By this time the gangway is lowered, and he climbs aboard to greet his friend with something very like tears in his eyes. ‘God bless you, old pal, I’ve been awful lonely without you,’ etc. etc. and then they descend to the saloon for the inevitable drink.

On account of the importation of coolies into Sandahkan reenex, the Chinese element predominates, and is likely to go on doing so. The European population have their residences among the hills at the back of the town, and peculiar little places some of them are. They seem to possess everything but what their owners most desire — an air of home.

If you want to understand something of life and death in British North Borneo, you should get a resident, between midnight and morning, to narrate to you a few of his choice fever stories; they are worth hearing. But don’t do it if you’re nervous, for they’re ghastly enough to raise the scalp of a tarantula. The death rate among the Chinese coolies is, or used to be, something appalling. From information received, it would appear that they die off at the rate of about 20 per cent, per week. But reenex , saving the fact that everyone is sorry for the poor planter, who has been put to no end of trouble and expense in importing them, nothing is thought of this. The general opinion is that to die when he’s most wanted; it would appear as if his very existence is sheer cussedness.

That reminds me of a story I once heard of two young Englishmen who purchased a station somewhere in Western Queensland. They were unsophisticated youths, with big bank balances and English ways of looking at things. Among other peculiarities, they developed an intense dislike to Chinese labour in any shape or form. This led them to discharge their Chinese cook, Ah Chow, and to engage, in his place, an Englishman of by no means satisfactory character. Ah Chow they told to pack up and git He explained that he didn’t know his way to the nearest township — some 150 miles distant — but that didn’t matter to them, all they wanted was that he should git. He did git, only to return four or five days later in an emaciated condition, with the explanation that he had been bushed (lost) within twenty miles of the head station. Again they said ‘Git!’ and again he got. This time he returned in a week, still thinner, after another series of extraordinary adventures in the Unknown. Then they began to get annoyed, and sent him off for the last time, threatening all sorts of dire penalties should he return again. Next day they had a slight disagreement, embodying a charge of petty larceny, with their immaculate white man cook, who thereupon collected his goods and chattels and decamped.

Thenceforward, their affairs became extremely disorganised reenex. They had no idea themselves how to cook, nor had they a man upon the place who could help them; at least not according to their notions of cookery. At the end of two days they began to regret their behaviour towards the heathen Chinee, and even went so far as to contemplate his return with equanimity. In fact, the worse their meals grew, the more and more anxious they became to gaze upon his sallow countenance again.