When Mr. Low, Unattended As He Always Is, Reached The Foot Of The
Stairs The Retriever Leapt Down With One
Bound, and through the air
over his head fled Mahmoud and Eblis, uttering piercing cries, the
siamang, though keeping at
A distance, adding to the jubilations, and
for several minutes I saw nothing of my host, for these creatures,
making every intelligent demonstration of delight, were hanging round
him with their long arms; the retriever nearly wild with joy, but
frantically jealous; all the creatures welcoming him more warmly than
most people would welcome their relations after a long absence. Can it
be wondered at that people like the society of these simple, loving,
unsophisticated beings?
Mr. Low's arrival has inflicted a severe mortification on me, for
Eblis, who has been absolutely devoted to me since I rescued him from
Mahmoud, has entirely deserted me, takes no notice of me, and seems
anxious to disclaim our previous acquaintance! I have seen children do
just the same thing, so it makes the kinship appear even closer. He
shows the most exquisite devotion to his master, caresses him with his
pretty baby hands, murmurs ouf in the tenderest of human tones, and
sits on his shoulder or on his knee as he writes, looking up with a
strange wistfulness in his eyes, as if he would like to express himself
in something better than a monosyllable.
This is a curious life. Mr. Low sits at one end of the veranda at his
business table with Eblis looking like his familiar spirit, beside him.
I sit at a table at the other end, and during the long working hours we
never exchange one word. Mahmoud sometimes executes wonderful capers,
the strange, wild, half-human face of the siamang peers down from the
roof with a half-trustful, half-suspicious expression; the retriever
lies on the floor with his head on his paws, sleeping with one eye
open, always on the watch for a coveted word of recognition from his
master, or a yet more coveted opportunity of going out with him; tiffin
and dinner are silently served in the veranda recess at long intervals;
the sentries at the door are so silently changed that one fancies that
the motionless blue turbans and scarlet coats contain always the same
men; in the foreground the river flows silently, and the soft airs
which alternate are too feeble to stir the over-shadowing palm-fronds
or rustle the attap of the roof. It is hot, silent, tropical. The sound
of Mr. Low's busy pen alone breaks the stillness during much of the
day; so silent is it that the first heavy drops of the daily tropical
shower on the roof have a startling effect.
Mr. Low is greatly esteemed, and is regarded in the official circles of
the Settlements as a model administrator. He has had thirty years'
experience in the East, mainly among Malays, and has brought not only a
thoroughly idiomatic knowledge of the Malay language, but a sympathetic
insight into Malay character to his present post.
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