g to go. That's why I asked you. Name the island."

Pankburn looked at the bottle.

"I'll take that drink now, Captain."

"No you won't. That drink was for you if you went ashore. If you are
going to tell me the island, you must do it in your sober senses."

"Francis Island, if you will have it. Bougainville named it Barbour
Island."

"Off there all by its lonely in the Little Coral Sea," Grief said. "I
know it. Lies between New Ireland and New Guinea. A rotten hole now,
though it was all right when the _Flirt_ drove in the spikes and the
Chink pearler traded for them. The steamship _Castor_, recruiting labour
for the Upolu plantations, was cut off there with all hands two years
ago. I knew her captain well. The Germans sent a cruiser, shelled the
bush, burned half a dozen villages, killed a couple of niggers and a lot
of pigs, and--and that was all. The niggers always were bad there, but
they turned really bad forty years ago. That was when they cut off a
whaler. Let me see? What was her name?"

He stepped to the bookshelf, drew out the bulky "South Pacific
Directory," and ran through its pages.

"Yes. Here it is. Francis, or Barbour," he skimmed. "Natives warlike and
treacherous--Melanesian--cannibals. Whaleship _Western_ cut off--that
was her name. Shoals--points--anchorages--ah, Redscar, Owen Bay,
Likikili Bay, that's more like it; deep indentation, mangrove
swamps, good holding in nine fathoms when white scar in bluff bears
west-southwest." Grief looked up. "That's your beach, Pankburn, I'll
swear."

"Will you go?" the other demanded eagerly.

Grief nodded.

"It sounds good to me. Now if the story had been of a hundred millions,
or some such crazy sum, I wouldn't look at it for a moment. We'll sail
to-morrow, but under one consideration. You are to be absolutely under
my orders."

His visitor nodded emphatically and joyously.

"And that means no drink."

"That's pretty hard," Pankburn whined.

"It's my terms. I'm enough of a doctor to see you don't come to harm.
And you are to work--hard work, sailor's work. You'll stand regular
watches and everything, though you eat and sleep aft with us."

"It's a go." Pankburn put out his hand to ratify the agreement. "If it
doesn't kill me," he added.

David Grief poured a generous three-fingers into the tumbler and
extended it.

"Then here's your last drink. Take it."

Pankburn's hand went halfway out. With a sudden spasm of resolution, he
hesitated, t