hundred and fifty pounds; Hadden was ready with five hundred; why should they not recruit a fellow or two more, charter an old ship, and go cruising on their own account?  Carthew was an experienced yachtsman; Hadden professed himself able to “work an approximate sight.”  Money was undoubtedly to be made, or why should so many vessels cruise about the islands? they, who worked their own ship, were sure of a still higher profit.

“And whatever else comes of it, you see,” cried Hadden, “we get our keep for nothing.  Come, buy some togs, that’s the first thing you have to do of course; and then we’ll take a hansom and go to the Currency Lass.”

“I’m going to stick to the togs I have,” said Norris.

“Are you?” cried Hadden.  “Well, I must say I admire you.  You’re a regular sage.  It’s what you call Pythagoreanism, isn’t it? if I haven’t forgotten my philosophy.”

“Well, I call it economy,” returned Carthew.  “If we are going to try this thing on, I shall want every sixpence.”

“You’ll see if we’re going to try it!” cried Tommy, rising radiant from table.  “Only, mark you, Carthew, it must be all in your name.  I have capital, you see; but you’re all right.  You can play vacuus viator, if the thing goes wrong.”

“I thought we had just proved it was quite safe,” said Carthew.

“There’s nothing safe in business, my boy,” replied the sage; “not even bookmaking.”

The public house and tea garden called the Currency Lass represented a moderate fortune gained by its proprietor, Captain Bostock, during a long, active, and occasionally historic career among the islands.  Anywhere from Tonga to the Admiralty Isles, he knew the ropes and could lie in the native dialect.  He had seen the end of sandal wood, the end of oil, and the beginning of copra; and he was himself a commercial pioneer, the first that ever carried human teeth into the Gilberts.  He was tried for his life in Fiji in Sir Arthur Gordon’s time; and if ever he prayed at all, the name of Sir Arthur was certainly not forgotten.  He was speared in seven places in New Ireland—­the same time his mate was killed—­the famous “outrage on the brig Jolly Roger”; but the treacherous savages made little by their wickedness, and Bostock, in spite of their teeth, got seventy-five head of volunteer labour on board, of whom not more than a dozen died of injuries.  He had a hand, besides, in the amiable pleasantry which cost the life of Patteson; and when the sham bishop landed, prayed, and gave his benediction to the natives, Bostock, arrayed in a female chemise out of the traderoom, had stood at his right hand and boomed amens.  This, when he was sure he was among good fellows, was his favourite yarn.  “Two hundred head of labour for a hatful of amens,” he used to name the tale; and its sequel, the death of the real bishop, struck him as a circumstance of extraordinary humour.

Many of these details were communicated in the hansom, to the surprise of Carthew.