"Aye," assented old Humphreys, "there isn't one of 'em but what is the
two ends and bight of a--scoundrel; and that supercargo with the yaller
moustache and womany hands is the worst of the lot. I wonder if he's
aboard this trip? I don't let him inside my house; I've got too many
daughters, and they all think him a fine man."


* * * * *


Nerida, Taplin's wife, came out to us from an inner room. She was a
native of one of the Pelew Islands, a tall, slenderly-built girl, with
pale, olive skin and big, soft eyes. A flowing gown of yellow
muslin--the favourite colour of the Portuguese-blooded natives of the
Pelews--buttoned high up to her throat, draped her graceful figure.
After putting her little hand in ours, and greeting us in the Funafuti
dialect, she went over to Taplin, and touching his arm, pointed out the
schooner that was now only a mile or so away, and a smile parted her
lips, and the star-like eyes glowed and filled with a tender light.

I felt Captain Warren touch my arm as he rose and went outside. I
followed.


* * * * *


"L----," said Warren, "can't we do something for Taplin ourselves?
Isn't there a station anywhere about Tonga or Wallis Island that would