folk-lore about Mr Whish--I beg your pardon, captain: Huish not
Whish, of course,' said Attwater.

As the boy was filling Huish's glass, the bottle escaped from his hand
and was shattered, and the wine spilt on the verandah floor. Instant
grimness as of death appeared on the face of Attwater; he smote the
bell imperiously, and the two brown natives fell into the attitude
of attention and stood mute and trembling. There was just a moment of
silence and hard looks; then followed a few savage words in the native;
and, upon a gesture of dismissal, the service proceeded as before.

None of the party had as yet observed upon the excellent bearing of the
two men. They were dark, undersized, and well set up; stepped softly,
waited deftly, brought on the wines and dishes at a look, and their eyes
attended studiously on their master.

'Where do you get your labour from anyway?' asked Davis.

'Ah, where not?' answered Attwater.

'Not much of a soft job, I suppose?' said the captain.

'If you will tell me where getting labour is!' said Attwater with a
shrug. 'And of course, in our case, as we could name no destination,
we had to go far and wide and do the best we could. We have gone as far
west as the Kingsmills and as far south as Rapa-iti. Pity Symonds isn't
here! He is full of yarns. That was his part, to collect them. Then
began mine, which was the educational.'

'You mean to run them?' said Davis.

'Ay! to run them,' said Attwater.

'Wait a bit,' said Davis, 'I'm out of my depth. How was this? Do you
mean to say you did it single-handed?'

'One did it single-handed,' said Attwater, 'because there was nobody to
help one.'

'By God, but you must be a holy terror!' cried the captain, in a glow of
admiration.

'One does one's best,' said Attwater.

'Well, now!' said Davis, 'I have seen a lot of driving in my time and
been counted a good driver myself; I fought my way, third mate, round
the Cape Horn with a push of packet rats that would have turned the
devil out of hell and shut the door on him; and I tell you, this racket
of Mr Attwater's takes the cake. In a ship, why, there ain't nothing to
it! You've got the law with you, that's what does it. But put me down on
this blame' beach alone, with nothing but a whip and a mouthful of bad
words, and ask me to... no, SIR! it's not good enough! I haven't got the
sand for that!' cried Davis. 'It's the law behind,' he added; 'it's the
law does it, every time!'

'The be