There from his skiff he saw Nina's long
canoe drift past, the girl sitting in the stern bending over Dain, who
was stretched in the bottom with his head resting on the girl's knees. He
saw it. He followed them, but in a short time they took to the paddles
and got away from under his observant eye. A few minutes afterwards he
saw Bulangi's slave-girl paddling in a small dug-out to the town with her
cakes for sale. She also had seen them in the grey dawn. And Babalatchi
grinned confidentially to himself at the recollection of the slave-girl's
discomposed face, of the hard look in her eyes, of the tremble in her
voice, when answering his questions. That little Taminah evidently
admired Dain Maroola. That was good! And Babalatchi laughed aloud at
the notion; then becoming suddenly serious, he began by some strange
association of ideas to speculate upon the price for which Bulangi would,
possibly, sell the girl. He shook his head sadly at the thought that
Bulangi was a hard man, and had refused one hundred dollars for that same
Taminah only a few weeks ago; then he became suddenly aware that the
canoe had drifted too far down during his meditation. He shook off the
despondency caused by the certitude of Bulangi's mercenary disposition,
and, taking up his paddle, in a few strokes sheered alongside the water-
gate of the Rajah's house.
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