"Why, we
haven't tried one of the tubs yet."

"Good job for you," growled the man, fiercely, as he tried to look Carey
down; but the boy did not for a moment wince. "You're a nice imprunt
young cock bantam, though. But you're shivering in your shoes all the
same--aren't you?"

He made a snatch at the boy's shoulder, but quick as thought Carey
struck at the coming hand, catching it heavily with his fist and eluding
the touch.

"Don't do that," he cried, fiercely, "you know I've got a bad shoulder."

"Why, you insolent young cock-sparrow, I've a good mind to--No, I
won't--I'll let them do it by-and-by."

He jerked his head sidewise in the direction of the blacks, who were
eagerly watching and seeing everything, the sight of the boy striking at
their white king sending a thrill of excitement through them; however,
they did not advance, but stood watching and noting that the beachcomber
was laughing heartily.

"I like pluck in a boy," he growled. "Hi, coo-ee."

Black Jack darted to his side, with eyes flashing and nostrils
distended.

"Boat," said the man, abruptly.

Black Jack shouted something incomprehensible, and three of the black
fellows bounded to the side and disappeared into the whale-boat with
their leader.

"Now then," said the beachcomber, "you stop aboard, cookey, and get
something ready for dinner. Hi, Black Jack. Fish. Tell 'em."

"Tell boys kedgee fis'?"

The beachcomber nodded, and the black shouted again, with the result
that six more of the blacks came running to the side and dropped over
into the canoe.

"Hi, Jack, tell the others, if cookey here--"

"Dis cookey?" asked the black, touching Carey on the head.

"No, stupid. That one."

"Iss. Dat cookey," and he nodded and grinned at Bostock.

"Tell 'em if cookey tries to get away, mumkull."

"Iss. Mumkull," and the black darted forward, to return with the
remaining ten, all grinning, to seat themselves in a row, spear in hand,
upon the starboard bulwarks, staring hard at Bostock, who tried to
appear perfectly calm and composed; but his face twitched a little.

"They'd better not try to mumkull me," he whispered to Carey. "Two can
play at that game. But what's he going to do?"

"Now then," cried the beachcomber, "into the boat with you. I'm going
to have those casks tapped and see what the stuff's like. Hi! Jack,
take some buckets in the boat."

The black darted about and secured three buckets, which he tossed over