Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (144 page)

He had indeed gone far. That was why he did
not care to go home now, he had not been to England for ten years, and he took
his leave in Japan or Vancouver where he was sure of meeting old friends from
the China coast. He knew no one at home. His sisters had married in their own
station, their husbands were clerks and their sons were clerks; there was
nothing between him and them; they bored him. He satisfied the claims of
relationship by sending them every Christmas a piece of fine silk, some
elaborate embroidery, or a case of tea. He was not a mean man and as long as
his mother lived he had made her an allowance. But when the time came for him
to retire he had no intention of going back to England, he had seen too many
men do that and he knew how often it was a failure; he meant to take a house
near the race-course in Shanghai: what with bridge and his ponies and golf he
expected to get through the rest of his life very comfortably. But he had a
good many years before he need think of retiring. In another five or six
Higgins would be going home and then he would take charge of the head office in
Shanghai. Meanwhile he was very happy where he was, he could save money, which
you couldn't do in Shanghai, and have a good time into the bargain. This place
had another advantage over Shanghai: he was the most prominent man in the
community and what he said went. Even the consul took care to keep on the right
side of him. Once a consul and he had been at loggerheads and it was not he who
had gone to the wall. The taipan thrust out his jaw pugnaciously as he thought
of the incident.

But he smiled, for he felt in an excellent humour. He was walking back
to his office from a capital luncheon at the Hong-Kong and Shanghai Bank. They
did you very well there. The food was first rate and there was plenty of
liquor. He had started with a couple of cocktails, then he had some excellent
sauteme and he had finished up with two glasses of port and some fine old
brandy. He felt good. And when he left he did a thing that was rare with him;
he walked. His bearers with his chair kept a few paces behind him in case he
felt inclined to slip into it, but he enjoyed stretching his legs. He did not
get enough exercise these days. Now that he was too heavy to ride it was
difficult to get exercise. But if he was too heavy to ride he could still keep
ponies, and as he strolled along in the balmy air he thought

of
the
spring
meeting.
He
had
a
couple
of
griffins
that
he
had
hopes of
and
one
of
the
lads
in
his
office
had
turned
out
a
fine
jockey
(he must
see
they
didn't
sneak
him
away,
old
Higgins
in
Shanghai
would give
a
pot
of
money
to
get
him
over
there)
and
he
ought
to
pull
off two
or
three
races.
He
flattered
himself
that
he
had
the
finest
stable in
the
city.
He
pouted
his
broad
chest
like
a
pigeon.
It
was
a
beautiful
day,
and
it
was
good
to
be
alive.

He
paused
as
he
came
to
the
cemetery.
It
stood
there,
neat
and orderly,
as
an
evident
sign
of
the
community's
opulence.
He
never passed
the
cemetery
without
a
little
glow
of
pride.
He
was
pleased to
be
an
Englishman.
For
the
cemetery
stood
in
a
place,
valueless when
it
was
chosen,
which
with
the
increase
of
the
city's
affluence was
now
worth
a
great
deal
of
money.
It
had
been
suggested
that
the graves
should
be
moved
to
another
spot
and
the
land
sold
for
building,
but
the
feeling
of
the
community
was
against
it.
It
gave
the
tai-pan
a
sense
of
satisfaction
to
think
that
their
dead
rested
on
the
most valuable
site
on
the
island.
It
showed
that
there
were
things
they cared
for
more
than
money.
Money
be
blowed!
When
it
came
to
"the things
that
mattered"
(this
was
a
favourite
phrase
with
the
taipan) well,
one
remembered
that
money
wasn't
everything.

And
now
he
thought
he
would
take
a
stroll
through.
He
looked
at the
graves.
They
were
neatly
kept
and
the
pathways
were
free
from weeds.
There
was
a
look
of
prosperity.
And
as
he
sauntered
along
he read
the
names
on
the
tombstones.
Here
were
three
side
by
side;
the captain,
the
first
mate,
and
the
second
mate
of
the
barque
Mary Baxter,
who
had
all
perished
together
in
the
typhoon
of
1908.
He
remembered
it
well.
There
was
a
little
group
of
two
missionaries,
their wives
and
children,
who
had
been
massacred
during
the
Boxer
troubles.
Shocking
thing
that
had
been!
Not
that
he
took
much
stock
in missionaries;
but,
hang
it
all,
one
couldn't
have
these
damned
Chinese massacring
them.
Then
he
came
to
a
cross
with
a
name
on
it
he
knew. Good
chap,
Edward
Mulock,
but
he
couldn't
stand
his
liquor,
drank himself
to
death,
poor
devil,
at
twenty-five:
the
taipan
had
known a
lot
of
them
do
that;
there
were
several
more
neat
crosses
with
a man's
name
on
them
and
the
age,
twenty-five,
twenty-six,
or
twenty-seven;
it
was
always
the
same
story;
they
had
come
out
to
China:
they had
never
seen
so
much
money
before,
they
were
good
fellows
and they
wanted
to
drink
with
the
rest:
they
couldn't
stand
it,
and
there they
were
in
the
cemetery.
You
had
to
have
a
strong
head
and
a
fine constitution
to
drink
drink
for
drink
on
the
China
coast.
Of
course it
was
very
sad,
but
the
taipan
could
hardly
help
a
smile
when
he thought
how
many
of
those
young
fellows
he
had
drunk
underground. And
there
was
a
death
that
had
been
useful,
a
fellow
in
his
own
firm, senior
to
him
and
a
clever
chap
too:
if
that
fellow
had
lived
he
might not
have
been
taipan
now.
Truly
the
ways
of
fate
were
inscrutable. Ah,
and
here
was
little
Mrs.
Turner,
Violet
Turner,
she
had
been
a pretty
little
thing,
he
had
had
quite
an
affair
with
her;
he
had
been devilish
cut
up
when
she
died.
He
looked
at
her
age
on
the
tombstone. She'd
be
no
chicken
if
she
were
alive
now.
And
as
he
thought
of
all those
dead
people
a
sense
of
satisfaction
spread
through
him.
He
had beaten
them
all.
They
were
dead
and
he
was
alive,
and
by
George
he'd scored
them
off.
His
eyes
collected
in
one
picture
all
those
crowded graves
and
he
smiled
scornfully.
He
very
nearly
rubbed
his
hands.