Angel's Smile. How many of them do you know, Smith?"

"About eight, sir, eight or ten."

"Few men, except professional bar-tenders, know more," said Mr.
Donovan. "But you can learn. I see before you, Smith, years of
artistic endeavour. Eight from two hundred leave a hundred and
ninety-two. I think I have a book containing the formulae. It was
compiled by one of our leading citizens after a term of residence in a
dry State. I shall give you the book, Smith. My digestion remains
unimpaired up to date. I shall sample the results of your labours."

Mr. Phillips swallowed his cocktail and went away without saying any
more about the torn envelope. He had no intention of telling his story
in the presence of Smith.

He tried again an hour later. He calculated on not being interrupted
this time. Smith had gone off to the steamer. From time to time he had
to go to the steamer to act as interpreter there. Captain Wilson
seemed curiously incapable of making himself understood by the
islanders.

"That you again, Mr. Phillips," said Donovan. "Sit down. Take a cigar
and sit down."

"There's something I want to speak to you about, sir," said Phillips.

"If you must speak," said Donovan, "I hope you'll sort of murmur. That
engine has stopped clanking for a moment and Smith isn't shouting any
at those poor devils of islanders. 'Silence,' says the poet, Oliver
Wendell Holmes, 'like a poultice came to heal the wound of sound.'
It's a kind of advanced sample of what this island's going to be."

This was not encouraging to Mr. Phillips. He hesitated. Far away,
under the shadow of the cliffs, a small boat moved slowly. In it was
the Queen, seated in the stern with a huge box of chocolates in her
lap. Kalliope rowed, her mouth full of chocolates. Phillips could not
see the box or Kalliope's mouth. The boat was too far away for that.
But he knew the chocolates were there. Early in the day the Queen had
come to him and demanded candies. She had come at a fortunate moment.
He was in the act of opening a large case, sent out, so the label
declared, by Fuller, and Kalliope had carried down to the boat a huge
box of chocolates. It was the sight of that boat--perhaps, too, the
thought of the chocolates--which spurred Mr. Phillips to tell his tale
in spite of all discouragement. Is there anything which is more
eloquent of innocent helplessness, anything which makes a stronger
appeal to the protective instinct of a man, than the vision of two