acon was for the moment crushed. The sullen blood rose darkly in his
face.

"Well, he's answered you," McMurtrey laughed genially. "And I'll back
his bet myself for a couple of sovereigns."

"Bridge! Who's going to take a hand?" Eddy Little cried impatiently.
"Come on, Peter!"

"The rest of you play," Deacon said. "He and I are going to play
piquet."

"I'd prefer bridge," Peter Gee said mildly.

"Don't you play piquet?"

The pearl-buyer nodded.

"Then come on. Maybe I can show I know more about that than I do about
anchors."

"Oh, I say----" McMurtrey began.

"You can play bridge," Deacon shut him off. "We prefer piquet."

Reluctantly, Peter Gee was bullied into a game that he knew would be
unhappy.

"Only a rubber," he said, as he cut for deal.

"For how much?" Deacon asked.

Peter Gee shrugged his shoulders. "As you please."

"Hundred up--five pounds a game?"

Peter Gee agreed.

"With the lurch double, of course, ten pounds?"

"All right," said Peter Gee.

At another table four of the others sat in at bridge. Captain Stapler,
who was no card-player, looked on and replenished the long glasses
of Scotch that stood at each man's right hand. McMurtrey, with poorly
concealed apprehension, followed as well as he could what went on at
the piquet table. His fellow Englishmen as well were shocked by the
behaviour of the Australian, and all were troubled by fear of some
untoward act on his part. That he was working up his animosity against
the half-caste, and that the explosion might come any time, was apparent
to all.

"I hope Peter loses," McMurtrey said in an undertone.

"Not if he has any luck," Andrews answered. "He's a wizard at piquet. I
know by experience."

That Peter Gee was lucky was patent from the continual badgering of
Deacon, who filled his glass frequently. He had lost the first game,
and, from his remarks, was losing the second, when the door opened and
David Grief entered.

"In Guvutu they merely drink between drinks," he remarked casually to
the assembled company, ere he gripped the manager's hand. "Hello, Mac!
Say, my skipper's down in the whaleboat. He's got a silk shirt, a tie,
and tennis shoes, all complete, but he wants you to send a pair of pants
down. Mine are too small, but yours will fit him. Hello, Eddy! How's
that _ngari-ngari?_ You up, Jock? The miracle has happened. No one down
with fever, and no one remarkably drunk." He sighed, "I suppose the
night is young yet.