“No, but I want to see them get the nuts down,” said Carey, nonchalantly, and he went.
It was the same when a party of the blacks went fishing, which was nearly every day, so that there was always an ample supply, and the boy returned flushed and brown, full of the adventures he had had.
Black Jack now took to heading the fishing expeditions, and always looked after Carey at starting time, grinning and making signs suggestive of hauling up the fish and hitting them over the heads with a nulla-nulla, while the crew of the outrigger canoe always greeted the boy with a grin of satisfaction.
“They are all awfully civil to me now,” said Carey to Bostock, “but I think it’s a good deal due to the ticky-ticky. I say, Bob, how long will the molasses last?”
“Oh, some time yet, sir.”
“But when the last jar’s eaten?”
“Then you must try the pickles, sir. And when that’s done, as it used to say on a big picture on the walls in London, ‘If you like the pickles, try the sauce.’ There’s no end o’ bottles o’ sauce.”
“Are there? Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir. There’s a big consignment, as they call it, sent from London to Brisbane. One part o’ the hold’s chock full o’ cases. Why, there’s a lot o’ sugar things too. Oh, we shall find enough to keep them beggars going for a long time yet.”
Meantime the great tubs had all been emptied with more or less satisfactory results, and re-filling began with the accompanying stacking of the shells. The pearls were stowed away in cigar boxes, which were emptied for the purpose, the beachcomber now taking to smoking some of those turned out, and giving an abundance to Carey, who took them eagerly, always carrying several in his pocket.