat and opened his mouth only to utter a civility. Soon, influenced perhaps by the night and encouraged by the darkness that gave him, up there in the bows, the sensation of being alone with the sea, the Italian tenor, accompanying himself on his guitar, began to sing, first in a low tone, and then a little louder, till presently, his music captivating him, he sang with all his might. He had the real Italian voice, all macaroni, olive oil, and sunshine, and he sang the Neapolitan songs that I had heard in my youth in the Piazza San Ferdinando, and fragments from La BohГЁme, and Traviata, and Rigoletto. He sang with emotion and false emphasis and his tremolo reminded you of every third-rate Italian tenor you had ever heard, but there in the openness of that lovely night his exaggerations only made you smile and you could not but feel in your heart a lazy sensual pleasure. He sang for an hour, perhaps, and we all fell silent; then he was still, but he did not move and we saw his huge bulk dimly outlined against the luminous sky.
I saw that the little French Governor had been holding the hand of his large wife and the sight was absurd and touching.
'Do you know that this is the anniversary of the day on which I first saw my wife?' he said, suddenly breaking the silence which had certainly weighed on him, for I had never met a more loquacious creature. 'It is also the anniversary of the day on which she promised to be my wife. And, which will surprise you, they were one and the same.'
'Voyons, mon ami,' said the lady, 'you are not going to bore our friends with that old story. You are really quite insupportable.'
But she spoke with a smile on her large, firm face, and in a tone that suggested that she was quite willing to hear it again.
'But it will interest them, mon petit chou.' It was in this way that he always addressed his wife and it was funny to hear this imposing and even majestic lady thus addressed by her small husband. 'Will it not, monsieur?' he asked me. 'It is a romance, and who does not like romance, especially on such a night as this?'
I assured the Governor that we were all anxious to hear and the Belgian colonel took the opportunity once more to be polite.
'You see, ours was a marriage of convenience pure and simple.'
'C'est vrai,' said the lady. 'It would be stupid to deny it. But sometimes love comes after marriage and not before, and then it is better. It lasts longer.'