In came the cook, a grinning black boy, nose-spiked and ear-plugged.
"Here, you, Wi-wi, what name that?" Harriwell bellowed, pointing accusingly at the omelet.
Wi-wi was very naturally frightened and embarrassed.
"Him good fella kai-kai," he murmured apologetically.
"Make him eat it," suggested McTavish. "That's a proper test."
Harriwell filled a spoon with the stuff and jumped for the cook, who fled in panic.
"That settles it," was Brown's solemn pronouncement. "He won't eat it."
"Mr. Brown, will you please go and put the irons on him?" Harriwell turned cheerfully to Bertie. "It's all right, old man, the Commissioner will deal with him, and if you die, depend upon it, he will be hanged."
"Don't think the government'll do it," objected McTavish.
"But gentlemen, gentlemen," Bertie cried. "In the meantime think of me."