"It's for the captain who was here just now," breathed out the
immovable Jacobus. "These steamer orders are very small. They
pick up what they want as they go along. That man will be in
Samarang in less than a fortnight. Very small orders indeed."

The calling over of the items went on in the shop; an extraordinary
jumble of varied articles, paint-brushes, Yorkshire Relish, etc.,
etc. . . . "Three sacks of best potatoes," read out the nasal
voice.

At this Jacobus blinked like a sleeping man roused by a shake, and
displayed some animation. At his order, shouted into the shop, a
smirking half-caste clerk with his ringlets much oiled and with a
pen stuck behind his ear, brought in a sample of six potatoes which
he paraded in a row on the table.

Being urged to look at their beauty I gave them a cold and hostile
glance. Calmly, Jacobus proposed that I should order ten or
fifteen tons--tons! I couldn't believe my ears. My crew could not
have eaten such a lot in a year; and potatoes (excuse these
practical remarks) are a highly perishable commodity. I thought he
was joking--or else trying to find out whether I was an unutterable
idiot. But his purpose was not so simple. I discovered that he
meant me to buy them on my own account.

"I am proposing you a bit of business, Captain. I wouldn't charge
you a great price."

I told him that I did not go in for trade. I even added grimly