that he could expect anything better. Skiddy said it was a hog-pen. The
President retorted that the king's allowance was eight months in
arrears, and that the western end of the island was still in rebellion.
Jails cost money, and they had no money. Skiddy declared it was an
outrage, and asked them if they approved of putting a white man into a
bare stockade, with none of the commonest conveniences or decencies of
life? They were both shocked at the suggestion. The pride of race is
very strong in barbarous countries. A white man is still a white man
even if he has committed all the crimes in the calendar. The Chief
Justice very seriously pointed out that it would disgrace them all to
confine Satterlee in the stockade, and force him to mix with the dregs
of the native population. Surely Mr. Skiddy could not consider such a
thing for a moment. Mr. Skiddy wanted to know, then, what the deuce he
was to do? The Chief Justice benignantly shook his head. He had no
answer to that question. The President murmured suavely, that perhaps
next year, with an increased hut tax, and the suppression of the
rebellion, the Government might see its way to----

"Next year!" roared Skiddy. "I want to know what I'm to do
NOW!"

The two high officials gazed at him sadly. It was a great peety, they
observed (with an air of gentle complaint), that Mr. Skiddy should have
embarrassed the government at a time when its whole position was so
precarious. Had he not better refer the matter to Washington? Doubtless
Washington, recognizing the fact that----

Skiddy flung himself out, lest his anger should get the best of him. He
went and had another look at the jail, and liked it even less than
before. Faugh! it was disgusting! It would kill a white man in a week.
It would be nothing less than murder to put Satterlee into it. He
returned to the consulate to talk over the matter with the trusty
Scanlons.

Would they consider a monthly arrangement on a reduced charge, giving
Satterlee the best room in their cottage, and pledging themselves that
he should never quit the confines of their three-acre cocoanut patch?
The half-caste brothers fell in joyfully with the suggestion, and their
first wild proposals were beaten down to forty dollars a month for
custodianship and fifteen dollars for the room and the transport of
Satterlee's food from the International Hotel--fifty-five dollars in
all. Thirty dollars a month for the hotel raised the grand total to