# Joan of the Island/Chapter 14
### CHAPTER XIV CHESTER PAYS A VISIT

WHEN Chester Trent set sail from Tao Tao in his ketch he was in a bitter frame of mind. He was young enough to have been animated in his business ventures by the blind optimism of youth, but yet too old or not blessed with enough patience to rise like a cork before every succeeding wave of adversity. He had thrown himself heart and soul into his pearling venture, and had probably kept his shoulder to that particular wheel, partly owing to Keith's encouragement, much longer than many people would have done. And for that very reason his disappointment, now that he realized his fond ambition had come crashing to the ground, hurt all the more. It had appeared so easy, so fascinating. The two pearls he first found were worth pretty nearly as much as thousands of young professional men were satisfied to earn in a whole year. It had seemed only common sense, logical, obvious, that where two such pearls were found there must be plenty more. He would never have been satisfied had he omitted the search, for nothing but the stark disappointment of failure would ​have convinced him of its futility. Unfortunately the crash involved the plantation as well as the pearls. Up to a point he had thought, at any rate, to keep the plantation going. Then, gradually, had come the time when he looked to the pearling to save the plantation. Now he had to go a-begging for someone to provide funds so that the work on Tao Tao could be carried on until the place began to pay dividends. And Chester Trent was sufficiently versed in the ways of the world to know on what sort of terms that would be done.
There was a planter on Tamba named Svenk, a Swede, whom Chester had met two or three times, a hard-working, long-headed fellow, "canny" like most of his countrymen, but good-natured. He had his wife and three children living with him on the plantation, which was a thriving concern. Svenk had sound business judgment, and Chester knew that if the Swede would run over to Tao Tao with him in the Kestrel he would see that the possibilities there were sufficient to justify him in financing the venture until the corner was turned.
Svenk listened to the Englishman attentively, then shook his head.
"One year ago, maybe, I'd have been glad to go in with you," he said. "But not now. Sorry, Mr. Trent. It is fifteen years since I first came into the South Seas after a fortune, and now I go back. I have sold out, sir, and if anyone says copra to ​me there'll be trouble, yes. And, man, let me tell you, it's mighty hard to persuade people living in civilized parts to buy a place here, where they can't see it without making a trip half way round the world."
This was a blow Chester had not anticipated.
"But, Mr. Svenk," he said, "you wouldn't have to stop out here if you become a sleeping partner with me. I should have thought it was a chance to be leaped at by anyone who knew anything about plantations. You've only to run your eye over the place to see what it is going to be worth in another year or so."
Again the Swede shook his head. He sympathized with the planter, but his plans were made.
"A lot of things can happen in that time, and I have good use for my money meanwhile. I knew a man once who had an island away over there," he said, pointing vaguely to the east. "It was too wonderful, yes. He stay there eight or nine years, and things grew so they made him laugh. He was a lucky man, sir. There was a hill in the middle of his island. One day, pouf! The bottom of the sea dropped out, and no more was there any island, except the top of the hill. But he was a lucky man. That day he had gone off in his schooner to fetch supplies. He didn't see his island go, but he lived to see that it had gone. No, Mr. Trent, I am sorry. ​Things are too uncertain in the South Seas when you aren't here to keep an eye on them."
"Do you think that if I went, say, to Sydney, I might find someone who would help me out? Maybe a syndicate—"
The Swede shrugged his shoulders expressively.
"You might try it, yes," he said. "But men have sold plantations to Sydney people before, and they have been bitten."
More depressed than ever, Chester returned to the Kestrel, and spent the night on board. Next morning he weighed anchor, and dropped down the coast to where Moniz had his headquarters. He moored the ketch in a little bay, which formed a harbour, and was rowed ashore.
When Chester arrived Moniz was sprawling in a deck chair on the veranda of his bungalow, smoking one of his eternal cigarettes. He had seen the Kestrel the moment it came round the point, and a puzzled expression had swept over his swarthy face at sight of her. The first impulse of the Portuguese had been to walk down to the beach, to meet his visitor, but on second thought he remained where he was. As Chester crossed the compound he rose with simulated surprise.
"Hello," said the Englishman, endeavouring to hide the extreme dislike with which he tackled his task.
​"Good day, Mr. Trent," said Moniz, motioning the other to a vacant chair. His cunning brain was already seeking to ferret out the reason of Chester's call; in his manner there was not the faintest suggestion that such a thing as grim hostilities had ever existed. "It is like old times to have you here again."
"Umph!" Chester exclaimed, sinking into the chair. He was no diplomat. Like most members of his race, he would have preferred to come out bluntly with his proposal, and get the matter over. But he knew Moniz too well to do that. It was a delicate situation, because when he did lay his cards on the table he must, willy nilly, accept the best terms that the grasping Portuguese chose to give. Therefore he must flutter, moth-like, round the flame for a while, flirting with the subject, or even giving the impression, if possible, that there was no subject to come under discussion at all, though both men knew come it must.
Moniz clapped his hands, and a house boy appeared as if by magic. A few moments later the man brought out a tray, on which were a couple of tumblers, water, and a bottle. Nobody knew better than the trader the infinite wisdom of oiling the conversational wheels at the right moment.
"It's the best brand there is—straight from Scotland," he said, pushing the tray toward his guest.
​"No," Chester frowned. "I've cut all that stuff out."
"Nonsense," said Moniz. "Good whisky like this never hurt anyone. Just two fingers, eh?" he added persuasively.
After all, the planter did not wish to seem discourteous, so he nodded. Apparently Moniz's idea of "two fingers" was half a tumbler. Chester sipped the drink, smoked, and chatted casually for a while. The Portuguese continued to study his face covertly, but, drawing blank, replenished the whisky in the Englishman's glass. For an hour or more they beat about the bush, neither making so much as a tentative feint.
"I wish you'd come over to see me oftener, Mr. Trent," the Portuguese said at last. "It is lonely enough here, with so few neighbors, all miles apart. There is too little sociability on Tamba for my liking. The planters here—ah! they make me tired. Once in a month, perhaps, some of them come, but they come only for the stores I sell. There is Svenk. He thinks of nothing now but the day when he will sail away and leave the South Seas altogether. It is his wife who dangles Sweden always before his eyes. Women and business, Mr. Trent, they do not mix. Then there is Diaz. He is making money, yes. But what for? He never spends any of it, and he might just as well be buried for all the good it does him. He's burnt out with ​fever now, and by the time he decides to live a man's life he won't be able to take anything but quinine. Now, Angell was different. You never met him, did you? God knows what part of the world he came from, because he never spoke of it. He was a pandigo—what you call devil-may-care. Angell enjoyed life—while he lasted. A man must eat if he will drink, though, in a climate like this. I warned him often enough before he died, but he only laughed. There was a woman somewhere or other mixed up with him, too. Just at the finish he wanted me to send her a message, but I couldn't make out what he was saying, though I pretended to write it down to make it easier for him."
"Then she never got the message?" Chester put in. Moniz shrugged his shoulders as he rolled another cigarette.
"Women generally have short memories, which is sometimes a blessing," he replied indifferently. "Mr. Trent," he went on, blowing a cloud of smoke, "I do not speak idly when I say I wish you and I could—ah—understand one another better again."
Chester drummed the ends of his long fingers on the edge of his chair and then sipped from the tumbler with deliberation.
"Indeed!" he said, unconsciously bestowing on the other a cold stare. To have a man make such ​profession of friendship after events of the last few months was a little too much for him to swallow whole even in such an isolated spot as Tamba. Perhaps Moniz realized this, but if so he gave no sign of it, nor was he visibly abashed by Chester's lack of enthusiasm.
"Yes," the trader went on. "Two heads are nearly always better than one, even in the South Seas. And there are some big chances to make money at times. Caramba! It was a pity Angell would not eat, for we had some schemes on foot that ought to have made us rich."
Chester elevated his eyebrows, in polite interest.
"He and I could have worked together well," Moniz went on reflectively.
There was a brief pause.
"I shouldn't have thought there were many opportunities here, outside planting and—" he was going to add pearling, but he felt that delicacy forbade—"and trading."
Moniz closed one eye.
"I'm an old stager in the Sulu Sea, and when you've been here as long as I have you'll know that it's quite a game," he said mysteriously. "But one man isn't much good by himself. Now, you and I—"
The trader again closed one eye, and Chester, who felt this was an auspicious moment for thawing, smiled vaguely. The potent spirit—which ​had never been anywhere near Scotland but had been specially manufactured in Queensland for "the islands" where men cannot afford to be too discriminating—was beginning to work. The edge was taken off his judgment. He still knew Moniz to be an unscrupulous scoundrel, but if Moniz really was able to make money with his schemes, and if he wanted a partner to replace the man who had drunk himself to death, perhaps this was a golden opportunity.
"You're a sly old dog," he said, with a laugh. "How many more years are you going to sit here like a spider in the middle of its net, raking in the shekels?"
"A good many, I hope, Mr. Trent," the Portuguese responded affably, noting with satisfaction that the process of thawing the ice was well under way. "And it's your own fault if we don't put our heads together and do well."
"I'm game," said Chester. "We did have a talk some time ago, you remember, about a partnership in Tao Tao."
For an instant a look of triumph flashed in the eyes of the Portuguese. This, then, was the elaborately concealed object of the Englishman's visit!
"I remember we spoke of it," Moniz replied, without undue enthusiasm. "What sort of shape is the plantation in these days?"
​"Fair," Chester replied. Whatever his faults were, he had no stomach for lying. "But I've no doubt the place will be all right eventually. The only thing that troubles me is whether I'll be able to hang out till the dividends begin."
He paused, but Moniz did not speak. This was food for thought for the Portuguese. To begin with, he had never suspected Chester Trent was short of money, and to go on with here was an answer to a question that had often bothered him. There would have been no difficulty about finances if Trent had found pearls in any quantity. Possibly, thought Moniz, his own somewhat exciting but entirely unprofitable experiments off. the reef had been unprofitable because there were no pearls there to be found. In that case the interest Moniz would have in the whole affair would drop down to zero.
"A lot of work has been put in there, you know," said Chester.
"You put in a lot of work off the reef without much better results," observed Moniz.
"You mean pearling," Chester said, screwing up his eyebrows.
"Yes. You fooled me over that."
"Fooled you?"
"In a way—yes. Don't you remember when I was over on Tao Tao some time ago you gave ​me the impression there were plenty of pearls to be picked up? I believed it." He was still fishing for facts.
"I believed it myself," said Chester. "And moreover I had every reason to."
"But you have changed your mind now, eh?"
Discretion was not Chester's strong suit at that moment. The temptation to indulge in a little apparently harmless bragging was too strong for him.
"I haven't made a fortune at it, but I've found pearls," he replied.
"How many?" asked Moniz quickly. As a matter of fact nothing whatever in connection with the proposal, except pearls, did interest Moniz, but he was too discreet to say so.
Chester took from his pocket a wallet, the contents of which he displayed on a handkerchief.
"Is that all?" said Moniz, visibly disappointed.
"It's all I carry about with me," Chester replied. "There are also two big ones, but I keep them I keep them—where they're safe."
The Portuguese nodded.
"Well," said the planter. "What do you say about a partnership?"
Moniz's enthusiasm was not so apparent now the question of bargaining approached, especially as he saw he could arrange things pretty much as he chose.
"Have another drink," he said. Chester, feeling infinitely relieved by the progress of events, ​accepted the invitation willingly. Business was temporarily side-tracked. A little later Moniz endeavoured to revive it, but the planter's balance was too much disturbed by that time, and when he returned to spend the night on the Kestrel Chester Trent was glad that nobody had accompanied him to Tamba except the Kanakas.