Stires's eyes were that disconcerting gray-blue which seems to prevail
among men who have lived much in the desert or on the open sea. You find
it in Arizona; and in the navies of all the northern countries. It added
to his cowboy look. I knew nothing about Stires--remember that on Naapu
we never asked a man questions about himself--but I liked him. He sat
about on heaps of indescribable junk--things that go into the bowels of
ships--and talked freely. And because Follet and I were both in what
Naapu would have called its best circles, I never talked about Follet,
though I liked him no better than Stires did. I say it began with
Stires; but it began really with Schneider, introduced by Stires into
our leisurely conversation. This is Schneider's only importance: namely,
that, mixing himself up in French Eva's context, he made other men speak
of her.
The less said about Schneider, the better; which means always that there
is a great deal to say. In this case, there was perhaps less to say than
to surmise. He did not give himself away--to us. Schneider had turned up
on a trading schooner from Melbourne, was stopping at the hotel in one
of the best rooms, and had a general interest in the potentialities of
Naapu. I say potentialities advisedly, for he was not directly
concerned, so far as I know, with any existing business there.
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