chair like a great bullfrog. There was something sinister
in his appearance, so that Mackintosh shivered with disgust. Then in
his booming tones he began to speak.

"Is it for my good that I make the road? What benefit do you think I get
out of it? It is for you, so that you can walk in comfort and carry your
copra in comfort. I offered to pay you for your work, though it was for
your own sake the work was done. I offered to pay you generously. Now
_you_ must pay. I will send the people of Manua back to their homes if
you will finish the road and pay the twenty pounds that I have to pay
them."

There was an outcry. They sought to reason with him. They told him they
had not the money. But to everything they said he replied with brutal
gibes. Then the clock struck.

"Dinner time," he said. "Turn them all out."

He raised himself heavily from his chair and walked out of the room.
When Mackintosh followed him he found him already seated at table, a
napkin tied round his neck, holding his knife and fork in readiness for
the meal the Chinese cook was about to bring. He was in high spirits.

"I did 'em down fine," he said, as Mackintosh sat down. "I shan't have
much trouble with the roads after this."

"I suppose you were joking," said Mackintosh icily.

"What do you mean by that?"

"You're not really going to make them pay twenty pounds?"

"You bet your life I am."

"I'm not sure you've got any right to."

"Ain't you? I guess I've got the right to do any damned thing I like on
this island."

"I think you've bullied them quite enough."

Walker laughed fatly. He did not care what Mackintosh thought.

"When I want your opinion I'll ask for it." Mackintosh grew very white.
He knew by bitter experience that he could do nothing but keep silence,
and the violent effort at self-control made him sick and faint. He could
not eat the food that was before him and with disgust he watched Walker
shovel meat into his vast mouth. He was a dirty feeder, and to sit at
table with him needed a strong stomach. Mackintosh shuddered. A
tremendous desire seized him to humiliate that gross and cruel man; he
would give anything in the world to see him in the dust, suffering as
much as he had made others suffer. He had never loathed the bully with
such loathing as now.

The day wore on. Mackintosh tried to sleep after dinner, but the passion
in his heart prevented him; he tried to read, but the letters swam
before his eyes. The sun b