“Verra guid business,” said the supercargo, “but ye made a gran' meestake in selling the guids for Cheelian dollars instead of oil. An' sae I must debit ye wi' a loss of twenty-five par cent, on the money——”
“Chile dollars be damned!” said Lannigan; “all good American dollars—we've had about twenty whaleships here, buyin' pigs an' poultry an' pearl shell.”
“Twenty-one ship!” said Tariro, blowing the smoke of her cigarette through her pretty little nose.
“Whaur's the money, onyway?” said the supercargo; “let's get to business, Lannigan. Eh, mon, I've some verra fine beef for ye.”
“Get the bag up out of the boat, Tariro,” said the trader; “it's mighty frightened I was havin' so much money in the house at wanst, wid all them rowdy Yankee sailors from the whaleships ashore here.”
There was a great crowd of natives on deck—over a hundred—and the mate was swearing violently at them for getting in his way. The schooner was a very small vessel, and Motukoe being her first place of call for cargo, she was in light trim, having only her trade and a little ballast on board.
“Send those natives away from the galley,” he called out to the cook, who was giving some of the young women ship-biscuits in exchange for young cocoanuts; “can't you see the ship keeps flying up in the wind with all those people for'ard!”
Hekemanu, Lannigan's native “Man Jack,” sat in the boat towing alongside, with the bag of “dollars” at his feet. He and all the boat's crew were in the secret. Lannigan owned their souls; besides, they all liked him on Motukoe.