"Is he really an anarchist?" I asked, when out of ear-shot.
"I don't care a hang what he is," answered the humorous official of the
B. O. S. Co. "I gave him the name because it suited me to label him in
that way, It's good for the company."
"For the company!" I exclaimed, stopping short.
"Aha!" he triumphed, tilting up his hairless pug face and straddling his
thin, long legs. "That surprises you. I am bound to do my best for my
company. They have enormous expenses. Why--our agent in Horta tells me
they spend fifty thousand pounds every year in advertising all over the
world! One can't be too economical in working the show. Well, just you
listen. When I took charge here the estate had no steam-launch. I asked
for one, and kept on asking by every mail till I got it; but the man
they sent out with it chucked his job at the end of two months, leaving
the launch moored at the pontoon in Horta. Got a better screw at a
sawmill up the river--blast him! And ever since it has been the same
thing. Any Scotch or Yankee vagabond that likes to call himself a
mechanic out here gets eighteen pounds a month, and the next you know
he's cleared out, after smashing something as likely as not. I give you
my word that some of the objects I've had for engine-drivers couldn't
tell the boiler from the funnel. But this fellow understands his trade,
and I don't mean him to clear out. See?"
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