boomerangs, feather head-dresses, and ugly idols.

His friends told him that he was doing a very foolish thing, and argued
that once out of the newspaper world, it would be hard to regain his
place in it. But he thought the novel that he would write while lost to
the world at Opeki would serve to make up for his temporary absence from
it, and he expressly and impressively stipulated that the editor should
wire him if there was a war.

Captain Travis and his secretary crossed the continent without
adventure, and took passage from San Francisco on the first steamer that
touched at Octavia. They reached that island in three days, and learned
with some concern that there was no regular communication with Opeki,
and that it would be necessary to charter a sailboat for the trip. Two
fishermen agreed to take them and their trunks, and to get them to their
destination within sixteen hours if the wind held good. It was a most
unpleasant sail. The rain fell with calm, relentless persistence from
what was apparently a clear sky; the wind tossed the waves as high as
the mast and made Captain Travis ill; and as there was no deck to the
big boat, they were forced to huddle up under pieces of canvas, and
talked but little. Captain Travis complained of frequent twinges of
rheumatism, and gazed forlornly over the gunwale at the empty waste of
water.

"If I've got to serve a term of imprisonment on a rock in the middle of
the ocean for four years," he said, "I might just as well have done
something first to deserve it. This is a pretty way to treat a man who
bled for his country. This is gratitude, this is." Albert pulled heavily
on his pipe, and wiped the rain and spray from his face and smiled.