rily, at the same time
throwing one of his shoes at the musician, which hit him on the shin and
caused him a moment's sharp pain.

Timoa would not suffer his countenance to betray his feelings. He
merely raised the flute to his lips, exchanged a glance with the women,
and continued his dismal strain. His mind, however, was so engrossed
with his comrade outside that the harmony became worse than ever. Even
McCoy, who professed himself to be no judge of music, could not stand
it, and he was contemplating the application of the other shoe, when a
step was heard outside. Next moment his friend Quintal strode in and
sat down on a stool beside the door.

"Oh, I say, Matt," cried McCoy, "who put that cocoa-nut on the bridge of
your nose?"

"Who?" grow led Quintal, with an oath. "Who on the island would dare to
do it but that domineerin' upstart, Christian?"

"Humph!" answered McCoy, with a slight sneer. He followed this up with
a curse on domineerers in general, and on Fletcher Christian in
particular.

It is right to observe here that though we have spoken of these two men
as friends, it must not be understood that they were friendly. They had
no personal regard for each other, and no tastes in common, save the
taste for tobacco and drink; but finding that they disliked each other
less than they disliked their comrades, they were thus drawn into a
hollow friendship, as it were, under protest.

"How did it happen?" asked McCoy.

"Give us a whiff an' I'll tell 'ee. What sort o' stuff are you tryin'
now?"

"Cocoa-nut chips ground small. The best o' baccy, Matt, for lunatics,
which we was when we cast anchor on this island. Here, fill your pipe
an' fire away. You won't notice the difference if you don't think about
it. My! what a cropper you must have come down when you got that dab on
your proboscis!"

"Stop your howlin'," shouted Quintal to the musicians, in order to vent
some of the spleen which his friend's remark had stirred up.

Timoa, not feeling sure whether the command was meant for the women or
himself, or, perhaps, regarding McCoy as the proper authority from whom
such an order should come, continued his dismal blowing.

Quintal could not stand this in his roused condition. Leaping up, he
sprang towards Timoa, snatched the flute from his hand, broke it over
his head, and kicked him out of the hut.

Excepting the blow and the kick, this was just what the Otaheitan
wanted. He ran straight in