pletely forgot even to glance at the new D.C. in his eagerness to greet the old. But Davies always insisted on working things out to extremes. Harmington, when Ryder made the introduction, was ready with one of his appropriate remarks. "So you are Vincent," he said, shaking hands. "I've heard quite a lot about you in Rangoon. But I didn't know I was going to meet you to-night. I heard you were capturing dacoits." Vincent laughed, and, still according to Davies, committed two serious blunders. "Lord," he stated, "it would take more than a dacoit to make me miss old Bung's sendoff. Also, as you'll find out before long, we don't get the blighters as easily as all that. They usually bolt into Siam. But what will you have?" In fact, following Davies' exposition of the matter, he made it abundantly plain that Ryder and not a desire to meet the new D.C. had brought him into the station, also that Harmington had much to learn about dacoits. Further, he committed these indiscretions naturally and spontaneously, which made them worse. But that was Davies' theory. It is, however, a fact that Harmington declined the offer of a drink, and occupied himself somewhat pointedly with the ladies until the party moved off to the D.C.'s bungalow for dinner. Then Davies, who was not of the send-off party, made his statement. "There is," he announced as he dealt cards, "going to be serious trouble between those two. Vincent doesn't know it yet, but Harmington does. You're an unimaginative crowd, and often you can't see as far as the end of your own noses. But I can. Trouble, and bad trouble! I remember a case that began in exactly the same way. I was at a Godforsaken spot in British East in 'ninety-one" But Williams, the Australian, Davies' bridge partner, was firm. "Cut it out," he ordered; "we'll take it as read, old man. What about one of your hair-raising declarations?" So Davies went three no trumps, and was doubled; but he had definitely established the fact that he had seen where others had not. And within a fortnight his discernment was justified in the eyes of most people. Harmington was a highly educated and distinctly intellectual man, but he could not resist the temptation to demonstrate these facts to people who were neither. He was unquestionably able, but again he could not forgo the pleasure of demonstrating that it cost him very little trouble or pains to improve on Bung Ryder's methods. Also he was extremely careful of his dignity, and inclined to be irritable. These things the station ac. cepted sorrowfully, sighing for the past, but aware that it is liant, but more often merely easy to miss the good points in a difficult stranger. What, however, really filled the white population with foreboding was the fact that the man was that horrible product, a wellbred snob of the type who delights in exposing and rubbing on the raw those whom he considers underbred. Within the first fourteen days after his arrival he made it sufficiently known what manner and type of fellow he was, that he would be extremely agreeable to anybody whom he considered worth that honour, and extremely rude, after very polished and subtle fashion, to those whom he considered unworthy. But until he had been fourteen days in the station he did not select any one on whom to concentrate his natural unpleasantness. Then he proved Davies right by selecting the unfortunate Vincent. There may have been natural antipathy from the first encounter, although Vincent certainly showed no signs of anything of that sort existing; but the incident which clearly indicated what was going to happen certainly showed Harmington in a nasty light. a It happened on the tennis courts, and the evening was abominably airless and hot. Harmington and Vincent were playing against Williams and Wharton. Harmington was reasonably good, but not in the same class as Wharton. Vincent was sometimes bril wild. Williams said that he played for the sake of his liver and nothing else. The score had reached eight games to seven and forty thirty in favour of Harmington and Vincent, and was attracting a certain amount of humorous encouragement from the onlookers. Harmington went for a difficult ball from Wharton just about on or over the base-line in his corner. He played it into the net, and as he played it he shouted "Out." At the same time Vincent shouted "In." Williams, whose accent you could cut with a knife, began to laugh. "Mike up yer minds," he shouted. By the sound of the barracking there's a pot of money going to chinge hands on that ball." Harmington, to the genuine astonishment of everybody, showed signs that he was going to lose his temper. "I said that it was out," he declared. "And Vincent said that it was in," Williams replied, grinning. "There's nothing to it so far." "Call it a let," Wharton shouted, and picked up a ball to serve again. Then Harmington behaved in a fashion that even on a hot evening, when tempers may be excusably ragged, was childish and absurd. He became extremely dignified and pompous. "I am not accustomed to Davies was a beachcomber; nobody knew how he managed to exist and pay his way without ever borrowing money. He was also about as mad as they are made; but even he was not going to be had that way. "What do I say," he replied, staring at a large hole in the heel of one of his socks. "I say that tennis plays the devil with hosiery." And then to soften the snub, because Williams guffawed, "I wasn't looking." But Harmington, having made a fool of himself, seemed determined to go on and prove himself a much qualified idiot. He turned on Vincent furiously. "It's ridiculous for you to have shouted at all," he declared, "because I was between you and the ball." Vincent looked uncomfortable at the exhibition, but he managed a smile and an easy tone. "You weren't really," he answered. "I saw the ball quite plainly. I thought it was a good four inches inside the line." "Thought!" spluttered. "Call it a let or toss for its being in or out. Whichever you like, but let's get on with it." Williams produced a coin, and held it ready to spin. "Heads in, tails out," he grinned, looking at Harmington. "That do you?" For a moment, with most of the white population watching him eagerly, it looked as though Harmington were going to walk off the court in a fury. But he managed to take a pull at himself, although the manner in which he answered "A let is more usual" was that of a sulky child. Also he resumed playing with such infantile petulance that, in spite of heroic efforts by Vincent, he lost the set. Then, while he was putting on his coat and scarf, he went for Vincent viciously. "I wish to heaven," he stated, within the hearing of at least half a dozen people, "that you would avoid gratuitous interference. We had won the set when you saw fit to call that ball in when it was out." But Vincent kept his temper. "Must be something wrong with my eyesight, then," he laughed. "What are you having, a chota peg?" But Harmington did not trouble to answer. He stalked off the ground without a word Harmington to anybody. But Wharton intervened. "What are we going to do about it, anyway?" he asked. Even in a land where childish behaviour on the part of adults during the hot weather is easily condoned, it was recognised as a thoroughly bad show. However, it did provide food for much enjoyable gossip at the club that night, and in two cases at least the eager tongues got reasonably near the mark. "I'm sorry for the blighter, you know," Cruikshank told Brent. "It's such a damned funny thing that a fellow, who is as clean bred and as able as he certainly is, should lose his temper over a perishin' business of patting a ball about." "It is," Brent agreed. "He ought to be a congenial companion if he'd only take to Patience." But Mrs Lathom, talking to Bruce, the Civil Surgeon, took the incident more seriously, and showed herself converted to Davies' view. "I'm a bit uneasy," she declared. There are so few of us here, and we can so easily get on each other's nerves. Somehow Mr Harmington does not strike me as the sort of man who will ever forgive Mr Vincent for not having lost his temper too. If they had both been of the same class it would have been different. But I like Mr Vincent, and he's a sound boy, and he's going to do well-but he isn't quite the same class. Is he? Mr Harmington will remember that, and it will rankle. You see what I mean?" Bruce looked out from the verandah into the hot night, where the stars made the darkness pale. "I wish I didn't see, or at least that I didn't believe that you could be right," he answered, frowning. "But Harmington is made that way. I suppose that he would call it cheapening himself before a social inferior. He won't forget it, or, as you say, forgive the social inferior. It's a stupid business altogether." Yet in another six weeks' time, when the rains had definitely established themselves and life was abominably moist and unpleasant, most people were inclined to apply a stronger adjective to the business. Harmington had apparently taken himself and his temper in hand; and, although he did not confine himself to Patience, he managed to play golf without any more display of irritation than other people. More than that, he seemed at great pains to disguise the fact that he considered threequarters of his white companions rank outsiders. To everybody in the station, with one exception, he was as pleasant as he knew how to be. The one exception was Vincent. To him Harmington was never, after the tennis incident, openly rude; but he rarely missed an opportunity of goading the boy with his tongue. And, as his tongue was about four times as nimble as Vincent's, it seemed inevitable that he would in the end achieve the result he aimed at. Yet Vincent held out wonderfully. Half-way through the rains he was as unperturbed, as sure of himself, and as easy tempered as he had ever been. Better than that, he did not avoid Harmington socially, although he did not go the length of seeking his company. Then Harmington, having played himself in officially and having learned a surprising amount about his District, temporarily changed his tactics. He started a campaign of systematic criticism of and interference in Vincent's work. Just for a day or two it appeared that the new tactics were going to succeed. Vincent showed the unmistakable preliminary signs of being rattled; but he got himself in hand right enough, and started in to counter all Harmington's attacks with success. For the remainder of the rains Vincent was really surprising; he seemed to have discovered exactly the right way of handling Harmington, and to be perfectly sure of his touch. Indeed it appeared that Harmington's antagonism might very well be the making of the boy instead of the ruin of him. For Vincent was extremely careful to make no mistakes; he had always put energy into his job, but now he put something more than just hard work. He seemed to be able to think several moves ahead; and where, before Harmington appeared, he had been a trifle fond of slap-dash methods and a parade of his authority, now he was cautious and tactful. Throughout the rains Harmington did his best. He badgered the boy without ceasing. He moaned officially about the crime in the area; he criticised bitterly the police methods which sought to lessen it; he was continually demanding better results from the work of the police officer. But Vincent met him everywhere. He was always able to give excellent reasons for what he did; and although he refused to stand any interference in matters where he had a legitimately free hand, he never refused in such a way that Harmington could make any capital out of it. For five months, during which time three hundred odd inches of rain were registered and there was never a cool hour, he worked with no sign of slackening, quietly fighting a man who seemed definitely determined to break him. What was even more creditable, he actually appeared to enjoy life; and he finished up the month after the rains, when the orchidhouse atmosphere is liable to reduce most white people to irritable listlessness, with most convincing display. a Harmington went for him one day when Lathom and Wharton were present, and was soundly defeated. Lathom and Wharton, who were partners in a timber enterprise, had called at the D.C.'s office to make some complaint about irregularities in their concessions. It was not properly a police matter, but concerned administration; and they were surprised and annoyed when Harmington sent for Vincent and started to unload blame |