THE
EXILES OF FALOO
BY
BARRY PAIN
AUTHOR OF “THE GIFTED FAMILY”
SECOND EDITION
METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
Second Edition ... March 1910
THE EXILES OF FALOO
CHAPTER I
Overhead a blue sky without a cloud;in the distance the sound of the surf—amuffled bass which broke on the tink of thebell at the French Mission or the scream ofthe parrot on the broad verandah of theExiles’ Club.
On the lawn in front of the verandah twonatives had just finished their reluctant workwith the mower. They wore loin-cloths oftappa and nothing else. The head-gardenerwore a loin-cloth of tappa and a white evening-dresswaistcoat, the latter being the gift ofDr Soames Pryce. The waistcoat wassplendid but unclean. The head-gardenerhad been inspecting the work of the othersfrom a recumbent position. All three passedaway now along the grass path under theladen orange trees. Two gorgeous butterflieschased one another over the lawn in thesunshine.
The plaited blind in front of the Frenchwindows was pushed back and Sir John Sweetlingappeared on the verandah. He was aman of fifty-five, six feet in height and inclinedto corpulence. On the whole a handsomeman, with a short white beard and moustacheneatly trimmed, and fearless blue eyes undershaggy white brows. The nose was perhapsa trifle nosey. He wore a white silk shirt,white ducks, a brown holland jacket and apanama of the finest texture.
Sir John lingered for a moment beside theparrot’s perch. He scratched the bird’s neck,and said in an affectionate voice, “Poor oldPolly.”
The parrot bent down and got to work withits beak on the perch, much as if the perchhad been a steel and the beak a carving-knifewhich it was trying to sharpen. Then it satup, drew its indecent lids over its solemn eyesonce or twice, and spoke distinctly.
“You damned thief,” said the parrot.
It was an observation which had been addressedto Sir John before, and not only byparrots.
Sir John shook his head. “Naughty bird,”he said, “naughty bird!” Then he came[3]down the steps of the verandah on to thelawn. Three lounge chairs were groupedabout a small table, and Sir John took themost comfortable of the three. On the tablewere books of a ledger-like appearance, writingmaterials, and a bell. Sir John struckthe bell with a fat brown forefinger.
The head-gardener came out from theorange trees. After all, he was not only thehead-gardener. He smiled ingratiatingly, asif to say that he took a personal interest inSir John, and it would be a positive pleasureto him to do anything for him. From anatural friendliness, which only broke downunder severe stress, all the natives wore this airof interest in the white man and of readiness toserve them in any way. As a matter of factno native, with the solitary exception of KingSmith, ever did anything that he could possiblyavoid. The climate is relaxing, and the cokernutpalm supplies many wants.
Sir John looked at the man doubtfully.“Well, yes, you’ll do,” he said. “Go andtell Thomas that I want a lime-squash, nosugar, and a double Hollands in it.”
The head-g