, his towering cox, standing square
behind him.

"John Forster," he said, "_alias_ Satterlee, I arrest you in the name of
the United States, on the charge of having committed the crime of
barratry, and warn you that anything you say now may be hereafter used
against you."

It was a horrible thing to say--to be forced to say--and no sense of
public duty could make it less than detestable. Skiddy almost whispered
out the words. The brutality of them appalled him. Remember, this was
his friend, his hero, the man whose intimacy an hour before had been
everything to him. Satterlee gave him a quick, blank, panicky look, and
then, with a pitiful bravado, took a step forward with an attempted
return to his usual confident air. He professed to be dumfounded at the
accusation; he was the victim of a dreadful mistake; he tried, with a
ghastly smile, to reassert his old dominion, calling Skiddy "old man"
and "old chap" in a shaky, fawning voice, and wanting to take him below
"to talk it over." But the little consul was adamantine. The law must
take its course. He was sorry, terribly sorry, but as an officer of the
United States he had to do his duty.

Satterlee preceded him into the boat. The consul followed and took the
yoke lines. They were both dejected, and neither dared to meet the
other's eyes. It was a mournful pull ashore, and tragic in the
retrospect. A silence lay between them as heavy as lead. The crew,
conscious of the captain's humiliation, though they knew not the cause,
felt also constrained to a deep solemnity. Yes, a funereal pull, and it
was a relief to everyone when at last they grounded in the shingle off
the consulate.

Skiddy had a busy day of it. Leaving the captain at the consulate under
guard, and sending off Asi, the chief of Vaiala, together with ten
warriors armed with rifles and axes to take charge of the _Southern
Belle_ and her crew, he walked into Apia to make arrangements to meet
the painful situation. Single-handed he had to rear the structure of a
whole judicial system, including United States marshals, a clerk of
court, four assessor judges, and a jail. His first steps were directed
toward a little cottage on the Motootua Road, the residence of Mr.
Scoville Purdy, a goaty, elderly, unwashed individual, who formed the
more respectable half of the Samoan bar. Mr. Purdy was forthwith
retained by the United States Government, and the papers of the case
left in his hands. Skiddy next sought out M