is, I would not mind the men, for
it's likely that men of some sort will turn up somewhere, but I am very
anxious about an interpreter. Without an interpreter we shall get on
badly, I fear, for I can only speak French, besides a very little Latin
and Greek, none of which languages will avail much among niggers."

Disco assumed a severely thoughtful expression of countenance.

"That's true," he said, placing his right fist argumentatively in his
left palm, "and I'm afeard I can't help you there, sir. If it wos to
steer a ship or pull a oar or man the fore-tops'l yard in a gale o'
wind, or anything else in the seafarin' line, Disco Lillihammer's your
man, but I couldn't come a furrin' lingo at no price. I knows nothin'
but my mother tongue,--nevertheless, though I says it that shouldn't, I
does profess to be somewhat of a dab at that. Once upon a time I spent
six weeks in Dublin, an' havin' a quick ear for moosic, I soon managed
to get up a strong dash o' the brogue; but p'raps that wouldn't go far
with the niggers."

About two hours after the above conversation, while Harold Seadrift was
walking on the beach, he observed his faithful ally in the distance
grasping a short thickset man by the arm, and endeavouring to induce him
to accompany him, with a degree of energy that fell little short of main
force. The man was evidently unwilling.

As the pair drew nearer, Harold overheard Disco's persuasive
voice:--"Come now, Antonio, don't be a fool; it's the best service you
could enter. Good pay and hard work, and all the grub that's goin'--
what could a man want more? It's true there's no grog, but we don't
need that in a climate where you've only got to go out in the sun
without yer hat an' you'll be as good as drunk in ten minutes, any day."

"No, no, not possibil," remonstrated the man, whose swarthy visage
betrayed a mixture of cunning, fun, and annoyance. He was obviously a
half-caste of the lowest type, but with more pretensions to wealth than
many of his fellows, inasmuch as he wore, besides his loin-cloth, a
white cotton shooting-coat, very much soiled, beneath the tails of which
his thin black legs protruded ridiculously.

"Here you are, sir," cried Disco, as he came up; "here's the man for
lingo: knows the native talkee, as well as Portuguese, English, Arabic,
and anything else you like, as far as I know. Antonio's his name.
Come, sir, try him with Greek, or somethin' o' that sort!"

Harold had much