"Well," I said, absolutely overwhelmed with this unexpected honour, "you must smoke a cigar; these are very good ones."
"What," he said, in the most hurt tone, "you think I come speak to you to get a cigar?"
"Oh no!" I exclaimed; "of course not. But any man can smoke a cigar with a friend, can he not? You just light that, and I am going to put these others in your pocket. Now you light up at once."
Just then up came the Captain and stood thunderstruck, then disappeared, to return with someone else to point out this extraordinary sight. There was the old Malay puffing away at a cigar, tapping me on the chest, and discoursing volubly! Such a thing had never been seen before.
After this he seldom took much notice of me, never even saying "Good-morning," but sometimes, as he passed my chair, he would give me a pat on the shoulder, and that meant much. Now and again I waylaid him and insisted on his having a cigar—always as a friend from a friend. The strange old thing grunted, and gave me a nod that spoke volumes. I understood him very well, and knew I had a real friend. My chair was always placed for me in the morning, and no one dared shift it. The little pat on the shoulder he gave me as he passed was a sign of greatest favour, and was so regarded by me and every one else; it betokened a secure friendship. I suppose this is a long tale all about nothing—it is not so to me—a gift from God it seemed to me, and it humbled me. Somehow I felt as if I had been a selfish, unseeing idiot!
Such things are lessons in life. We were a small community shut up together for some time in the ship―now and again I passed along the lower deck and said a careless word here or there. The Indian coolies were always most respectful to
