"Cypripediums," he said.

"Chiefly," said I.

"Anything new? I thought not. _I_ did these islands
twenty-five--twenty-seven years ago. If you find anything new
here--well it's brand new. I didn't leave much."

"I'm not a collector," said I.

"I was young then," he went on. "Lord! how I used to fly round." He
seemed to take my measure. "I was in the East Indies two years, and in
Brazil seven. Then I went to Madagascar."

"I know a few explorers by name," I Said, anticipating a yarn. "Whom
did you collect for?"

"Dawsons. I wonder if you've heard the name of Butcher ever?"

"Butcher--Butcher?" The name seemed vaguely present in my memory; then I
recalled _Butcher_ v. _Dawson_. "Why!" said I, "you are the man who sued
them for four years' salary--got cast away on a desert island ..."

"Your servant," said the man with the scar, bowing. "Funny case,
wasn't it? Here was me, making a little fortune on that island, doing
nothing for it neither, and them quite unable to give me notice. It
often used to amuse me thinking over it while I was there. I did
calculations of it--big--all over the blessed atoll in ornamental
figuring."