The Kanaka turned to Leander.
"Say, which of these fellows did you give that money to?"
Leander came up.
"Ah-h, now we vill know," said the Dutchman.
Leander looked from one to the other. Then an expression of perplexity came into his face. He scratched an ear.
"Well, I thought it was this German gentleman."
"Vat!"
"Only it seems to me I had the money in my left hand, and he, you see, is on the right hand of the table. It might have been him, and then again it might have been one of the other two gentlemen. It's so difficult to remember. Wasn't it you," turning to Mr. Bates, "or no, wasn't it you," to the Indian. "But it couldn't have been the Indian gentleman, and it couldn't have been Mr. Bates here, and yet I'm sure it wasn't the German gentleman, and, however, I must have given it to one of the three. Didn't I lay the coin down on the table and go away and leave it." Leander struck his forehead. "Yes, I think that's what I did. I'm sorry," he said to the Kanaka, "that you are having any trouble, it's some misunderstanding."
"Oh, I'll get it all right," returned the Kanaka, confidently. "Come on, one of you fellows dig up."
Then the quarrel broke out afresh. The three blind men rose to their feet, blackguarding and vilifying one another till the room echoed. Now it was Mr. Bates and the Dutchman versus the Indian, now the Indian and Dutchman versus Mr. Bates, now the Indian and Mr. Bates versus the Dutchman. At every instant the combinations varied with kaleidoscopic swiftness. They shouted, they danced, and they shook their fists towards where they guessed each other's faces were. The Indian, who had been drinking whiskey between intervals of the quarrel, suddenly began to rail and howl in his own language, and at times even the Dutchman lapsed into the vernacular. The Kanaka woman lost her wits altogether, and declared that in three more minutes she would ring for the police.