ut of the office, thinking of going to Sydney by
the steamboat, when up comes Sarreo.

"'Got your dollars, Sarreo?' I says.

"'Yes,' he answers. 'What you goin' to do now, Mr. Potter?'

"'Going to Sydney to look for another ship.'

"'All right,' he says quietly. 'I come too. I don' want to go whalin' no
more.'

"Sure enough, when I went on board the steamer there he was for'ard
sitting on his chest, smoking his pipe, an' waiting for me.

"In Sydney there was a fine big lump of a schooner just fitting out
for a trading cruise to the Solomon Islands, and I happened to know the
skipper, who worked it for me with the owners and I got the berth of
chief mate; and Sarreo (who used to come every day to the place I was
staying at to ask me not to forget him) was shipped as an A.B.

"What sort of a looking man? Well, he was a short, square-built chap,
with a chest like a working bullock. He was rather darker than a Samoan
or a Tahiti man, owing to a seafaring life, and had straight, black
hair. He only spoke as a rule when he was spoken to, and kept himself
pretty much aloof from the rest of the hands, though he wasn't by any
means sulky."

"Where did he hail from?" Denison inquired.

"Ah, now you're asking, sir. There was a beast of a supercargo--I beg
pardon, sir, for forgetting myself--a reg'lar flash, bullying pig of
a fellow, with us that trip. He put on as many airs as if he owned
the whole blooming Pacific. Well, one day he was straightening up his
trade-room, and calls for a couple of hands to help, and the skipper
sent Sarreo and another native sailor to him. We were then lying at
anchor in Marau Sound, in the Solomons, and the sun was hot enough to
blister the gates o' hell, and presently the supercargo comes on deck
and slings his fat, ugly carcase into a deck chair under the awning and
says--

"'That's a smart fellow, that Sarreo, Potter. Where does he come from?'

"Now I didn't know, and said so; so Mr. Supercargo grunts and says
that he'd ask him himself. Presently up comes Sarreo and the other
native--they were going for'ard for their dinner.

"'Here, I say you,' said the supercargo to Sarreo, touching him on the
calf of the leg with his foot as he was passing, 'what island you belong
to, eh?'

"Sarreo turned like lightning, and I caught a sight of his face. He had
dark, deep-set eyes and they seemed to spit fire at the fat brute in the
chair, and his two brown hands shut tight; but he said nothing