“It’s too bad, you’re a cheat. Bad one. Bah!” cried Carey, throwing the wooden blade down. “You’ve changed it.”
“Look, see,” cried the black, catching it up; and in the most effortless way he sent it skimming along the sand right away, full fifty yards beyond the farthest fielder, before it began to mount high in the air, executing a peculiar series of twirls and flutterings as it came back, till the momentum died out as it dropped not half-a-dozen yards from Carey’s feet.
“Ah!” cried the boy, excitedly, “I see how you do it now. Here, let me try.”
“Jackum fro makum come back ebry war.”
“Yes, but let me try.”
Bang, bang, came softened by the distance, and, looking sharply in the direction of the stranded vessel, two faint puffs of white smoke were visible.
“What does that mean?” cried Carey, as he saw the fielders come running towards him.
“Big Dan shoot, shoot. Say go hunt, get bird to cookie, cookie. Come, run fas’.”
He set the example and plunged at once into the great cocoanut grove, followed by Carey and his companions.
“Big Dan no see now,” cried Jackum, and he grinned and pointed up at the nuts overhead. “Good, good?”