matter," he said. "There will be no more stealing now that you are here, and the soldiers. You and your goods also are the property of the Shogun."
"The Shogun is our friend." Adams snorted this at him, for the man was of the sort to be impressed by such a claim.
"True," he said. "And therefore you have about you a score of blades. If any man molest you he will be cleft at a blow from shoulder to navel. In the like manner will he be cleft who lays a hand upon your goods."
"But," Adams repeated, "the Shogun is our friend."
"And soldiers are soldiers," replied the other. "He is their friend also, and they his."
"But the goods are ours." This was Santvoort's first contribution to the talk. "We can do what we please with what is ours."
"True," said the other. "It is yours and you may keep it. Indeed, you must keep it."
"Then how in hell's name can we make any move?" said Adams.
"You would move?" asked the man.
"Move?" said Adams; "how else can we trim the ship for sea and sail her? We've got to go home, haven't we?"
The man thought quietly for a few moments. "You have another friend also," he said at length, "the padre of Nagasaki."
"The padre of Nagasaki!" said Adams, and Santvoort snorted.
"Nevertheless," said the man, "it is he that sent me. He is returning here. Since you are not pirates and enemies, he comes as your friend."
"He can go to hell," was their only retort.
"You will find him your friend," the quiet one insisted. "Receive him and take his counsel if you would move in any such way that the soldiers leave their swords in their girdles. In a day or two—or three—he will be here. And now"— girls were in the outer hall grouped together chattering— "and now if you would have entertainment-"
"Entertainment—" said Adams thoughtfully. "We have had our belly full of entertainment from yourself. If we may not sell our goods, and so buy—Entertainment!" Then he turned suddenly to Santvoort. "Melchior, we will go again to the Emperor, ourselves."
"Three men only," said the Jap, "—or perhaps four—know where the Shogun is at this moment; or where he is likely to be in the next two or three months. And remember the soldiers."
"Are we prisoners then?" asked Santvoort.
"Guests," said the other, and smiled. "Guests. With all those blades to protect you."
"Well, then," said Santvoort, "as guests we would like something, some fruit or vegetable—something green for our cook to serve with that everlasting broth and cake and fish. Or beef. Is there no beef in this country?"
"No. No beef," said the man. "The padre, perhaps, when he comes—but not one so humble as this person. This person could, perhaps, undertake the vegetables."
"Very well," said Santvoort. Then he added, as a diplomatic afterthought, "but we have no money to pay with till we have sold some of our goods."
"Pay?" said the other. "Money-?" He shook his head and abased himself. "There is more than payment in the august honour of doing a trifling service to the Shogun's chosen and protected friends."
They smiled and uttered thanks to the girls grouped in the hall, for it is a hard face in which such smiles will not beget a smile; and they went out cursing.
"He may be lying," said Adams.
"That we can soon see," said the Dutchman. "We'll go back to the boat and I'll come ashore again with something to sell. We'll try a piece of broadcloth from that opened fardel."
The loiterers seemed to realise that they had some purpose before them as they hurried to the boat, followed by their two soldiers. They hung back to let them pass.
They came ashore again, Santvoort carrying the roll of broadcloth under his arm.
Among booths and stalls their pace slacked as they looked about for wares that should indicate a market for their own.
"We'll sell it," said Santvoort, "for anything. And we'll buy some fruit—if we can find anything but radishes."
At a bench whereon there was a display of printed cotton cloths and some silk he greeted the shopkeeper. Among the wares on the bench he laid the roll of broadcloth and then went behind the bench to place himself on the same side of the counter as the little man.
With a friendly pressure on his shoulder Santvoort urged him round the bench till it was obvious to him and the dullest in the crowd that the Hairy One had become the shopkeeper and the toothless old huckster the customer.
Even the soldiers smiled, and Santvoort extended himself to the business and to the joke of it. He rubbed his hands together and nodded and jerked his head and chattered a ceaseless whine of gibberish, pushing his moth-eaten and rat-eaten broadcloth towards his customer. He next held up his hands and slowly counted off ten on his fingers and thumbs.
The old man picked up the cloth and fingered it and unrolled the end. He rubbed it, flicked away the fluff from moth incursions and examined the edges where rats had been. Then he re-wrapped the end he had unrolled and shook his head and held it out, with thanks, to Santvoort. The Dutchman held up one hand alone and counted off five. Still the old man shook his head, and Santvoort reduced his demands to one. He had not the faintest idea of what it was that he had demanded at first ten and had now climbed down to one; but even if it was one farthing the old man refused the offer.
Santvoort took the cloth from him and then held it out, with the other hand waving away any suggestion at all of price. Obviously it was a free gift that he was offering. The old man bowed over it and nodded and spoke; but he would not take it.
Santvoort then laid it down on the bench again and said, "Come on, Will; quickly."
As they turned to go, they both saw the old man glance at the soldiers. He stayed the Dutchman with a quick hold on his arm. He thrust the cloth quickly back to him and then, bowing and speaking gently and with great humility, he gave first to Adams and then to Santvoort, a roll of paper napkins.
"That bastard," said Santvoort, as they walked away, "was speaking the truth. But if we may not sell and therefore may not pay, we may still, so it seems—buy. Here!"
Abruptly he stopped at a stall displaying fruit and sea-weed and pickles. A full repetition of his first pantomime was unnecessary; for if the fruiterer himself had not left his fruit to witness it, a report of it had reached him even as it was being enacted. Pointing first at the cloth and then at two melons was all that was required.
Santvoort laid down the cloth. The fruiterer picked it up, examined it, looked at the soldiers and handed it back again. Then with the same expression and tone of humility and gentleness that the old haberdasher had used for his gift-making, he handed them each a melon.
To Adams he made the further gift of a small bunch of radishes.
CHAPTER IX
THEY found themselves that night, Adams and Santvoort, living life on the old terms again—puzzling over means and testing obstacles to an end that was desirable and clear. It was only, they thought, their dumbness
