“All gold an’ jools b’ cripes!” he declared. “With a gran’ pianner an’ a funnygraf an’ electric lights. Aw, I ain’t yarnin’, ye can ask Mr. Rawlins—an’ statooary like them youse sees up to the art muse’ms, an’ velvet curtains. Soak me if 'twan’t a reg’lar joint! Fit fer a king that’s what ’twas, an’ I’ll be blowed if Mr. Pauling didn’t up an’ give the whole bloomin’ outfit to a bunch o’ wild Frenchy niggers! Struck me fair 'tween wind and water to hear him a-doin’ of it! Blow me if it didn’t, an’ then up an’ tol’ ’em to burn the blessed place after they was done lootin’ of it! But say! You’d ’a’ bust your-sel’s laffin to a-seen that old gazooks of a nigger a-squattin’ on his black hams in his ragged dungarees a-grinnin’ like a bloomin gorilla an’ a-listenin’ to gran’ opery!”
“Aw, stow it, Bill!” yawned one of the engineers. “Tell that gaff to the marines. Why didn’t ye cop some o’ them things if they was there?”
The quartermaster snorted. “I aint no bloody thief o’ a greasy wiper!” he replied contemptuously. “Think I’d a-got myself in Dutch by a-swipin’ stuff under Mr. Pauling’s nose? But jes’ the same I did bring along a bit o’ a sooveeneer. Look a-here, you sons o’ sea cooks!” Fumbling in his blouse, the quartermaster drew forth a glittering object and placed it on the mess table triumphantly.
“Holy mackerel! Stow me if 'taint a ring!” exclaimed one of the men. “An’ a reg’lar shiner in it! What youse goin’ to do with it, mate? Give it to your best girl?”
“None o’ your business,” retorted the quartermaster pocketing the ring. “An’ mind youse don’ go blowin’ the gaff neither. I picked her up ’longside o’ one o’ the beds an’ none the wiser. Might as well be a havin’ it as one o’ them black monkeys.”
While Bill was thus entertaining the crew, the boys and their friends on deck were still talking, retelling their stories, putting and answering innumerable questions and gradually imparting a coherent account of all that had transpired to Mr. Henderson.
Presently Rawlins grasped Tom’s arm and pointed towards the hills across the bay.
“Look there!” he exclaimed. “There goes the last of the Panjandrum’s palace!”
The others turned at the diver’s words and saw a thick column of smoke rising in curling blue clouds against the green jungle.
“Guess old Jules made quick work of looting it.” continued Rawlins. “Say, I can just see the old boy and his mates dancing and prancing around to the music of that phonograph and watching the place go up in smoke. Must do their hearts good! Wonder if they’ll learn to play billiards or hammer jazz music out of that piano!”