us industry.

As I wanted to observe developments--a very necessary thing when
you are playing Providence--I chose a central position in the shade
and pulled out some very smudgy tatting, a sort of Penelope's web
which there was no prospect of my ever completing, but which served
admirably to give me an appearance of occupation at critical
moments.

Mr. Tubbs also had sought a shady spot and was fanning himself with
his helmet. From time to time he hummed, in a manner determinedly
gay. However he might disguise it from himself, this time Mr.
Tubbs had overshot his mark. In the first thrill of his great
discovery he had thought the game was in his hands. He had looked
for an instant capitulation.

The truth was, since our arrival on the island Mr. Tubbs had felt
himself the spoiled child of fortune. Aunt Jane and Miss
Higglesby-Browne were the joint commanders of the expedition, and
he commanded them. The Scotchman's theoretical rank as leader had
involved merely the acceptance of all the responsibility and blame,
while authority rested with the petticoat government dominated by
the bland and wily Tubbs.

Had Mr. Tubbs but continued bland and wily, had he taken his fair
confederates into his counsels, who knows how fat a share of the
treasure they might have voted him. But he had abandoned his safe
nook behind the throne, and sought to come out into the open as
dictator. _Sic semper tyrannis_. So had the mighty fallen.

Faced with the failure of his _coup d'etat_, Mr. Tubbs's situation
was, to say the least, awkward. He had risked all, and lost it.
But he maintained an air of jaunty self-confidence, slightly tinged
with irony. It was all very well, he seemed to imply, for us to
try to get along without H. H. We would discover the impossibility
of it soon enough.

Aunt Jane, drooping, had been led away to the cabin by Miss
Higglesby-Browne. You now heard the voice of Violet in
exhortation, mingled with Aunt Jane's sobs. I seemed to see that
an ear of Mr. Tubbs was cocked attentively in that direction, He
had indeed erred in the very wantonness of triumph, for a single
glance would have kept Aunt Jane loyal and prodigal of excuses for
him in the face of any treachery. Not even Violet could have
clapped the lid on the up-welling fount of sentiment in Aunt Jane's
heart. Only the cold condemning eye of H. H. himself had congealed
that tepid flood.

The morning wore on with ever-increasing heat, and