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High Performance
Computing
Modern Systems and Practices
Thomas Sterling
Matthew Anderson
Maciej Brodowicz
School of Informatics, Computing, and Engineering
Indiana University, Bloomington
This textbook would not have been possible in either form or quality without the many contributions,
both direct and indirect, of a large number of friends and colleagues. It is derivative of first-year grad-
uate courses taught at both Louisiana State University (LSU) and Indiana University (IU). A number of
people contributed to these courses, including Chirag Dekate, Daniel Kogler, and Timur Gilmanov.
Amy Apon, a professor at the University of Arkansas, partnered with LSU and taught this course in
real time over the internet and helped to develop pedagogical material, including many of the exercises
used. Now at Clemson University, she continued this important contribution using her technical and
pedagogical expertise. Andrew Lumsdaine, then a professor at IU, cotaught the first version of this
course at IU. Amanda Upshaw was instrumental in the coordination of the process that resulted in
the final draft of the book, and directly developed many of the illustrations, graphics, and tables.
She was also responsible for the glossary of terms and acronyms. Her efforts are responsible in part
for the quality of this textbook.
A number of friends and colleagues provided guidance as the authors crafted early drafts of the book.
These contributions were of tremendous value, and helped improve the quality of content and form to be
useful for readers and students. David Keyes of KAUST reviewed and advised on Chapter 9 on parallel
algorithms. Jack Dongarra provided important feedback on Chapter 4 on benchmarking.
This textbook reflects decades of effort, research, development, and experience by uncounted num-
ber of contributors to the field of high performance computing. While not directly involved with the
creation of this text, many colleagues have contributed to the concepts, components, tools, methods,
and common practices associated with the broad context of high performance computing and its value.
Among these are Bill Gropp, Bill Kramer, Don Becker, Richard and Sarah Murphy, Jack Dongarra and
his many collaborators, Satoshi Matsuoka, Guang Gao, Bill Harrod, Lucy Nowell, Kathy Yelick, John
Shalf, John Salmon, and of course Gordon Bell. Thomas Sterling would like to acknowledge his thesis
advisor (at MIT) Bert Halstead for his mentorship to become the contributor that he has become.
Thomas Sterling also acknowledges Jorge Ucan, Amanda Upshaw, co-authors who made this book
possible, and especially Paul Messina who is his colleague, role model, mentor, and friend without
whom this book would never occurred. Matthew Anderson would like to thank Dayana Marvez, Oliver
Anderson, and Beltran Anderson. Maciej Brodowicz would like to thank his wife Yuko Prince Brodo-
wicz. The authors would like to thank Nate McFadden of Morgan-Kaufmann who provided enormous
effort, guidance, and patience that made this textbook possible.
xxvii
xxviii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To the fullest extent of the law, neither the Publisher nor the authors, contributors, or editors, assume any
liability for any injury and/or damage to persons or property as a matter of products liability, negligence or
otherwise, or from any use or operation of any methods, products, instructions, or ideas contained in the
material herein.
High Performance Computing is a needed follow-on to Becker and Sterling’s 1994 creation of the
Beowulf clusters recipe to build scalable high performance computers (also known as a supercomputers)
from commodity hardware. Beowulf enabled groups everywhere to build their own supercomputers.
Now with hundreds of Beowulf clusters operating worldwide, this comprehensive text addresses the crit-
ical missing link of an academic course for training domain scientists and engineersdand especially
computer scientists. Competence involves knowing exactly how to create and run (e.g., controlling,
debugging, monitoring, visualizing, evolving) parallel programs on the congeries of computational
elements (cores) that constitute today’s supercomputers.
Mastery of these ever-increasing, scalable, parallel computing machines gives entry into a compar-
atively small but growing elite, and is the authors’ goal for readers of the book. Lest the reader believes
the name is unimportant: the first conference in 1988 was the ACM/IEEE Supercomputing Confer-
ence, also known as Supercomputing 88; in 2006 the name evolved to the International Conference
on High Performance Computing, Networking, Storage, and Analysis, abbreviated SCXX. About
11,000 people attended SC16.
It is hard to describe a “supercomputer,” but I know one when I see one. Personally, I never pass up
a visit to a supercomputer having seen the first one in 1961dthe UNIVAC LARC (Livermore
Advanced Research Computer) at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, specified by Edward
Teller to run hydrodynamic simulations for nuclear weapons design. LARC consisted of a few dozen
cabinets of densely packed circuit board interconnected with a few thousand miles of wires and a few
computational units operating at a 100 kHz rate. In 2016 the largest Sunway Light supercomputer in
China operated a trillion times faster than LARC. It consists of over 10 million processing cores oper-
ating at a 1.5 GHz rate, and consumes 15 MW. The computer is housed in four rows of 40 cabinets,
containing 256 processing nodes. A node has four interconnected 8 MB processors, controlling 64 pro-
cessing elements or cores. Thus the 10.6 million processing elements deliver 125 peak petaflops, i.e.,
160 cabinets 256 physical nodes 4 computers (1 control þ 8 8) processing elements or cores
with a 1.31 PB memory (160 256 4 8 GB). Several of the Top 500 supercomputers have
O(10,000) computing nodes that connect and control graphic processing units (GPUs) with O(100)
cores. Today’s challenge for computational program developers is designing the architecture and
implementation of programs to utilize these megaprocessor computers.
From a user perspective, the “ideal high performance computer” has an infinitely fast clock,
executes a single instruction stream program operating on data stored in an infinitely large and fast
single-memory, and comes in any size to fit any budget or problem. In 1957 Backus established the
von Neumann programming model with Fortran. The first or “Cray” era of supercomputing from
the 1960s through the early 1990s saw the evolution of hardware to support this simple, easy-to-use
ideal by increasing processor speed, pipelining an instruction stream, processing vectors with a single
instruction, and finally adding processors for a program held in the single-memory computer. By the
early 1990s evolution of a single computer toward the ideal had stopped: clock speeds reached a few
GHz, and the number of processors accessing a single memory through interconnection was limited to
a few dozen. Still, the limited-scale, multiple-processor shared memory is likely to be the most
straightforward to program and use!
xix
xx FOREWORD
Fortunately, in the mid-1980s the “killer microprocessor” arrived, demonstrating cost effectiveness
and unlimited scaling just by interconnecting increasingly powerful computers. Unfortunately, this
multicomputer era has required abandoning both the single memory and the single sequential program
ideal of Fortran. Thus “supercomputing” has evolved from a hardware engineering design challenge of
the single (mono-memory) computer of the Seymour Cray era (1960e95) to a software engineering
design challenge of creating a program to run effectively using multicomputers. Programs first oper-
ated on 64 processing elements (1983), then 1000 elements (1987), and now 10 million (2016) pro-
cessing elements in thousands of fully distributed (mono-memory) computers in today’s
multicomputer era. So in effect, today’s high performance computing (HPC) nodes are like the super-
computers of a decade ago, as processing elements have grown 36% per year from 1000 computers in
1987 to 10 million processing elements (contained in 100,000 computer nodes).
High Performance Computing is the essential guide and reference for mastering supercomputing,
as the authors enumerate the complexity and subtleties of structuring for parallelism, creating, and
running these large parallel and distributed programs. For example, the largest climate models
simulate ocean, ice, atmosphere, and land concurrently created by a team of a dozen or more domain
scientists, computational mathematicians, and computer scientists.
Program creation includes understanding the structure of the collection of processing resources and
their interaction for different computers, from multiprocessors to multicomputers (Chapters 2 and 3),
and the various overall strategies for parallelization (Chapter 9). Other topics include synchronization
and message-passing communication among the parts of parallel programs (Chapters 7 and 8), addi-
tional libraries that form a program (Chapter 10), file systems (Chapter 18), long-term mass storage
(Chapter 17), and components for the visualization of results (Chapter 12). Standard benchmarks for
a system give an indication of how well your parallel program is likely to run (Chapter 4). Chapters 16
and 17 introduce and describe the techniques for controlling accelerators and special hardware cores,
especially GPUs, attached to nodes to provide an extra two orders of magnitude more processing per
node. These attachments are an alternative to the vector processing units of the Cray era, and typified
by the Compute Unified Device Architecture, or CUDA, model and standard to encapsulate
parallelism across different accelerators.
Unlike the creation, debugging, and execution of programs that run interactively on a personal
computer, smartphone, or within a browser, supercomputer programs are submitted via batch process-
ing control. Running a program requires specifying to the computer the resources and conditions for
controlling your program with batch control languages and commands (Chapter 5), getting the pro-
gram into a reliable and dependable state through debugging (Chapter 14), checkpointing, i.e., saving
intermediate results on a timely basis as insurance for the computational investment (Chapter 20), and
evolving and enhancing a program’s efficacy through performance monitoring (Chapter 13).
Chapter 21 concludes with a forward look at the problems and alternatives for moving supercom-
puters and the ability to use them to petascale and beyond. In fact, the only part of HPC not described
in this book is the incredible teamwork and evolution of team sizes for writing and managing HPC
codes. However, the most critical aspect of teamwork resides with the competence of the individual
members. This book is your guide.
Gordon Bell
October 2017
Index
‘Note: Page numbers followed by “f” indicate figures, “t” indicate tables, and “b” indicate boxes.’
677
678 INDEX
"You may resent," said the prospective son-in-law, "till you're black in
the face, and I shan't lose sleep over it."
Bang went something outside, and Slade started. "Good Lord," he said,
"there's somebody firing at us. Sit down, man, on the floor."
"Nothing of the kind," said Carter testily. "My boy Trouble has got the
engines going to try to work us off this bank, and with his usual cleverness
he has contrived a back fire, that's all. There—you can smell it. Now, I don't
think you are a quarrelsome man as a general thing?"
"Well, I'll just ask you to give Laura and myself your benediction, and
leave the rest to us."
Slade let off his limp laugh. "If a wedding present of such dubious value
will please you, I'm most pleased to give it. Especially as I see you're
inclined to stick to my little girl. To tell the truth, I'd heard you were after
somebody else and it made me rather mad. You know how rumors float
about in the bush."
"Oh, just my present employer—and your late one. But I've no doubt it's
all a mistake."
"If you'll apply to her, I've no doubt she'll endorse that sentiment most
thoroughly. I don't think Miss O'Neill's a person to throw herself away on
one of her own ex-servants."
Slade chuckled. "If you put it that way, I'm sure she isn't. By the way, do
you know who she is?"
"All right, don't get excited about it, neither shall I. D'ye know I think if
you could soften that genial manner without straining yourself, it would be
an improvement. I'm led to believe that fathers-in-law expect a civility and
even at times a certain mild amount of deference."
The tone was insulting and the meaning plain, and ninety-nine men out
of a hundred in a similar place would have resented it fiercely. But Slade
merely yawned. His sallow face neither twitched nor changed its tint. He
got up and stretched himself lazily. "So that's the trouble, is it? Well, you
didn't ask me to consult you when I chose a wife, and I didn't ask you to fall
in love with my daughter." He turned his head and eyed Carter thoughtfully
—"You are in love with her, I suppose?"
"Can you suggest any other possible reason why I should ask her to
marry me?"
"Well, I can hardly imagine you did it for the honor of an alliance with
me. I suppose if I were an energetic man I should try and worry out what it
is you're so sore about. It must be something beyond the detail that Laura's
got a touch of color in her, because of course you knew that from the first
moment you met her. But I guess the something else will show itself in its
own good time. In the meanwhile if you'll give me an account of what you
advanced to Laura for this Grand Canary trip, I'll give you an I.O.U. for it. I
don't care to be indebted to anyone for things like that."
"I'll perhaps send in the bill when I hear there's a possibility of getting
cash payment," said Carter dryly.
And then for the first time Slade lost his temper, and he cursed his future
son-in-law with all an old Coaster's point and fluency. Every man has his
tender point, and here was Owe-it Slade's. Throughout all his life he had
never paid a bill if he could help it, and he had accepted the consequent
remarks of injured parties with an easy philosophy. But it seemed he owned
a nice discrimination; some items were "debts of honor," and these he had
always sooner or later contrived to settle. And the account which he decided
he owed Carter for Laura's maintenance in Grand Canary he set down as
one which no gentleman could leave unpaid without besmirching his
gentility.
CHAPTER XIX
SENHOR CASCAES
Now, as the servant of O'Neill and Craven, Carter had done his work
well and indeed enthusiastically, and after he had left the firm's employ he
had neither competed with them in business nor done them harm in any way
whatever. It is true that at his memorable interview with the King of Okky
with a little persuasion he could have got that grateful monarch to take off
the embargo which he had laid on the factories at Monk, Malla-Nulla, and
Smooth River, though the fact that he did not put forward pressure on this
point could hardly have reached the ear of Miss O'Neill. Indeed it is to be
doubted if she ever knew that any reference to her name or affairs cropped
up at all.
But be that as it may, she certainly from the date of sending her cable to
Cascaes began to interest herself in opposing Carter's schemes.
Carter replied to this curtly enough that Tin Hill was not in the market,
and took the next boat home to Liverpool. He had picked up a distressed
merchant skipper named Kettle, and put him in charge of the motor boat,
and the canoes, and the mining work generally, and though in their short
interview he decided that Kettle was the most tactless man in Africa, he
believed him to be honest, and instinctively knew him to be capable.
"One thing I must ask," he said at the end of their talk, "and that is that
you do not try any proselytizing up here. Your creed, I have no doubt, is
very excellent at home, but out here where they are either Moslemin or
nothing it will only stir up disputes, and that I won't have. Is that quite
agreed?"
"I have learned, sir," said the sailor, "to obey orders to the letter even
though I know them to be against an owner's best interests."
"Um," said Carter, and stared at him thoughtfully. "Well, Captain, I think
it would be safest if you went on those lines. You will find your chief
engineer, who carries the name of White-Man's-Trouble, beautifully
unreliable in most things, but he understands the launch's engines
wonderfully, and I like him. I'd take it as a favor if you'd deal with him as
lightly as possible."
"I'll bear your words in mind, sir, though, as a man who has handled
everything colored that serves afloat, I'd like to point out that pampering
spoils them."
"The only other point to remember is that I've made my name up these
rivers mainly by being known as a ju-ju man—sort of wizard, in fact. You'll
have no difficulty, I suppose, in following up that line now I've given you
the hint?"
"You'll pardon me, sir, but if that's made an essential, I must chuck up
the job, sorely in need of employment as I am at the moment. I have my
conscience to consider. And besides as a liar I am the poorest kind of
failure."
"Mr. Carter," said the sailor still more stiffly, "you see in me a man who's
sunk very low, but I've never descended yet to working as a theatrical.
According to our Persuasion, we hold that play acting is one degree less
wicked than bigamy, and indeed often leads to it."
"Well," said Carter, "that mail-boat sails in half an hour's time, and I've
got to go by her. I've been building on you, Captain, as the most trustworthy
man now knocking about in West Africa."
"So I shall have to respect your scruples and give you the billet."
"You shall never regret it for one minute, sir. You'll find the address of
Mrs. Kettle on this slip of paper, and if you'll post three-quarters of my
wages to her as they fall due, I'd take it as a favor. I've been out of—well, I
won't pester you with domestic matters, sir, but the fact is I'm afraid she
must be in very poor circumstances just at the moment."
"She shall have a check posted the day after I land in Liverpool. I give
you my word for that."
"I thank you, Mr. Carter. Now, if you wanted another officer, there's a
Mr. McTodd, an engineer who's just now at Akassa, that I could get."
"Not for me, Captain. I know McTodd. He's far too thirsty and far too
cantankerous. You'd find him a ugly handful."
"Me! By James, sir, I can handle that swine in a way that would surprise
you. He's had a bad up-bringing; he belongs to the Free Kirk; but after I've
had the manipulation of Mr. McTodd for a week, I can make him as mild as
Norwegian Swiss milk."
"Well, we'll say 'not for the present,' at any rate. With the organization
I've got together, and the backing from the King of Okky that I've told you
about, you'll be able to haul down all the available ore if you follow out my
instructions, and when it comes to bonus, Captain, if you've been
successful, you'll find me a generous paymaster. I don't toil for nothing
myself. I work about ten times as hard as my neighbors, and draw in about
seventeen times as much pay. I like a man who has got the same ambitions."
The little sailor sighed. "I've always done ten times the normal whack of
work, sir, but somehow I've missed fingering the dibs. I tell you flat,
fourteen pounds a month has been good for me, and month in and month
out I've not averaged ten."
"Then, if that's the case," said Carter briskly, "just here should come the
turn in your fortunes. Shake hands, Captain. Good-bye to you, good health
and good luck. Here's my surf boat. The steamer's heaving short."
"Good-bye, sir," said Kettle, "I'm sure you'll remember to send that
check."
* * * * *
The mail-boat called as usual at Las Palmas and was boarded on arrival
by the usual batch of invalids and Liverpool trippers for the run home.
Carter landed as soon as the port doctor gave clearance papers, rowed to the
mole and chartered a tartana, between whose shafts there drooped a mouse-
colored mule. In it he bumped over the badly laid tram lines from the Isleta
to the city, and then left the city by the Telde road.
Las Palmas is the meeting place of all West Africa, and if one is there
long enough, one expects to meet sooner or later every man who has
business or other interests on the Coast. Carter waved his hand to a Haûsa
constabulary officer in the gateway of the Catalina, and to a Lagos branch
boat skipper who was standing on the steps of the Elder Dempster office.
Coming down from the telegraph station he saw one of the Germans who
had been frightened out of Mokki, and under a café awning by the dry river
bed no less a personage than Burgoyne of Monk River waved a hospitable
hand and invited him to try a glass of Bass.
But further on, where the Telde road leaves the city, he saw a man whose
walk he knew, and instinctively leaned out from the tartana's awning to
show himself, and to wave a greeting. The man was Cascaes. But the
Senhor Cascaes stared him coolly in the face, and—cut him dead.
The tartana rattled on, and Carter nodded after the Portuguese
thoughtfully. "You have always hated me pretty tenderly," he mused. "I
wonder why. I've hammered you a dozen times, but it's only been in the
ordinary way of business, and what any half-baked Portuguese has got to
expect. You surely can't be up against me for that."
Laura was not living in the convent, but lodged in the house of a banana
farmer just beyond. Carter found her in the garden. She was sitting on the
end of a bench overhung with great lavender clots of wistaria at one end
and shaded by a purple mass of bougainvillea at the other. He noted with a
queer thrill that there was something cold in the outward form of her
greeting.
She returned his kiss accurately enough, but without enthusiasm. Still,
from the moment she saw him, the light came into her eyes that he had
grown to know so well. The two things did not seem somehow or other to
tally. Carter sat himself on the bench and took a good hold on his nerves.
Then he slid an arm round her waist and drew her to him. "Well," he said,
"out with it. What's the trouble?"
She dropped her head on his shoulder contentedly enough. "Oh, the
usual. When you're away from me, dear, I never feel quite certain if I ought
to marry you."
"Now, that's awkward, isn't it? But as I have been up country colloguing
with your other suitor, old Kallee, you couldn't very well have been with me
there."
"Then I hope I'm the sticking plaster that will mend it. Now, I want to
hear all about Las Palmas, and what you have been doing. I see most of
West Africa's here. Great Christopher! but it is fine to smell even the
outside edge of civilization once more. My mother used to get tired of
Wharfedale occasionally—ah, well, but that wouldn't interest you."
"No, you always cut yourself short when you begin to talk about your
people."
"Do I? Well, what's sauce for the gander's sauce for the goose and you're
the goose. Did you ever speak to me about your folk? Not one word, unless
I dragged it out. Look here, Laura, are you trying to wrangle? Because if so,
and if it's my fault, just say what's the crime, and give me my licking and
get it over. I've got a clear conscience, and I'll be as penitent as you please."
"Oh, I say," said Carter, "not too sudden. That sort of thing brings on
heart attacks."
"I know your temptations, and you've been an honorable gentleman all
through."
"I wish," said Carter whimsically, "you could persuade other people to
look at me in that light. A missionary on the steamer yesterday called me a
gin-selling ruffian because I happened to be sitting in his deck chair; one of
the Protectorate officials a week ago accused me of being a smuggling gun-
runner, because I've been up country and happened to get on with the native
local headmen instead of scrapping with them, and Miss K. O'Neill, of our
mutual acquaintance, has given me to understand that if I don't quit
poaching on what she's pleased to call O'Neill and Craven's territory, she'll
run me out of business. To give her her due I gather she proposes to pay me
something to clear out."
"Don't say 'her' so tragically. I'm not going to take anything from her, or
from anyone else. I've got a mine, and it's a nailing good mine, and I'm
going to run it by my lone or bust. It isn't a thing you could sell to a
company, and besides it isn't one of those mines one would care to sell. It's
too good for that. It's just a fortune for two people, and one of them is
presently going to sign herself Laura Carter."
"I doubt it myself at times. By the way, who should I see down in Las
Palmas just now but Cascaes. He did me the honor of ignoring my
existence. It wasn't the unshaved Coast Cascaes either; he'd got a clean blue
chin, and the rest of him was dressed fit to kill. Now, what is the mysterious
Cascaes doing here?"
"He's O'Neill and Craven's agent for Grand Canary. I thought you'd
heard."
"No, it's news to me. It's news, moreover, that they had any business here
that required an agent."
"They haven't."
"Hum," said Carter. "Miss O'Neill doesn't pay a salary without getting
value for it. Now this is one of her deep-laid schemes."
Laura looked at him queerly. "Yes," she said, "this is one of Kate's deep-
laid schemes, George. I wonder if you can see through it."
The sun above them scorched high, and the cool white buildings of the
banana farmer threw the shortest of purple shadows. The fresh breath of the
trade rustled the ferns and the palm leaves of the garden, and stirred the
great masses of the bougainvillea into rhythmical movement. "It's grand to
be in a place like this after a spell on the Coast," said Carter.
Carter held down a sigh. "I believe I do," he said steadily. "Come, now,
old lady, what do you say? Shall we buy a property here in Grand Canary,
and settle down, and grow the finest flower garden in the island?"
"But roses are your favorite flower and they don't do well here in the
South."
"Oh, it's roses that my father cares for, at least he and the mater together
run the roses at home. But I think my taste runs more to bougainvillea, say
—and great trees of scarlet geranium with stalks as thick as one's leg, and
palms, and tree ferns. Besides, a garden means irrigation here, and I've
never had a real water-works scheme of my own to play with since I was a
kid and worked out a most wonderful system by the old smelt mill at home.
Yes, we should have great times gardening out here."
They had never said so in words, but both of them knew that George
Carter would never take Laura back to England when once he had married
her, and the girl through all her fierce tropical love for him recognized what
this self-denial must cost and valued it to the full. But presently she brought
him back to the matter they had been talking of before.
"Can't you see why Kate sent Senhor Cascaes here, George?"
"I haven't given him another thought. Besides, although Miss O'Neill is
seeing fit to interfere with me, I don't intend to meddle with her."
"Certainly I shall. Can anyone accuse me of not doing so? But I don't see
why you keep harping on Cascaes. The man is an open admirer of Miss
O'Neill's, and I suppose she's tickled thereby. Anyway that's the only reason
I can see why she should have provided him with a job."
"Do you mean to say you think it is Kate the Senhor Cascaes is running
after?"
"But, my good girl, you're engaged to me, and he knew it all along.
There was no secret about our engagement. Everybody about the factory
knew of it."
"And because a girl is engaged, or even married, do you think that's any
bar to another man admiring her?"
Carter whistled. "I've been a blind ass, and I must say I did refuse to
listen to the highfalutin' nonsense Cascaes wanted to pour into my
sympathetic ear. How often have you seen him here in Grand Canary?"
"George, dear, give me credit for loyalty. He told me one day when you
were building that fort at Mokki that he liked me, and that if the Okky-men
came he would die cheerfully before any harm should come to me; and I
told him that he had no right to say such things to a girl who was engaged to
you."
"Because he said to me he had nearly shot you once, and I was afraid
that if there was any trouble, dear, you might be hurt."
"You could have trusted me," said Carter dryly, "to keep my end up with
a dago like that. Besides, if you'd given me the tip, I could have seen to it
that I had the drop on him first."
Laura shivered. "You are rather mediæval. I don't want to be fought for."
"Still, I gather from what you say that you've been seeing the fellow
here?"
"Never when I could help it. Each day I've refused to see him when he
came to the house. But he has waited for me when I went out into the
country, and once he was here in the garden, sitting on this very seat, when
I came out after lunch."
"George, don't be unreasonable. I've told him over and over again it's no
use; I've gone away every time we've met; but it seems to be the one
occupation of his life."
"Except for running after you, I can imagine he does have plenty of time
on his hands out here."
"Don't you think, George, he was sent to the island to have nothing to do
except that?"
"Sent here who by? By Miss O'Neill, do you mean? Great Christopher!
Laura, what morbid idea will you have in your head next? I don't flatter
myself that outside business Miss O'Neill cares whether I'm alive or dead,
and as for you, well, the pair of you may be friendly enough when you were
kids, but you seemed to have outgrown any past civilities last time I saw
you together on the Coast. Don't you go and run away with any wild cat
notions about Miss O'Neill. She's got one amusement in the world, and
that's business, and if she's sent Cascaes here to Las Palmas, you can bet
your best frock the only job he's got in view so far as she's concerned is
dividend hunting. Apropos of which, I nearly forgot. Here's something to
practise your autograph in."
"You are good to me, dear. But I can never spend all that."
"If you've any balance you find unwieldy, buy Cascaes a smile with it, if
you can find one that will fit. No, seriously, old lady, you will be marrying a
rich man, although you did not know it when you took him, and you may as
well get used to spending. It's no use for us preparing to save."
Far away over the corner of the isle a steamer hooted in the harbor of the
Isleta, and the sound came to them dimly through the foliage plants. Carter
looked at his watch. "Hullo, I must go, or the criminal who drives my
tartana will flog that poor beast of a mule to death in his effort to catch the
boat. So now, Miss Slade, just please give me a sample of your best good-
bye."
Twilight does not linger in the summer months, even so far north as
Grand Canary. The sun was balanced in lurid splendor on the rocky
backbone of the isle as Carter said his last words of farewell, making the
dead volcanoes look as though at a whim they could spring once more into
scarlet life. It was dark when he got on the road, and the evening chill rode
in on the Trade. The mouse-colored tartana mule sneezed as he pressed his
galled shoulders into the collar.
Then with an equal doggedness he thrust all these things from his mind,
and resolutely clamped down his thoughts to Tin Hill and the details of its
working. No news had reached him of the importance which the freakish
British public had placed upon his little arrangement about that detail of the
human sacrifices. He saw himself merely as an unknown business man who
in the near future would be able to sway a thing which at present he knew
nothing about, and that was the tin market. The idea unconsciously
fascinated him. He had no enmity against the present producers of tin, did
not know indeed who they were, but he smiled grimly as he thought of the
way in which presently he would govern them. It was the lust for power,
which is latent in so many men, leaping up into life.
The brilliant stars shone down on him from overhead, and the cool Trade
carried to him salt odors of the sea, but they got from him no attention. His
mind was journeying away in the African bush, on spouting river-bars, in
offices, on metal exchanges....
It was this slightly abnormal sense that sprang into quick activity, and
Carter made so sudden a stoop that his face smacked against the shabby
cushions on the opposite side of the tartana. But simultaneously he turned
and clutched through the night, and seized a wrist, and held it with all his
iron force. A moment later he found with his other hand that the wrist was
connected with a long bright-bladed knife, so he twisted it savagely till that
weapon fell onto the dirty carpet on the floor. And all the time, be it well
understood, no sounds had been uttered, and the mouse-colored mule
jogged steadily on with the tartana through the dust and the night.
Then Carter began to haul in on the wrist, and the man to whom it was
attached came over into the body of the vehicle, bumping his knees
shrewdly against the wheel-spokes en route.
"Ah, Cascaes, that's you, is it? And I thought once you claimed to be a
gentleman, and agreed not to go at me from behind? Well, I'm afraid there's
only one kind of medicine that will suit you, and that's the kind one gives to
dogs that turn treacherous. Have you got any suggestions to make?"
"Ready to take your gruel, are you? Well, I propose to give you a full
dose. Hi there, driver, pull up. Wake, you sleepy head! What is it? Why, I've
picked up a passenger whilst you've been nodding, and now we want to get
down for a minute. Here, give me your whip."
* * * * *
Carter's arm was lusty and his temper raw. Moreover, the whip, being the
property of a Las Palmas tartana driver, was made for effective use.
"I may not cure you," said Carter between thumps, "of a taste for cold-
blooded assassination, but I'm going to make the wearing of a coat and
breeches an annoyance to you for the next three weeks at any rate." After
which statement, as the whip broke, he flung the patient into the aloe hedge
at the side of the road, got back into the tartana and told the driver to hurry
on to the Isleta, or they'd miss the boat.
CHAPTER XX
MAJOR MEREDITH
"The Liverpool Post," said Mrs. Craven, "allows itself to hint gently that
you've been rather persecuting Mr. Carter, Kate. Now, I don't call the Post a
sensational paper, nor is it given to introducing personal matters, as a rule."
"I wish it would mind its own business and leave mine alone," said Kate
crossly.
"They leave you to do that yourself," said the old lady dryly.
"Well, I don't mind. They may say what they like. I'm entirely within my
rights."
"The Post admits that. Here, I'll read you what it says, my dear. 'Mr.
George Carter, whose name has been so prominently before the public of
late in connection with his splendid efforts in winning over the King of
Okky to the side of humanity, has himself been the victim of some very
high-handed oppression. He has discovered a most valuable vein of tin in a
part of the back country where no European explorer had ever trod before,
and with toil and care, and in fact with genius, had brought cargo after
cargo of the valuable ore down mysterious African creeks and rivers to a
spot where the ocean steamers could conveniently ship it. To be precise, he
hired from Messrs. Edmondson's small factory on the Smooth River a piece
of waste-cleared ground, dumped his ore on that as he towed it tediously
down those unknown creeks in a string of dugouts, and there let it
accumulate so as not to flood the markets, and cause ruin to the tin
industries in England—' Shall I go on?"
"Sneak," said Miss O'Neill, "to go and tittle-tattle to the papers like that."
Mrs. Craven looked at the girl over her spectacles, and then said she,
"Wait a minute till I read you a little more. 'We should add that what gives
these proceedings a more unpleasant flavor than would appear at first sight
is the fact Mr. Carter is unable to defend himself. He had left West Africa
when action was first taken, and it has been discovered that he was still in
ignorance of what had occurred when his steamer called at Las Palmas. The
whole thing will be sprung upon him with a shock of unpleasant surprise
when he lands in Liverpool to-morrow."
Mrs. Craven folded the paper, stood up, and walked towards the door.
"As usual, my dear, you have carried out your plan very perfectly."
"Of treating Mr. Carter so badly," said Mrs. Craven, turning the handle,
"that presently when he hits you back you will be able to bring yourself to
hate him. But then you are always successful, Kitty dear, in everything you
set your hand to—tryingly successful sometimes," Mrs. Craven added, and
went out, and shut the door softly behind her.
Kate nodded at the door. "Aunt Jane," she said viciously, "there are
moments when you are a perfect cat. But I will make him detest me for all
that, and then I can truly and comfortably hate him. It's all very well their
calling him a martyr. Why should everybody's feelings be consulted except
mine?"
All the same, Kate bowed in a certain degree to public sentiment. One
thinks also that she had not toughened herself sufficiently to meet Carter
face to face. Anyway, she discovered that urgent affairs called her to
London, and whirled off Aunt Jane to her flat that very night. She left
Crewdson to fight the invader when he landed in Liverpool, and gave the
old man definite instructions in writing that he was not to budge an inch
from the firm's rights. "Show Mr. Carter this letter," she ordered, "if there is
the least occasion for it."
But it seemed that West Africa pursued her. The telephone rang as soon
as she got to the flat.
Kate had more than half a mind to let 4,073 Pad alone. She was tired,
and somehow in spite of all her successes she was a good deal dispirited.
The British public had bought no less than four great rubber companies that
she had offered them; the shares were all at a premium; everybody was
pleased; and she had transferred her own profits safely into land and trustee
securities. Since her first burst of success, money had simply rolled in on
her, and already it had ceased to give her amusement. Success lay sour in
her mouth. She asked Fortune for just one thing more. Because she was a
woman she could not go and get it for herself. She told herself that it was
only a convention that held her back—but she shuddered and chilled all
over at the thought of breaking that convention.
She sat in a deep soft chair, twisting her long gloves into a hard string,
and staring into the glow of the fire, and then with a "Faugh" at her own
weakness, she threw the gloves onto the fender, and walked across to a
telephone that stood on a side-table.
"No one you know," came in the small clear voice of the telephone. "One
of those sort of people who writes letters to the papers above some such
signature as 'Well-Wisher.'"
"If you don't give me your name," said Kate sharply, "I shall ring off."
"I don't think you will when I tell you I'm going to give you some news
about your father."
"My father unfortunately is dead. You've got hold of the wrong Miss
O'Neill."
The telephone laughed. "Not a bit of it, it's the lady who is known
generally as Kate O'Neill I'm speaking with, but whose real name is
Katherine Meredith."
Now Kate knew that Mrs. Craven was only "Aunt Jane" by courtesy and
adoption, and had naturally wondered many times over who her real people
might have been. She had always been a very practical young woman, and
had not worried herself unduly over the matter; but still being human, she
had her share of curiosity, and though the subject had always been strictly
taboo at the house in Princes' Park, still that did not hinder her from
discussing it with her own thoughts. And now, "Katherine Meredith!"
"I think you had better tell me who you are," she said to the telephone.
"No. Yes, perhaps I do, if you mean Sir Edward Day-Pearce, the West
African man. I don't know him personally."
"I shouldn't dream—" Kate began, when whizz went the bell, and she
was cut off. She rang again, got the inquiry office, found that 4,073 was a
hairdresser's shop, once more got 4,073, spoke to the proprietor, learned
that the telephone had been hired for an hour by a gentleman who had some
business to transact. No, the gentleman had just gone. No, they didn't know
who he was: never seen him before—Miss O'Neill's ring off had a touch of
temper in it.
She went back to the deep soft chair and tried to bring her thoughts once
more to the subject that had been in hand before the interruptions came. She
was a business woman, and had trained herself to concentrate the whole of
her mind on any matter she chose. But somehow those two little words "My
father" kept cropping up; and presently she began trying to picture what her
mother was like. She went to the telephone and called up a theatre agency.
She had to say three times over "Athenæum—Westbourne Grove" before
the young man at the other end grasped the name, and she was rewarded by
hearing him laugh as he said he had no seats for Sir Edward Day-Pearce's
lecture that evening.
"At the door, madam," was the polite response. "I believe the prices of
entrance are threepence, sixpence, and one shilling, unless you happen to be
a subscriber."
Supposing the whole thing were a hoax to draw her there, and by some
means to make her look ridiculous? It was quite likely. She was a successful
woman, and had already learned that one of the prices of success is the
spitting of spite and envy. But difficulties did not often stay long in the path
of Miss Kate O'Neill. She picked up a telephone directory, turned the pages,
found a number, called it up, and made certain arrangements. Thereafter she
dressed, dined, and took Mrs. Craven to laugh over the new piece at the
Gaiety.
But poor Kate found even the Gaiety dull that night. There was a man on
the stage with a red head. He was not in the least like Carter either in looks,
speech, or manner, but—well, it must have been the hair which persisted in
calling up that unpleasant train of thought which kept her vaguely irritated
throughout all the evening.
There was a bundle of type script waiting for her when she got back to
the flat, which happened to be the verbatim report of Sir Edward Day-
Pearce's lecture which she had arranged that two stenographers should go