65 Short Stories by W. Somerset Maugham

islands, of the sailors who, settling in them, had married the daughters of great chieftains, and of the beach-combers who had led their varied lives on those silvery shores. Bateman, mortified and exasperated, at first listened sullenly, but presently some magic in the words possessed him and he sat entranced. The mirage of romance obscured the light of common day. Had he forgotten that Arnold Jackson had a tongue of silver, a tongue by which he had charmed vast sums out of the credulous public, a tongue which very nearly enabled him to escape the penalty of his crimes? No one had a sweeter eloquence, and no one had a more acute sense of climax. Suddenly he rose.
‘Well, you two boys haven’t seen one another for a long time. I shall leave you to have a yarn. Teddie will show you your quarters when you want to go to bed.’
‘Oh, but I wasn’t thinking of spending the night, Mr Jackson,’ said Bateman. ‘You’ll find it more comfortable. We’ll see that you’re called in good time.’ Then with a courteous shake of the hand, stately as though he were a bishop in canonicals, Arnold Jackson took leave of his guest.
‘Of course I’ll drive you back to Papeete if you like,’ said Edward, ‘but I advise you to stay. It’s bully driving in the early morning.’
For a few minutes neither of them spoke. Bateman wondered how he should begin on the conversation which all the events of the day made him think more urgent.
‘When are you coming back to Chicago?’ he asked, suddenly.
For a moment Edward did not answer. Then he turned rather lazily to look at his friend and smiled.
‘I don’t know. Perhaps never.’
‘What in heaven’s name do you mean?’ cried Bateman.
‘I’m very happy here. Wouldn’t it be folly to make a change?’
‘Man alive, you can’t live here all your life. This is no life for a man. It’s a living death. Oh, Edward, come away at once, before it’s too late. I’ve felt that something was wrong. You’re infatuated with the place, you’ve succumbed to evil influences, but it only requires a wrench, and when you’re free from these surroundings you’ll thank all the gods there be. You’ll be like a dope-fiend when he’s broken from his drug. You’ll see then that for two years you’ve been breathing poisoned air. You can’t imagine what a relief it will be when you fill your lungs once more with the fresh pure air of your native country.’
He spoke quickly, the words tumbling over one another in his excitement, and there was in his voice sincere and affectionate emotion. Edward was touched.
‘It is good of you to care so much, old friend.’
‘Come with me tomorrow, Edward. It was a mistake that you ever came to this place. This is no life for you.’
‘You talk of this sort of life and that. How do you think a man gets the best out of life?’
‘Why, I should have thought there could be no two answers to that. By doing his duty, by hard work, by meeting all the obligations of his state and station.’
‘And what is his reward?’
‘His reward is the consciousness of having achieved what he set out to do.’
‘It all sounds a little portentous to me,’ said Edward, and in the lightness of the night Bateman could see that he was smiling. ‘I’m afraid you’ll think I’ve degenerated sadly. There are several things I think now which I daresay would have seemed outrageous to me three years ago.’
‘Have you learnt them from Arnold Jackson?’ asked Bateman, scornfully. ‘You don’t like him? Perhaps you couldn’t be expected to. I didn’t when I first came. I had just the same prejudice as you. He’s a very extraordinary man. You saw for yourself that he makes no secret of the fact that he was in a penitentiary. I do not know that he regrets it or the crimes that led him there. The only complaint he ever made in my hearing was that when he came out his health was impaired. I think he does not know what remorse is. He is completely unmoral. He accepts everything