The Foot of Time: A Novel of Australia and the South Seas: (1933)

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THE FOOT OF TIME
Bruce remarked. "What did you say your name
was?"
"I'm only the acting Consul," the visitor replied,
"commissioned to give you a safe passage
home. When I say home, I mean home, not as far
as the Consulate at Fungi. You're not to be trusted
out, young man. I'll see you as far as Sydney, and
then, God help you! I'll leave you to the tender
mercies of Miss Edith and your mother, Mrs. Swinton."
"God!" ejaculated Bruce, "you know of them.
How are they? He seized the other. "Tell me, how
are they? How is my mother? How are they?"
"Perfectly well, no thanks to you. Well, and so
far as I know, happy. I conjecture that Miss Burne
may quite conceivably be all the happier by ridding
herself of such an outpaced rotter as you have
proved herself. Marrying a black! Ugh!"
Bruce regarded him wonderingly. Strange! Was
his mind going—all these months—a year—the
Consul was speaking:
"Forcing your unwelcome attentions on the girl.
I expect you seduced her. Did you? Tell me that.
I have my own reasons for wishing to know."
"Perhaps, perhaps," the boy replied. I won't have
the girl brought into it. The fault, if fault there
be, is mine."
At this the visitor studied Bruce anew.
"I wonder if you're lying to me," he said. Then:
"You are practically without means, I take it?"
"True for you, Sir," Bruce replied. "I'm broke
to the wide. On that account alone I could not
THE FOOT OF TIME 201
have returned too easily. During the hurricane,
which killed my friend and so many here,
Molota and I took shelter in a cave. My but and
most of its contents were washed ignominously
away. Luckily I didn't trust my books to any
native hut. I buried 'em, Sir. Kept them in a lined
hole deep under the ground. But for these friends
of mine"—Bruce tapped the pile of books lying on
his rude table—"verily, I sometimes think I might
have lost my reason."
"Not you," replied the acting Consul. "You
may take leave of your senses, as you have taken
leave of absence, but your head's glued on all right,
boy, otherwise I shouldn't be here."
How strangely the Frenchy talked! Now he
came to think of it, there wasn't much French
about him other than his appearance. Impulsively
the boy came forward.
"I can't express how grateful I am to you, Sir,
for coming across to get me out of it. It was
devilish good of you. I do thank you, really I do."
"Stuff and nonsense!" snapped Florence Tooth.
"Don't tell me!"
"God in Heaven! You're Miss Tooth!"
"And who do you suppose I'd be?" enquired that
worthy. "Do you suppose for a single instant,
young man, that I'd see my darling Edith breaking
her pretty heart at home for you? Or your
priceless mother—what a character!—dying by
slow inches? No, Bruce. Florence Tooth doesn't
sit down to that sort of avoidable rattle-trap."
"Avoidable, Miss Tooth? Avoidable?" Bruce