Stedman. I'm from New Haven, Connecticut. Where are you from?"

"New York," said Albert. "This," he added, pointing solemnly to Captain
Travis, who was still on his knees in the boat, "is the American consul
to Opeki." The American consul to Opeki gave a wild look at Mr. Stedman
of New Haven and at the natives.

"See here, young man," he gasped, "is this all there is of Opeki?"

"The American consul?" said young Stedman, with a gasp of amazement, and
looking from Albert to Captain Travis. "Why, I never supposed they would
send another here; the last one died about fifteen years ago, and there
hasn't been one since. I've been living in the consul's office with the
Bradleys, but I'll move out, of course. I'm sure I'm awfully glad to see
you. It'll make it so much more pleasant for me."

"Yes," said Captain Travis, bitterly, as he lifted his rheumatic leg
over the boat; "that's why we came."

Mr. Stedman did not notice this. He was too much pleased to be anything
but hospitable. "You are soaking wet, aren't you?" he said; "and hungry,
I guess. You come right over to the consul's office and get on some
other things."

He turned to the natives and gave some rapid orders in their language,
and some of them jumped into the boat at this, and began to lift out
the trunks, and others ran off towards a large, stout old native, who
was sitting gravely on a log, smoking, with the rain beating unnoticed
on his gray hair.