“Well, now, that is good of you, father.  Of course I need not say that I am charmed at the prospect you open up to me.  And—­and when may I start?”

“At once.  Up anchor and away to-night if you choose.”

“But—­where?”

“Anywhere—­everywhere, Java, Sumatra, Borneo—­all Malaysia before you where to choose.  Now be off, and think over it, for I’ve got too much to do to waste time on you at present,” said the captain, rising, “and, stay—­Nigel.”

“Well?” said the youth, looking back as he was about to leave the cabin.

“Whatever you do, don’t grow poetical about it.  You know it is said somewhere, that mischief is found for idle hands to do.”

“All right, father.  I’ll keep clear of poetry—­leave all that sort o’ nonsense to you.  I’ll—­

    “I’ll flee Temptation’s siren voice,
      Throw poesy to the crows,
    And let my soul’s ethereal fire
      Gush out in sober prose.”

It need scarcely be said that our hero was not slow to take advantage of the opportunity thus thrown in his way.  He went off immediately through the town, armed with the introduction of his father’s well-known name, and made inquiries of all sorts of people as to the nature, the conditions, the facilities, and the prospects of travel in the Malay Archipelago.  In this quest he found himself sorely perplexed for the very good reason that “all sorts” of people, having all sorts of ideas and tastes, gave amazingly conflicting accounts of the region and its attractions.

Wearied at last with his researches, he sauntered towards afternoon in the direction of the port, and began in a listless sort of way to watch the movements of a man who was busily engaged with a boat, as if he were making preparations to put to sea.

Now, whatever philosophers may say to the contrary, we hold strongly to the opinion that likings and dislikings among men and women and children are the result of some profound occult cause which has nothing whatever to do with experience.  No doubt experience may afterwards come in to modify or intensify the feelings, but it is not the originating cause.  If you say it is, how are we to account for love at first sight?  Beauty has nothing necessarily to do with it, for men fall in love at first sight with what the world calls plain women—­happily!  Character is not the cause, for love assails the human breast, ofttimes, before the loved object has uttered a word, or perpetrated a smile, or even fulminated a glance to indicate character.  So, in like manner, affection may arise between man and man.

It was so on this occasion with Nigel Roy.  As he stood abstractedly gazing at the boatman he fell in love with him—­at least he took a powerful fancy to him, and this was all the more surprising that the man was a negro,—­a woolly-headed, flat-nosed, thick-lipped nigger!

We would not for a moment have it supposed that it is unnatural to love such a man.  Quite the reverse.  But when such a man is a perfect stranger, has never uttered a word in one’s presence, or vouchsafed so much as a glance, and is gravely, stolidly engaged in the unsavoury work of greasing some of the tackling of a boat, it does seem unaccountable that he should be unwittingly capable of stirring up in another man’s bosom feelings of ardent goodwill, to put it mildly.