He chaffed the chief a bit, and even dug him in the fat stomach, but this savage seemed splendidly good-natured.
"Ah!" he returned, "you are one goodee boy. You been dlinkee--dlinkee. You too muchee laugh now. Bymebye you muchee thlisty and sad. Savez?"
"You've been there yourself," said Tom, "my gay and reverend seignor."
"You come alonga me, Jack."
"Tom, please, Tom Haslar, at your royal highness's service!"
"Den Tom, you come along ashore? I get you plentee dlinkee. Plenty dam goodee gin."
The boatswain's mate intimated now to the chief that his absence would be a deal better than his company, and after a little further palaver, he got into his dug-out and landed.
It was a cocoa-nut wooded beach, with a rather better class of plantain-covered cottages, well back in the shade, and the natives were supposed to be harmless.
It was very dark that night, and Tom was in the middle watch. Next morning he was missing. He had evidently swam on shore, to complete his orgie, enticed by the affable chief's promise.
That same chief was off in his dug-out early next morning.