njo and the roar of an English song. The doctor was free, and was
amusing himself according to his fashion.

Kettle got his accordion and went up on the hurricane deck and joined
him, and till near on sundown the pair of them sat there giving forth
music alternately. There was a fine contrast between them. The
disreputable doctor deliberately forgot everything of the past, and
lived only for the reckless present; the shipmaster had got his wife and
children always filling half his memory, and was in a constant agony
lest he should fail to properly provide for them. And as a consequence
Clay's music was always of the lighter sort, and was often more than
impolite; while Kettle's was, for the most part, devotional, and all of
it sober, staid, and thoughtful. They were a strong contrast, these two,
but they pulled together with one another wonderfully. Kettle used
sometimes to wonder why it was, and came to the conclusion that it was
the tie of music which did it. But Clay never worried about the matter
at all. He was not the man to fill his head with useless problems.

But on this afternoon their concert was cut short before its finish.
Commandant Balliot came back to the launch with satisfaction on his
streaming face, and two armed black soldiers plodding at his heels.

"Well," said Kettle, "have they made you a colonel yet, or are they
only going to give you the Congo medal?"

"You sacred pig," said Balliot, "you talked to M. le Commandant here of
rebels. What are you but a rebel? I have told him all, and he has sent
me to arrest you."

"Good old Waterloo," said Kettle cheerfully. "I bet you lied, and
because you are both Belgians, I suppose he believed you."

The fat man gritted his teeth. "You talked of having a short way with
rebels yourself. You will find that we have a short way here, too. You
are under arrest."

"So you've said."

Balliot said a couple of words in the native to one of his followers,
and the man produced a pair of rusty handcuffs and held them out
alluringly.

Kettle's pale cheeks flushed darkly. "No," he said, "by James! No,
that's not the way for a thing like you to set about it." He jumped to
his feet, and thrust his savage little face close to the black soldier's
eyes. "Give me dem handcuffs." The man surrendered them limply, and
Kettle flung them overboard. Balliot was trying to get a revolver from
the leather holster at his waist, but Kettle, who had his weapon in a
hip pocket, was