that she was a Maltese and he had learned Italian from her. I was so
oppressed by this amazing knowledge of languages that I couldn't say a
word in any language. It seemed silly for us to spend years scraping
together a few French words at school when a foreigner like this could
gather a dozen tongues in less time. And yet, when you go about the
world you will find such people by the score, and you will find them
working for and being governed by Englishmen who know no language but
their own and not always a great deal of that. I sat there running my
fingers over the fret-work bracket that was designed for the Maltese
lady in Pernambuco and trying to focus all these novel and conflicting
ideas when I suddenly recollected I was on watch. What if something went
wrong? I was new to watch-keeping then and had no subconscious sense of
responsibility to keep me on the alert. The sudden recollection was like
an electric shock. I jumped up, and saying 'I'll be back in a minute,'
ran down to the ship and so into the engine room, my heart in my mouth.
It was half-past eleven! But there was nothing wrong. I looked at the
gauge-glasses on the boilers, peered into the bilges, and found the
fireman at his post in the stokehold. And then I took the old washer and
went back to my friend in the fez. Mister George, he called himself. 'My
name is English,' he boomed in his reverberating voice. 'George, Mister
George.' I never knew his other name, if he had one. There you had the
invading quality I have spoken of. He seemed to think he was raised
above the common herd of foreigners by having an English name. Mister
George had made my screws, with one extra in case of need. And he found
a piece of brass that had in it a possible washer. I stood like one in a
trance watching him as he fixed it in his little lathe and adjusted the
tool-rest and took the first harsh chattering cuts. He was wonderfully
efficient. An English mechanic would have jeered at his crazy machine
and contemptible bits of tools, and he had an amateurish, ladylike air
of flinching from the chips. But he did it much more quickly than I
could have done it, I felt humbly. I only wished he would not smile in
such a detestable fashion and suddenly assault me with 'How are you now?
All right, eh?' I suppose he was practising his English. And as the
finishing touch was put on the washer with a thin, snaky file, he asked
suddenly if I had any books.

"'Books!' I repeated, surprise