When we had put on the rags discarded by the others we were a curious looking lot, you may be sure. Uncle Naboth had a fit of silent merriment at my expense, but if he could have seen himself I am sure he would have choked and sputtered dangerously. A more disreputable appearance than that we now presented would be hard to imagine; but our enemies did not profit so greatly by the exchange, after all, for the garments fitted them as badly as theirs did us. However, they seemed very proud of their acquisition, and strutted around like so many vain peacocks.
CHAPTER VIII
THE SANDS OF GOLD.
The sun had now arisen and flooded the scene with its glorious rays. We were given some of the coffee and a scant allowance of food for our breakfast, the care with which the latter was doled out being evidence that our captors did not know that the “Flipper” was loaded down with provisions.
As soon as the meal was concluded we all gathered around the Major’s hut again, and he began to make us an address.
“At the conference held last evening,” he began, in his smooth tone, “we decided to allow you to choose your own fate. It is death on the one hand, and life as our paid employees on the other. What do you say?”
“We’d like to know, sir,” said Uncle Naboth, “what you are doing on this island?”
“Washing gold.”
“Gold!”
“To be sure,” said the Major. “Are you so ignorant that you cannot see that these sands upon which you are standing are wonderfully rich in gold?”