It was in the smoke-room afterwards that Willie sprang upon our friends a request which showed how the white blood was beginning to stir in his veins. The Skipper had announced his intention not to stop at the unattractive Thursday Island, but to make without delay for the deep water beyond.
"I should like to have a word with Mr. Grant," observed Madame. She was anxious, if that were possible, to remove, by adroit explanations, the ill-opinion which she feared Willatopy's austere banker would form of her proceedings.
"Better go straight on," growled Ching stolidly.
"Very well," Madame sighed, for she hated that any man should think ill of her. Then Willie broke in. He was sitting with those conspicuous bare feet tucked under him, and with his eyes fixed on Madame's neat shoes and perfectly fitting silk stockings.
"I hope that you will stop," said he shyly. "I wish to go ashore."
"Is it urgent, Willie?" asked Madame. "Had we better not get on now that we have started for home?"
"I should like to see my banker. He was my father's friend, and has been very good to me. I should like to get some money."
"We have plenty here. Thanks to the business operations of the great Alexander, our treasure chest is bursting with wealth. We can supply all that you need."
"I want," murmured Willie, and his dark skin flushed again with that significant purple. "I want—to—get—some—clothes—and some shoes."