Лорд Джим

Chapter 3

           ‘Drink!’repeatedtheengineerwithamiablescorn:hewashangingonwithbothhandstotherail,ashadowyfigurewithflexiblelegs.‘Notfromyou,captain.You’refartoomean,b’gosh.Youwouldletagoodmandiesoonerthangivehimadropofschnapps.That’swhatyouGermanscalleconomy.Pennywise,poundfoolish.’Hebecamesentimental.Thechiefhadgivenhimafour-fingernipaboutteno’clock—‘onlyone,s’elpme!’—goodoldchief;butastogettingtheoldfraudoutofhisbunk—afive-toncranecouldn’tdoit.Notit.Notto-nightanyhow.Hewassleepingsweetlylikealittlechild,withabottleofprimebrandyunderhispillow.FromthethickthroatofthecommanderofthePatnacamealowrumble,onwhichthesoundofthewordSchweinflutteredhighandlowlikeacapriciousfeatherinafaintstirofair.Heandthechiefengineerhadbeencroniesforagoodfewyears—servingthesamejovial,crafty,oldChinaman,withhorn-rimmedgogglesandstringsofredsilkplaitedintothevenerablegreyhairsofhispigtail.Thequay-sideopinioninthePatna’shome-portwasthatthesetwointhewayofbrazenpeculation‘haddonetogetherprettywelleverythingyoucanthinkof.’Outwardlytheywerebadlymatched:onedull-eyed,malevolent,andofsoftfleshycurves;theotherlean,allhollows,withaheadlongandbonyliketheheadofanoldhorse,withsunkencheeks,withsunkentemples,withanindifferentglazedglanceofsunkeneyes.

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