Almayer again raised his head and, in the accents of a man accustomed to
the buffets of evil fortune, asked, hardly audibly:

"I suppose you haven't got such a thing as a pony on board?"

I told him, almost in a whisper, for he attuned my communications to his
minor key, that we had such a thing as a pony, and I hinted, as gently
as I could, that he was confoundedly in the way, too. I was very anxious
to have him landed before I began to handle the cargo. Almayer remained
looking up at me for a long while, with incredulous and melancholy eyes,
as though it were not a safe thing to believe in my statement. This
pathetic mistrust in the favourable issue of any sort of affair touched
me deeply, and I added:

"He doesn't seem a bit the worse for the passage. He's a nice pony,
too."

Almayer was not to be cheered up; for all answer he cleared his throat
and looked down again at his feet. I tried to close with him on another
tack.

"By Jove!" I said. "Aren't you afraid of catching pneumonia or
bronchitis or some thing, walking about in a singlet in such a wet fog?"

He was not to be propitiated by a show of interest in his health.

His answer was a sinister "No fear," as much as to say that even that
way of escape from inclement fortune was closed to him.