But as he had not been dismissed he did not like to go away.
"Everything will be done as you wish it, sir," he said. "I suppose the
yacht will be leaving the first thing to-morrow morning, sir."
"If she doesn't we must give her a solid shot or two to liven her
up--eh, Mr. Carter?"
Carter did not know whether to smile or to look horrified. In the end he
did both, but as to saying anything he found it impossible. But Lingard
did not expect an answer.
"I believe you are going to stay with me, Mr. Carter?"
"I told you, sir, I am your man if you want me."
"The trouble is, Mr. Carter, that I am no longer the man to whom you
spoke that night in Carimata."
"Neither am I, sir, in a manner of speaking."
Lingard, relaxing the tenseness of his stare, looked at the young man,
thoughtfully.
"After all, it is the brig that will want you. She will never change.
The finest craft afloat in these seas. She will carry me about as she
did before, but . . ."
He unclasped his hands, made a sweeping gesture.
Carter gave all his naive sympathy to that man who had certainly rescued
the white people but seemed to have lost his own soul in the attempt.
Carter had heard something from Wasub. He had made out enough of this
story from the old serang's pidgin English to know that the Captain's
native friends, one of them a woman, had perished in a mysterious
catastrophe.
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