"And what is that, may I ask?"
I named a figure sufficiently preposterous to raise a laugh from most people. But the genial gentleman did not laugh.
"You would take no less?" he suggested bravely.
"Not a cent," said I. "As a matter of fact——"
"I suppose a draft on —— will satisfy you?"
"What's that?" I stammered.
"I'll take her," said the genial gentleman. "I was saying that...."
But I heard no more. I had sold the dream ship!
Confession is said to be good for the soul, but I have not noticed much improvement in the state of my own since making the above statement. Imagine parting for pelf with a home that has conveyed you across twelve thousand miles of ocean. Or, better, try to imagine selling your best friend, and you have some idea of my feelings since the transaction. And there was no going back on it. I have not the moral courage of such deeds. The draft lay on the table before me, I had a pocket full of money, and no ship. I have never been so miserable in my life.
It took me the best part of an hour's aimless wandering over the powdered coral roads of Nukualofa to summon the necessary courage to break the news to the crew of the dream ship, but by the end of that time I had some sort of scheme evolved. Between the Friendlies and Australia there were no islands of particular interest, anyway. We would continue our journey by steamer—it would be a pleasant change—and in New Zealand or Australia I would invest my ill-gotten gains in a far more magnificent vessel than the dream ship.