"I hope you will be able to say you like it when you have seen more of it. It is pretty, but one is apt to find it a little quiet."
"How many men do you employ?"
"About a dozen; mostly Kanakas."
"But surely I saw you walking with a white man just now. Rather afflicted, I think."
"Ah, yes; my storekeeper, Mr. Murkard. A very old friend. I'm sorry to say he's not well enough to assist in welcoming you. By the same token, I think if you'll excuse me for a few minutes, I'll go across and see how he is. I'm rather anxious about him."
"Do, by all means. I'll walk back to the house." Ellison went down the path to the hut. He listened for a moment at the door, but only the sound of heavy breathing came from within. He went in, to find Murkard lying prone upon the floor insensible. The hut reeked of brandy, and Ellison was not surprised when he found an empty bottle underneath the bed.
"This is getting to be too much of a good thing, my friend," he said, addressing the recumbent figure. "I shall have to keep a sharper eye on you for the future, I can see."
He lifted him up, and placed him on the bed. Then he began his search for concealed spirit. At the end of five minutes he was almost convinced that the bottle he had discovered was the only one. And yet it seemed hardly likely that it could be so. Suddenly his eye lighted on a hole in the palm leaf thatch. Standing on a box he could thrust his hand into it. He did so, and felt the smooth cold side of a bottle. He drew it out—an unopened bottle of Hennessey's Cognac. Again he inserted his hand, and again he drew out a bottle—another—and still another. There was enough concealed there to kill a man in Murkard's present state. He wrapped them up in a towel, so that none of the hands should suspect, and conveyed them across to his own room. Once there, he sat down to think.
"He'll not move for an hour or two, then he'll wake and look for these. When he can't find 'em he'll probably go off his head right away, and we shall have to watch him in grim earnest. Poor old Murkard! Poor old chap!"
Fortunately for his spirits that evening, Merton proved a most sympathetic and agreeable companion. He ingratiated himself with Ellison by praising his wife, and he won Esther to his side by the interest and admiration he displayed for the baby. He was a fluent and clever conversationalist, and by the time dinner was over both husband and wife had agreed that he was a very pleasant addition to their party. But the triumph of the stranger was yet to come. They sat smoking in the veranda, watching the wonderful southern stars and listening to the murmur of the wavelets on the beach. Only their pipes showed their whereabouts, and when Esther joined them she could hardly distinguish between her husband and their guest.