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“My topnot riz up on my head. ‘Good Lord!’ thinks I, ‘she’s making love to me so’s to get me to take that club and go and thump Hammond with it!’

“I was scared stiff, but Lobelia was between me and the door, so I kept smiling and backing away.

“‘Now, Lobelia,’ says I, ‘don’t be–‘

“”Ammond!’ says she.

“‘Now, Miss ‘Ankins, d-o-n’t be hasty, I–‘

“”AMMOND!

“Well, I backed faster and faster, and she follered me right up till at last I begun to run. Round and round the place we went, me scart for my life and she fairly frothing with rage. Finally I bust through the door and put for the woods at a rate that beat Hammond’s going all holler. I never stopped till I got close to the palm tree. Then I whistled and Hammond answered.

“When I told him about the rumpus, he set and laughed like an idiot.

“”Ow d’you like Miss ‘Ankin’s love-making?’ he says.

“‘You’ll like it less’n I do,’ I says, ‘if she gets up here with that club!’

“That kind of sobered him down again, and we got to planning. After a spell, we decided that our only chance was to sneak down to the schooner in the dark and put to sea, leaving Lobelia alone in her glory.

“Well, we waited till twelve o’clock or so and then we crept down to the beach, tiptoeing past the shanty for fear of waking Lobelia. We got on the schooner all right, hauled up anchor, h’isted sail and stood out of the lagoon with a fair wind. When we was fairly to sea we shook hands.

“‘Lawd!’ says Hammond, drawing a long breath, ‘I never was so ‘appy in my life. This ‘ere lady-killing business ain’t in my line.’

“He felt so good that he set by the wheel and sung, ‘Good-by, sweet’art, good-by,’ for an hour or more.

“In the morning we was in sight of another small island, and, out on a p’int, was a passel of folks jumping up and down and waving a signal.

“‘Well, if there ain’t more castaways!’ says I.

“‘Don’t go near ’em!’ says Hammond. ‘Might come there was more Lobelias among ’em.’

“But pretty quick we see the crowd all pile into a boat and come rowing off to us. They was all men, and their signal was a red flannel shirt on a pole.

“We put about for ’em and picked ’em up, letting their boat tow behind the schooner. There was five of ’em, a ragged and dirty lot of Malays and half-breeds. When they first climbed aboard, I see ’em looking the schooner over mighty sharp, and in a minute they was all jabbering together in native lingo.

“‘What’s the matter with ’em?’ says Hammond.

“A chap with scraggy black whiskers and a sort of worried look on his face, stepped for’ard and made a bow. He looked like a cross between a Spaniard and a Malay, and I guess that’s what he was.

“‘Senors,’ says he, palavering and scraping, ‘boat! my boat!’

“‘W’at’s ‘e giving us?’ says Hammond.

“‘Boat! This boat! My boat, senors,’ says the feller. All to once I understood him.

“‘Hammond,’ I says, ‘I swan to man if I don’t believe we’ve picked up the real crew of this craft!’

“‘Si, senor; boat, my boat! Crew! Crew!’ says Whiskers, waving his hands toward the rest of his gang.

“‘Hall right, skipper,’ says Hammond; ‘glad to see yer back haboard. Make yerselves well at ‘ome. ‘Ow d’ yer lose er in the first place?’

“The feller didn’t seem to understand much of this, but he looked more worried than ever. The crew looked frightened, and jabbered.

“‘Ooman, senors,’ says Whiskers, in half a whisper. ‘Ooman, she here?’

“‘Hammond,’ says I, ‘what’s a ooman?’ The feller seemed to be thinkin’ a minute; then he began to make signs. He pulled his nose down till it most touched his chin. Then he put his hands to his ears and made loops of his fingers to show earrings. Then he took off his coat and wrapped it round his knees like make-b’lieve skirts. Hammond and me looked at each other.