Jimmy Blight had had a chequered career. He was a man of about fifty years of age, some five feet eight inches in height, and of medium build. Years of exposure to a tropical sun had not left any trace upon his face, for his complexion was a chalky white. He had a bristling, dark moustache; cut high over the lips, a scanty crop of dark hair, a thin, straight nose, rather deep-set eyes that were continually shifting in expression, while his hands, the broad nails of which were bitten to the quick, showed little trace of hard work.
When Mr. McKay first met him he was mate of a pearling vessel, and already he bore a bad reputation as a hard drinker and a card-sharper, while it was well known that his tyranny had more than once caused bloodshed amongst the Kanaka crew of the vessel. By his white associates he was commonly known as "Chinese Pork"—in other words, something very unpleasant.
"Well, what can I do for you?" asked Mr. McKay bluntly.
"The island's free, I guess?" replied Blight, with a leer that ill-concealed his natural aggressiveness.
"So long as you behave yourself; but should one of those men touch so much as a copper nail, we'll send you to the right about in double quick time. Understand?"
"Yes, boss. But how about a drink? You seem fixed up pretty comfortable here."
"You can have as much water as you want at the stream. Beyond that, I'm afraid we cannot provide you."
"Humph! Must take pot-luck, I suppose. Say, are you traders?"
Mr. McKay did not think it advisable to answer.
"What's your business, might I ask?" he inquired.