“My people in Bora Bora do not like heathen—they areall Christians； and I do not like Bora Bora Christians，” hesaid one day， when I， with the idea of getting him to spendsome of the money that was rightfully his， had been tryingto persuade him to make a visit to his own island in oneof our schooners—a special voyage which I had hoped tomake a record breaker in the matter of prodigal expense.
I say one of our schooners， though legally at the timethey belonged to me. I struggled long with him to enterinto partnership.
“We have been partners from the day the Petite Jeannewent down，” he said at last. “But if your heart so wishes，then shall we become partners by the law. I have no workto do， yet are my expenses large. I drink and eat andsmoke in plenty—it costs much， I know. I do not pay forthe playing of billiards， for I play on your table； but stillthe money goes. Fishing on the reef is only a rich man’spleasure. It is shocking， the cost of hooks and cotton line.
Yes； it is necessary that we be partners by the law. I needthe money. I shall get it from the head clerk in the office.”
So the papers were made out and recorded. A year laterI was compelled to complain.
“Charley，” said I， “you are a wicked old fraud， a miserlyskinflint， a miserable land crab. Behold， your share for theyear in all our partnership has been thousands of dollars.
The head clerk has given me this paper. It says that in theyear you have drawn just eighty-seven dollars and twentycents.”
“Is there any owing me？” he asked anxiously.
“I tell you thousands and thousands，” I answered.
His face brightened， as with an immense relief.
“It is well，” he said. “See that the head clerk keeps goodaccount of it. When I want it， I shall want it， and theremust not be a cent missing.
“If there is，” he added fiercely， after a pause， “it mustcome out of the clerk’s wages.”
And all the time， as I afterwards learned， his will， drawnup by Carruthers， and making me sole beneficiary， lay inthe American consul’s safe.
But the end came， as the end must come to all humanassociations.
It occurred in the Solomons， where our wildest workhad been done in the wild young days， and where we wereonce more—principally on a holiday， incidentally to lookafter our holdings on Florida Island and to look over thepearling possibilities of the Mboli Pass. We were lying atSavo， having run in to trade for curios.
Now， Savo is alive with sharks. The custom of thewoolly-heads of burying their dead in the sea did not tendto discourage the sharks from making the adjacent watersa hangout. It was my luck to be coming aboard in a tiny，overloaded， native canoe， when the thing capsized. Therewere four woolly-heads and myself in it， or rather， hangingto it. The schooner was a hundred yards away.
I was just hailing for a boat when one of the woollyheadsbegan to scream. Holding on to the end of the canoe，both he and that portion of the canoe were dragged underseveral times. Then he loosed his clutch and disappeared. Ashark had got him.
The three remaining niggers tried to climb out of thewater upon the bottom of the canoe. I yelled and cursedand struck at the nearest with my fist， but it was no use.
They were in a blind funk. The canoe could barely havesupported one of them. Under the three it upended androlled sidewise， throwing them back into the water.
