"He's a rebel," said Leicester, "and they've posted proclamations against him on every cocoanut tree around the beach."
"And the natives, they won't let Tanumafili be king neither?" said Jack.
"That's him they're chasing into the sea this minute," explained Leicester.
Jack looked perplexed. "I don't see why the Kanakas shouldn't have the king they fancy," he remarked.
"To hear you talk, one would think you was a bloody Dutchman yourself," said Leicester.
"But the majority—" said Jack, "them two thousand——"
"The Chief Justice ruled them out on a technicality," said Leicester, "and if the Supreme Court ain't right, who is? Do you think he's going to give over this country to a papist? No, the only king here is Tanumafili, and the men-of-war will reinstate him at the muzzle of their guns. Then we'll see who's who in Samoar!"
Jack made his way across the street to the store where he usually sold his copra. Bullets were pattering on the roof, and the trader himself, a portly German in gold spectacles, was palpitating in a bomb-proof.
"I hope Mrs. Meyerfeld is well," said Jack, who in Samoa had grown punctilious.
"Oh, mein Gott!" exclaimed Meyerfeld.