CHAPTER XXXVIII
The Completion of the Contract
It was too late to commence unloading that day. Peter, having notifiedthe authorities of the arrival of the consignment, and having arrangedfor the Government surveyor to inspect the steelwork on the followingafternoon, made his way to the Davis's bungalow.
So far all was well. The time-limit fixed for the delivery of theBrocklington Ironworks Company's contract was still forty-eight hoursoff, and there was no apparent reason why the stipulated conditionsshould not be complied with.
Olive greeted him warmly. Mr. and Mrs. Davis made him welcome withtypical overseas sincerity, and he spent a most enjoyable evening.
At daybreak gangs of natives were set to work to clear the _Quilboma's_hold. By noon the bulk of the steelwork lay upon the quayside. Atfour in the afternoon the material was examined, tested, and passed bythe representative of the Kilba Protectorate Government, and an hourlater Peter sent another cablegram to his father:
"Contract completed O.K. Official confirmation follows."
This pleasurable duty performed, Mostyn went to pay Mahmed a visit. Hefound his boy progressing favourably, his many wounds having healedwithout any sign of complications.
"We'll soon be able to send you back to India, Mahmed," said Peter.
"Me no want go India, sahib," protested Mahmed. "Me stay all one-timewith you. Me good cook, me wash-brush sahib's clothes. Me doeb'rything."
"But I'm going back to England," announced his master. "There I don'tknow what will happen. I may not get another ship for a very longtime."
"No matter," rejoined Mahmed, with sublime optimism. "Me stay withsahib. Me make _char_ for sahib."
Peter left it at that. He little knew that Mahmed spoke with thetongue of prophecy.
Later on in the evening the Head Commissioner sent for him.
"Are you in a pressing hurry to get home, Mr. Mostyn?" he inquired,after congratulating him upon the successful voyage and happytermination of his trip on the S.S. _Quilboma_.
Peter thought not. Providing that he was not detained to give evidencein the Skeets case, he was in no immediate hurry. Apart from thepleasure of meeting his parents again, he was not particularly keenupon returning to England.
He was well aware of the state of affairs in the wireless service athome; how hundreds of skilled operators were "on the beach" through nofault of their own, and that the prospect of immediate re-engagementwas very remote. Wireless officers were just now much in the sameposition as Tommy Atkins. While there was a war on, and wireless menwere in great demand for sea-service, the various shipping companieswere almost falling over each other and themselves in their efforts tosecure skilled operators. Now that the war is ancient history, and searisks are falling to pre-1914 level, the services of wireless officersare no longer in great demand. The slump in shipping has dealt asevere blow to radio-telegraphists.
"Quite so," agreed the Head Commissioner, when Mostyn had stated hisviews. "As a matter of fact we are developing wireless communicationin the Protectorate as we find it far cheaper than and quite asefficient as ordinary telegraphy. Setting up telegraph posts forelephants and rhinos to butt into is an expensive game. So I sent foryou. I can offer you a really good Government appointment, with freequarters, and splendid prospects of rapid promotion. You're just thetype of fellow I want; so what do you say?"
Peter did not reply. He was thinking deeply, struggling with a verycomplex proposition.
"And six months leave in England on full pay every two years, with freepassage out and back," added the Head Commissioner, as an extrainducement--a bait that had often beforetimes turned the scale.
"Thanks awfully, sir," said Peter, "but I'd like to have some time tothink things over."
"Certainly," agreed the official, but at the same time he felt ratherdisappointed. He had been fully prepared to find that Mostyn wouldjump at the tempting offer. According to what he had heard, Mostyn wasa man of action. It rather puzzled him that the Wireless Officershould hesitate to close with the offer of a rattling good post. "Takea day to think things over and then let me know."
As soon as the interview was at an end Peter hurried round to consulthis older and, perhaps, more experienced chum Preston.
He found the Acting Chief sitting in a deck-chair under the veranda ofthe club-house. Preston, like Mahmed, was making a rapid recovery, andalready he was able to walk for a few yards with the aid of a stick.
"You silly young blighter!" he exclaimed, when Peter told him of hisinterview with the Head Commissioner. "Why on earth didn't you jump atit? The pay they're offering you is equal to a cool L800 a year athome, to say nothing of extras chucked in. By Jove! If it had beenme---- I suppose there aren't any more plums knocking around for ahas-been shellback of forty like me?"
"I didn't jump at it, old man," replied Peter slowly. "I couldn't."
"Why not?"
"On Miss Baird's account," explained Mostyn. "You know I promised tosee her safely back to England, and I simply couldn't go back on myword."
Preston grunted.
"Is she so very keen on going?" he demanded. "From what I've heard andseen I don't think she is. Look here, Mostyn, old son. I'm going tobe the Grand Inquisitor for once, being almost old enough to be yourfather. Are you fond of the girl?"
"Yes," replied Peter without hesitation. He was sure on _that_ point.
"And is she fond of you?" continued the Grand Inquisitor.
"Think so," was the non-committal reply. "Not so sure about it,though," he added.
"I think I am," rejoined Preston, with a dry chuckle. "I've beenkeeping my eye upon the pair of you for some considerable time back.Look here, old son; you're a decent sort of fellow with a clean run an'all that. That's what counts with a girl, after all's said and done.You've been offered a rattling good berth with nothing of the 'blindalley' touch about it. All you want now is a sheet-anchor--a jollysensible girl as a life-partner; one with whom you're not likely topart brass-rags in less than a twelvemonth. Bit of a mixed metaphor,isn't it; but you know what I mean? That girl is Miss Baird; so don'tstand hanging on to the slack. Ask her to be your wife."
Peter said nothing. He was very agreeably surprised to hear thehitherto matter-of-fact Acting Chief launching out upon such a subject.
"For goodness sake don't think that I'm starting a matrimonial agencystunt, old thing," continued Preston. "I know many a young fellowwho's run aground on the rocks 'cause he's been a fool to get splicedwithout looking ahead. You're different. There, I've had my say.Full speed ahead and you'll win. And good luck to you."
Thanking his old chum, Mostyn went off feeling considerably elated.Preston's views completely coincided with his own, and the ActingChief's words of encouragement helped to fill up the gap in Peter'sresolution.
The ordeal in front of him was a trying one, he expected; far morestupendous and momentous than he had ever experienced. His adventureswhile on the books of the S.S. _Donibristle_ and the S.S. _WestBarbican_ were light by comparison.
"No use putting things off," he decided; and, acting upon thisresolution, he presented himself at the Davis's bungalow.
Not the shadow of a chance did he have to broach the momentous subjectto Olive. Davis and his wife were so hospitable that they never leftPeter and Olive alone for one moment.
At eleven, with his mind still unburdened, Mostyn returned to hisquarters.
At dawn, after a restless night, he arose, bathed, shaved, and dressed,and went out.
He was by no means the only early riser. The white population ofPangawani make a point of getting exercise before the heat of thetropical day. Watching from afar Peter saw signs of activity at theDavis's bungalow. Native grooms were leading three ponies round to thefront of the veranda.
Five minutes later Peter strolled, outwardly unconcerned, past thehouse, just as Olive and her host and hostess were coming out.
"Hello, old man!" exclaimed Davis
. "Topping morning, isn't it? We'reoff for a canter through the orange groves. Come along."
"Yes, do," added the two ladies.
"Delighted," replied Peter.
Davis shouted to a native groom to saddle another pony.
Mostyn eyed the mount with a certain degree of misgiving. He wouldhave been perfectly at home in the saddle of a motor-bicycle atanything up to fifty miles an hour. There the control was entirely inhis own hands. A pony, he reflected, isn't a machine; it is an animalpossessing brains and possibly an obstinate will. If the brute took itinto his head to exceed ten miles an hour Peter wouldn't guarantee tokeep his seat. He didn't profess to be a horseman, but in thecircumstances he simply had to risk it and take his chance.
His horsemanship was far better than he had expected it to be, althoughOlive gave him points on the management of a pony. It was anexhilarating canter along the stretch of broad, white sands, followedby a steady climb to the summit of Mohollo Head.
"Pull up for a minute, Olive," suggested Peter. "My pony is a bitwinded, I think. Let's admire the view."
Quite naturally the girl fell in with the suggestion. Davis and hiswife were still riding on ahead.
It was an ideal morning. The sun was still low in the eastern sky. Afresh breeze stirred the broad leaves of the coco-palms. The foamlashed itself upon the distant reef, while within the rocky barrier thewater was as calm as a mill-pond.
"Isn't this topping!" exclaimed Peter, with a comprehensive sweep ofhis arm.
"Delightful," agreed Olive. "I shall be very sorry to have to saygood-bye to Pangawani."
The girl's whole-hearted admiration gave Mostyn the looked-for opening.With sailor-like alertness he seized the opportunity.
"Then why leave Pangawani?" he asked.
Olive looked at him wonderingly.
"What do you mean, Peter?" she asked. "When do you think you will begoing home?"
"In two years time, I hope," he replied. "But that depends upon you."
"Upon me?" rejoined the girl, a faint colour stealing across herhalf-averted face, as she suddenly realized the point of hercompanion's remarks.
"Well, you see," explained Mostyn, "I've been offered a Government postout here--a jolly good one. I couldn't accept it because I hadn'tspoken to you about it. We agreed, I think, that I should be yourguardian--'guardian' is a rotten term, isn't it?--until I saw yousafely home."
"Don't, please, let that stand in your way," said Olive.
"It will," declared Peter, "unless----"
* * * * *
Five minutes or so later Davis exclaimed to his wife: "Hello! Whereare the others?"
"I don't know," was the reply. "I quite thought they were following.Trot back and see; I'll wait here."
Another five minutes and Davis rejoined his wife. Deliberately hedismounted, charged a pipe, and lit it.
"There's no hurry," he reported. "They're quite all right. I saw froma distance that I was _de trop_, so I beat a strategic retreat."
Davis finished his pipe, filled up and lit another.
At length the sound of the now walking ponies' hoofs upon the softground announced the arrival of the laggards. Then into the glade rodePeter and Olive, both looking radiantly happy.
"Congratulate me, old man!" said Peter excitedly He did not need toexplain.
Davis rammed his still-burning pipe into his pocket--he had good causeto remember it later--and extended a sun-burnt hand.
"You lucky dog!" he exclaimed.
The Wireless Officer Page 39
