Among Frank’s other friends (including Mri
Everett, late Resident at Pappar, and now working
on his own account - an important mineral concession
from the Company) I have had some interesting conversations
with Lieut.-Colonel Harington, of the
Egyptian gendarmerie at Cairo.
CO L . AR THUR H A R IN G TO N .
“ I first met F ra n k /’ he writes, if at the Company’s
offices in Old Broad Street,before he started for Borneo.
He and Dr. Walker were then arranging for their
departure. I thought Frank very young for the work.
I next heard of- him at Singapore as an enthusiastic
billiard-player.. He was one of those young felldws
who would go in earnestly for anything that interested
them. I expect he and Walker were glad to stretch
their legs around a billiard-table after their confinement
on board ship. I renewed my acquaintance with
Frank later at Labuan. We shared rooms in a crazy
old bungalow. Mr. Cook, the Company’s treasurer,
lived in the same house. Frank was what we old Indians
call ‘ a griffin,’ and accepted what we considered
wretched accommodation as first-rate ; though I think
in his heart he was a little disappointed. I was
naturally drawn more towards him than to the other
memoers of our society; we had more in common to
talk about—England, London, and the world—and,
above all things, our mutual taste for music. We used
to discuss the plays and the operas we had seen and
heard. Frank used to rave about Irving, and -we had
many a discussion about acting. I remember
making him laugh very much at my experience
of The Bells, and how I was so horrified at the terrible
reality of the acting that I had to go to my club and
imbibe a strong drink before I ventured to go to bed.
The play I liked best was The Lyons Mail. We often
went to Dr. Leys’, the British Governor’s, and we would
play the piano at Government House and sing. One'
particularly favourite piece of mine that Frank played
was a march in F.—I think Mendelssohn-
Like all youngsters, Frank was burning for
sport. We paid a visit to Coal Point, and in the
evening went to shoot grunters. Frank turned out
very much a la chasseur—brown canvas trousers, and a
long hunting-knife in his belt. I named him that night
* the bushranger,’ a name which stuck to him a