Down by the godowns, where Shafto worked, the stir and press of commercial life was tremendous; on every side roared and dashed trams, motor-lorries, traction engines and—­curious anachronism—­long strings of heavily-laden bullock carts.  Here was trade from the ends and corners of the earth; out of her abundance this rich country was shipping to the nations wood, oil, rice, metals, cotton, tea, silken stuffs, ivory, jade, and precious stones; masses of cargo lay piled on the wharves, amid which a multitude of noisy coolies, busy as ants, went to and fro incessantly, whilst in the distance the saw-mills screamed, the steam dredgers clanked, and tall factory chimneys blackened the heavens.

All this amazing restless activity seemed strangely out of its natural perspective; the scene should have been laid in Liverpool or Glasgow, instead of displaying a background of palms, tropical trees, gilded pagodas, and a circle of gaily-dressed, idle natives.

Although the British and German residents did not assimilate, Shafto saw a good deal of their mercantile element.  At ten o’clock every morning hundreds of Teuton clerks poured into Rangoon from the surrounding neighbourhood, and he could not but admire their indefatigable business activity, tireless industry, and world-wide radius of action.  Long, long after British firms had closed for the day, and their employes had rushed off to amuse themselves at football, golf, or boating, the German was still sticking to it and hard at work.  But there was another feature of which Shafto was aware and could not applaud; this was the “spy” system.  There were rumours of an active gang (manipulated from Berlin), whose business it was to discover what English firms were doing in the way of large contracts, and subsequently to enter into competition, cut out, and undersell.  It was said that their methods were both prompt and ruthless.  It was also hinted that one or two firms winked at contraband, offered irresistible bribes, and made fabulous profits.

The individual characteristics of his fellow-inmates were soon impressed upon Shafto, and the interest they evinced in him—­a mere stranger—­was undeniably agreeable to his amour propre.  MacNab, who was sincerely concerned about his financial affairs, instructed him in many clever economies, and the localities of the cheapest shops; he was also emphatic on the subject of cautious outlay—­and full of warning against the horrors of “a rainy day.”

FitzGerald, on the contrary, was eloquent in favour of “the best that was going, and hang the expense!”

“You’ll want two horses, my boy,” he announced, “if you’re going in for paper-chasing and the gymkhana; you might chance on a bargain, too.  I heard of a fellow who got a wonder for three hundred rupees, an ugly ewe-necked brute, but he carried off the Gold Cup and every blessed thing he was entered for.  On the other hand, such a windfall is a very outside chance; then you must have a small car for the rains—­I believe you would get a nice little Ford for six hundred rupees.”