Whats a Hohono horror? Bertie asked, after the storekeeper had been persuaded to remain until the end of the month.
Oh, he means Hohono Plantation, on Ysabel, said the manager. The niggers killed the five white men ashore, captured the schooner, killed the captain and mate, and escaped in a body to Malaita. But I always said they were careless on Hohono. They wont catch us napping here. Come along, Mr. Arkwright, and see our view from the veranda.
Bertie was too busy wondering how he could get away to TulagI to the Commissioners house, to see much of the view. He was still wondering, when a rifle exploded very near to him, behind his back. At the same moment his arm was nearly dislocated, so eagerly did Mr. Harriwell drag him indoors.
I say, old man, that was a close shave, said the manager, pawing him over to see if he had been hit. I cant tell you how sorry I am. But it was broad daylight, and I never dreamed.
Bertie was beginning to turn pale.
They got the other manager that way, McTavish vouchsafed. And a dashed fine chap he was. Blew his brains out all over the veranda. You noticed that dark stain there between the steps and the door?
Bertie was ripe for the cocktail which Mr. Harriwell pitched in and compounded for him; but before he could drink it, a man in riding trousers and puttees entered.
Whats the matter now? the manager asked, after one look at the newcomers face. Is the river up again?
River be blowed its the niggers. Stepped out of the cane grass, not a dozen feet away, and whopped at me. It was a Snider, and he shot from the hip. Now what I want to know is whered he get that Snider? Oh, I beg pardon. Glad to know you, Mr. Arkwright.
Mr. Brown is my assistant, explained Mr. Harriwell. And now lets have that drink.
But whered he get that Snider? Mr. Brown insisted. I always objected to keeping those guns on the premises.
Theyre still there, Mr. Harriwell said, with a show of heat.
Mr. Brown smiled incredulously.
Come along and see, said the manager.
Come along and see, said the manager.
Bertie joined the procession into the office, where Mr. Harriwell pointed triumphantly at a big packing case in a dusty corner.
Well, then where did the beggar get that Snider? harped Mr. Brown.
But just then McTavish lifted the packing case. The manager started, then tore off the lid. The case was empty. They gazed at one another in horrified silence. Harriwell drooped wearily.
Then McVeigh cursed.
What I contended all along the house-boys are not to be trusted.
It does look serious, Harriwell admitted, but well come through it all right. What the sanguinary niggers need is a shaking up. Will you gentlemen please bring your rifles to dinner, and will you, Mr. Brown, kindly prepare forty or fifty sticks of dynamite. Make the fuses good and short. Well give them a lesson. And now, gentlemen, dinner is served.
One thing that Bertie detested was rice and curry, so it happened that he alone partook of an inviting omelet. He had quite finished his plate, when Harriwell helped himself to the omelet. One mouthful he tasted, then spat out vociferously.
Thats the second time, McTavish announced ominously.
Harriwell was still hawking and spitting.
Second time, what? Bertie quavered.
Poison, was the answer. That cook will be hanged yet.
Thats the way the bookkeeper went out at Cape March, Brown spoke up. Died horribly. They said on the Jessie that they heard him screaming three miles away.
Ill put the cook in irons, sputtered Harriwell. Fortunately we discovered it in time.
Bertie sat paralyzed. There was no color in his face. He attempted to speak, but only an inarticulate gurgle resulted. All eyed him anxiously.
Dont say it, dont say it, McTavish cried in a tense voice.
Yes, I ate it, plenty of it, a whole plateful! Bertie cried explosively, like a diver suddenly regaining breath.
The awful silence continued half a minute longer, and he read his fate in their eyes.
Maybe it wasnt poison after all, said Harriwell, dismally.
Call in the cook, said Brown.
In came the cook, a grinning black boy, nose-spiked and ear-plugged.
Here, you, Wi-wi, what name that? Harriwell bellowed, pointing accusingly at the omelet.
Wi-wI was very naturally frightened and embarrassed.
Him good fella kai-kai, he murmured apologetically.
Make him eat it, suggested McTavish. Thats a proper test.
Harriwell filled a spoon with the stuff and jumped for the cook, who fled in panic.
That settles it, was Browns solemn pronouncement. He wont eat it.
Mr. Brown, will you please go and put the irons on him? Harriwell turned cheerfully to Bertie. Its all right, old man, the Commissioner will deal with him, and if you die, depend upon it, he will be hanged.
Dont think the governmentll do it, objected McTavish.
But gentlemen, gentlemen, Bertie cried. In the meantime think of me.
Harriwell shrugged his shoulders pityingly.
Sorry, old man, but its a native poison, and there are no known antidotes for native poisons. Try and compose yourself and if
Two sharp reports of a rifle from without, interrupted the discourse, and Brown, entering, reloaded his rifle and sat down to table.