“Mr. Carlsen,” he called in the direction of a glowing pipe. “Get the crew for the whale-boat. I'm going ashore.”
The husky voice of the Norwegian mate was raised for'ard, and half a dozen strapping Rapa Islanders ceased their singing and manned the boat.
“I came to see Folly, Mr. Folly, I imagine,” David Grief told Lavina.
He noted the quick interest in her eyes as she turned her head and flung a command in native across two open rooms to the outstanding kitchen. A few minutes later a barefooted native girl padded in and shook her head.
Lavina's disappointment was evident.
“You're stopping aboard the Kittiwake, aren't you?” she said. “I'll tell him you called.”
“Then it is a he?” Grief queried.
Lavina nodded.
“I hope you can do something for him, Captain Grief. I'm only a good-natured woman. I don't know. But he's a likable man, and he may be telling the truth; I don't know. You'll know. You're not a soft-hearted fool like me. Can't I mix you a cocktail?”