The Wireless Officer Part 46

"Thanks awfully, sir," said Peter, "but I'd like to have some time to think things over."

"Certainly," agreed the official, but at the same time he felt rather disappointed. He had been fully prepared to find that Mostyn would jump at the tempting offer. According to what he had heard, Mostyn was a man of action. It rather puzzled him that the Wireless Officer should hesitate to close with the offer of a rattling good post. "Take a day to think things over and then let me know."

As soon as the interview was at an end Peter hurried round to consult his older and, perhaps, more experienced chum Preston.

He found the Acting Chief sitting in a deck-chair under the veranda of the club-house. Preston, like Mahmed, was making a rapid recovery, and already he was able to walk for a few yards with the aid of a stick.

"You silly young blighter!" he exclaimed, when Peter told him of his interview with the Head Commissioner. "Why on earth didn't you jump at it? The pay they're offering you is equal to a cool 800 a year at home, to say nothing of extras chucked in. By Jove! If it had been me---- I suppose there aren't any more plums knocking around for a has-been sh.e.l.lback of forty like me?"

"I didn't jump at it, old man," replied Peter slowly. "I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"On Miss Baird's account," explained Mostyn. "You know I promised to see her safely back to England, and I simply couldn't go back on my word."

Preston grunted.

"Is she so very keen on going?" he demanded. "From what I've heard and seen I don't think she is. Look here, Mostyn, old son. I'm going to be the Grand Inquisitor for once, being almost old enough to be your father. Are you fond of the girl?"

"Yes," replied Peter without hesitation. He was sure on _that_ point.

"And is she fond of you?" continued the Grand Inquisitor.

"Think so," was the non-committal reply. "Not so sure about it, though," he added.

"I think I am," rejoined Preston, with a dry chuckle. "I've been keeping my eye upon the pair of you for some considerable time back.

Look here, old son; you're a decent sort of fellow with a clean run an'

all that. That's what counts with a girl, after all's said and done.

You've been offered a rattling good berth with nothing of the 'blind alley' touch about it. All you want now is a sheet-anchor--a jolly sensible girl as a life-partner; one with whom you're not likely to part bra.s.s-rags in less than a twelvemonth. Bit of a mixed metaphor, isn't it; but you know what I mean? That girl is Miss Baird; so don't stand hanging on to the slack. Ask her to be your wife."

Peter said nothing. He was very agreeably surprised to hear the hitherto matter-of-fact Acting Chief launching out upon such a subject.

"For goodness sake don't think that I'm starting a matrimonial agency stunt, old thing," continued Preston. "I know many a young fellow who's run aground on the rocks 'cause he's been a fool to get spliced without looking ahead. You're different. There, I've had my say.

Full speed ahead and you'll win. And good luck to you."

Thanking his old chum, Mostyn went off feeling considerably elated.

Preston's views completely coincided with his own, and the Acting Chief's words of encouragement helped to fill up the gap in Peter's resolution.

The ordeal in front of him was a trying one, he expected; far more stupendous and momentous than he had ever experienced. His adventures while on the books of the S.S. _Donibristle_ and the S.S. _West Barbican_ were light by comparison.

"No use putting things off," he decided; and, acting upon this resolution, he presented himself at the Davis's bungalow.

Not the shadow of a chance did he have to broach the momentous subject to Olive. Davis and his wife were so hospitable that they never left Peter and Olive alone for one moment.

At eleven, with his mind still unburdened, Mostyn returned to his quarters.

At dawn, after a restless night, he arose, bathed, shaved, and dressed, and went out.

He was by no means the only early riser. The white population of Pangawani make a point of getting exercise before the heat of the tropical day. Watching from afar Peter saw signs of activity at the Davis's bungalow. Native grooms were leading three ponies round to the front of the veranda.

Five minutes later Peter strolled, outwardly unconcerned, past the house, just as Olive and her host and hostess were coming out.

"h.e.l.lo, old man!" exclaimed Davis. "Topping morning, isn't it? We're off for a canter through the orange groves. Come along."

"Yes, do," added the two ladies.

"Delighted," replied Peter.

Davis shouted to a native groom to saddle another pony.

Mostyn eyed the mount with a certain degree of misgiving. He would have been perfectly at home in the saddle of a motor-bicycle at anything up to fifty miles an hour. There the control was entirely in his own hands. A pony, he reflected, isn't a machine; it is an animal possessing brains and possibly an obstinate will. If the brute took it into his head to exceed ten miles an hour Peter wouldn't guarantee to keep his seat. He didn't profess to be a horseman, but in the circ.u.mstances he simply had to risk it and take his chance.

His horsemanship was far better than he had expected it to be, although Olive gave him points on the management of a pony. It was an exhilarating canter along the stretch of broad, white sands, followed by a steady climb to the summit of Mohollo Head.

"Pull up for a minute, Olive," suggested Peter. "My pony is a bit winded, I think. Let's admire the view."

Quite naturally the girl fell in with the suggestion. Davis and his wife were still riding on ahead.

It was an ideal morning. The sun was still low in the eastern sky. A fresh breeze stirred the broad leaves of the coco-palms. The foam lashed itself upon the distant reef, while within the rocky barrier the water was as calm as a mill-pond.

"Isn't this topping!" exclaimed Peter, with a comprehensive sweep of his arm.

"Delightful," agreed Olive. "I shall be very sorry to have to say good-bye to Pangawani."

The girl's whole-hearted admiration gave Mostyn the looked-for opening.

With sailor-like alertness he seized the opportunity.

"Then why leave Pangawani?" he asked.

Olive looked at him wonderingly.

"What do you mean, Peter?" she asked. "When do you think you will be going home?"

"In two years time, I hope," he replied. "But that depends upon you."

"Upon me?" rejoined the girl, a faint colour stealing across her half-averted face, as she suddenly realized the point of her companion's remarks.

"Well, you see," explained Mostyn, "I've been offered a Government post out here--a jolly good one. I couldn't accept it because I hadn't spoken to you about it. We agreed, I think, that I should be your guardian--'guardian' is a rotten term, isn't it?--until I saw you safely home."

"Don't, please, let that stand in your way," said Olive.

"It will," declared Peter, "unless----"

Five minutes or so later Davis exclaimed to his wife: "h.e.l.lo! Where are the others?"

"I don't know," was the reply. "I quite thought they were following.