Hungerford, as I
guessed gladly, was gone. I was too much the coward to meet his eye just
then. Colonel Ryder was estimating the amount he would wager--if he were
in the habit of betting--that the 'Fulvia' could not turn round in her
tracks in twenty minutes, while he parenthetically endorsed Hungerford's
remarks to me--though he was ignorant of them--that lascars should not be
permitted on English passenger ships. He was supported by Sir Hayes
Craven, a shipowner, who further said that not one out of ten British
sailors could swim, while not five out of ten could row a boat properly.
Ryder's anger was great, because Clovelly remarked with mock seriousness
that the lascars were picturesque, and asked the American if he had
watched them listlessly eating rice and curry as they squatted between
decks; whether he had observed the Serang, with his silver whistle, who
ruled them, and despised us "poor white trash;" and if he did not think
it was a good thing to have fatalists like them as sailors--they would be
cool in time of danger.
Colonel Ryder's indignation was curbed, however, by the bookmaker, who,
having no views, but seeing an opportunity for fun, brought up
reinforcements of chaff and slang, easily construable into profanity, and
impregnated with terse humour.
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