"H'Allan."

"Hallan?"

"No, sar. H'Allan."

"Is that your first or last name?"

"Both, sar--h'Allan h'Allan."

"Mr. Allan Allan, you're unusually dark for a Scotchman," said
Kirk, gravely. "Now, speaking as one gentleman to another, do you
happen to know where we can get a hand-out?"

"'And-out?" inquired the puzzled negro.

"Yes; a lunch. Can't you lead me to a banana vine or a breadfruit
bakery? I'm starving. They grow the finest cocoanuts in the world
right here--worth five cents apiece; they require no care, have no
worms, no bugs. You sit still and they drop in your lap. Can't you
show me a tree where we can sit and wait for something to drop?"

Allan replied, seriously: "But when the cocoanut falls, it is no
good for h'eating, sar. The milk is h'acid."

"I see you have a sense of humor; you should be in the consular
service. But h'acid or sweet, h'eating or cooling, I must get
something into my stomach--it's as flat as a wet envelope."

The Jamaican rose, saying: "Step this way, please. I know the