THE LAND OF PROMISE

As the voyage progressed various groups thawed and amalgamated, even “the Potter’s Field” experiencing a temporary resurrection.  Theatricals, bridge tournaments and concerts brought the passengers into touch with one another, the sole member who held herself augustly aloof being Lady Puffle.  She remained secluded in her cabin, or occupied an isolated position on deck, appearing at dinner with a brave show of appetite, diamonds and airs, paralysing her neighbours with a petrifying stare.  Occasionally she accorded a bow or “Good morning” to her sole and necessary acquaintance, the ship’s doctor, whom she informed that in her position she was debarred from mixing with the crowd—­as later, in Rangoon, these people might presume on the acquaintance.

One of the special events of the voyage was the two days’ sports, and here Shafto distinguished himself by winning a severe obstacle race; he was a nimble, muscular youth, who, thanks to school games and the gymnasium, climbed, ran, and leapt with inspirited agility, and when at last he touched the winning tape, breathless but exultant, there was a spontaneous outburst of clapping and cheers.

Prize-giving was the occasion of his triumph.  This was his five minutes, when he advanced to receive from Lady Puffle a clock, set of studs and a thermos flask—­all carefully laid in at Malta by the provident “Amusements Committee.”  Shafto bore his honours modestly, and was glared on by Bernhard who, drawn up beside her ladyship like an Imperial Guardsman, presented an alarmingly militant and stern appearance.

Between him and this particular “Englander” no love was wasted.  Once, when they had collided on the companion ladder, Shafto’s agility alone had saved him from a heavy fall, and the obstructor had neither looked back nor offered apology.  Probably he concluded that charming Miss Leigh, who accompanied his songs with such delicate sympathy, accorded too much of her society to this young man; and, after all, what was he?  A London clerk, going out to begin at the bottom of the ladder, as one of Gregory’s assistants.  Naturally he disliked Gregory’s, a rival and substantial house, which, like his own, dealt largely in paddy—­and this casual, outspoken, clear-eyed youngster was just the type of person specially abhorred by the Prussian Junker.  Now that the music-room had two such efficient performers as Bernhard and Miss Leigh, Shafto and others abandoned the bridge tables and enjoyed a rare treat.  Miss Leigh presided at the piano and appeared to have complete command of the instrument; she could read anything at sight, no matter how it bristled with sharps and accidentals; her repertoire ranged from Beethoven, Bach, Grieg, Chopin, to the latest ragtime, and her playing had a crisp ringing touch that was delightful.

Hoskins, who was endowed with a good baritone, sang quaint Burmese songs with gratifying effect.  There was something weird and yet musical in the solemn and majestic “Toung Soboo Byne,” or “Yama Kyo,” from a native opera, and the Royal boat song as sung by the King’s boatmen when rowing His Majesty on State occasions.