their own good."

Mackintosh watched him with contempt in his heart. The man's
self-complacency outraged him, and yet something, he knew not what, made
him insist.

"Remember what happened this morning. It wouldn't hurt you to stay at
home just to-night. I'll play piquet with you."

"I'll play piquet with you when I come back. The Kanaka isn't born yet
who can make me alter my plans."

"You'd better let me come with you."

"You stay where you are."

Mackintosh shrugged his shoulders. He had given the man full warning. If
he did not heed it that was his own lookout. Walker put on his hat and
went out. Mackintosh began to read; but then he thought of something;
perhaps it would be as well to have his own whereabouts quite clear. He
crossed over to the kitchen and, inventing some pretext, talked for a
few minutes with the cook. Then he got out the gramophone and put a
record on it, but while it ground out its melancholy tune, some comic
song of a London music-hall, his ear was strained for a sound away there
in the night. At his elbow the record reeled out its loudness, the words
were raucous, but notwithstanding he seemed to be surrounded by an
unearthly silence. He heard the dull roar of the breakers against the
reef. He heard the breeze sigh, far up, in the leaves of the coconut
trees. How long would it be? It was awful.

He heard a hoarse laugh.

"Wonders will never cease. It's not often you play yourself a tune,
Mac."

Walker stood at the window, red-faced, bluff and jovial.

"Well, you see I'm alive and kicking. What were you playing for?"

Walker came in.

"Nerves a bit dicky, eh? Playing a tune to keep your pecker up?"

"I was playing your requiem."

"What the devil's that?"

"'Alf o' bitter an' a pint of stout."

"A rattling good song too. I don't mind how often I hear it. Now I'm
ready to take your money off you at piquet."

They played and Walker bullied his way to victory, bluffing his
opponent, chaffing him, jeering at his mistakes, up to every dodge,
browbeating him, exulting. Presently Mackintosh recovered his coolness,
and standing outside himself, as it were, he was able to take a detached
pleasure in watching the overbearing old man and in his own cold
reserve. Somewhere Manuma sat quietly and awaited his opportunity.

Walker won game after game and pocketed his winnings at the end of the
evening in high good humour.

"You'll have to grow a little bit older before you stand much