"Good-bye, my F'lennie (friend)—o le a o tea,
Efau lau le va'a, o le alii pule i ..."
he sang, beating time with his knees on the hatch.... Then suddenly he stopped, and the little group of mates and captain on the poop did not see why.
Later on, Harris, his face stiff with suppressed laughter, knocked at the captain's door.
"Can you oblige me with a piece of sticking-plaster, sir?" he said.
"Who for?" asked Saxon, reaching for the yellow roll that lies handy in every shipmaster's cabin about the peaceful Pacific.
"Te Ai, sir. He's been knocked down, and his head got cut against the pump."
"Who did it?" bristled Saxon, ready to uphold his own peculiar privileges, at once.
"She did, sir," said Harris, nearly choking. "Te Ai, he was singin' 'Good-bye, my F'lennie,' on the main 'atch and out she come from the deck cabin like a—like a nurricane, begging your pardon, sir—and she ups with a belayin' pin from the rail, an——"
"All right, all right; there's your plaster," interrupted Saxon. "Harris! Here."
"Yes, sir!"