Кінець рабства
XI
Oneglancewasenoughtoembraceallthestripofscrubbedplankswithinthefourunconcealedcorners.Theabsenceoftheusualsetteewasstriking;theteak-woodtopofthewashing-standseemedhermeticallyclosed,andsowasthelidofthewriting-desk,whichprotrudedfromthepartitionatthefootofthebed-place,containingamattressasthinasapancakeunderathreadbareblanketwithafadedredstripe,andafoldedmosquito-netagainstthenightsspentinharbor.Therewasnotascrapofpaperanywhereinsight,nobootsonthefloor,nolitterofanysort,notaspeckofdustanywhere;notracesofpipe-asheven,which,inaheavysmoker,wasmorallyrevolting,likeamanifestationofextremehypocrisy;andthebottomoftheoldwoodenarm-chair(theonlyseatthere),polishedwithmuchuse,shoneasifitsshabbinesshadbeenwaxed.Thescreenofleavesonthebank,passingasifunrolledendlesslyintheroundopeningoftheport,sentawaveringnetworkoflightandshadeintotheplace.
Sterne,holdingthedooropenwithonehand,hadthrustinhisheadandshoulders.AtthisamazingintrusionMassy,whowasdoingabsolutelynothing,jumpedupspeechless.
“Don’tcallnames,”murmuredSternehurriedly.“Iwon’tbecallednames.Ithinkofnothingbutyourgood,Mr.Massy.”
Apauseasofextremeastonishmentfollowed.Theybothseemedtohavelosttheirtongues.Thenthematewentonwithadiscreetglibness.
“Yousimplycouldn’tconceivewhat’sgoingononboardyourship.Itwouldn’tenteryourheadforamoment.Youaretoogood—too—tooupright,Mr.
