“I’ve been in quarrels before for the sheer fun of the thing,” said Kettle, who was determined that at any rate no apology should come from his side.

“So have I,” said the tall man, “but I’ve no time for empty amusement just now.  I’m down here on business.  I’m trying to start a new steamer line to work this Coast and get away the monopoly from the other companies.  That boat stuck yonder—­the Indian Sheriff she’s called—­is my venture, and she represents about all I’ve got, and she isn’t underwritten for a sixpence.  I’ve been going nap or nothing on this scheme, and at present it looks uncommon like nothing.  What I’m anxious about now, is to see if I can’t make some arrangement for salvage.”

“I can understand it would be useful to you.”

“It might be useful to others besides me.  Now, there’s you, for instance.  I dare say you’ve got a nice little establishment ashore, and some simple comforts, and a bit of influence in your village.  But you spoke about your wife at home in South Shields just now, and I make no doubt that if you’d got a tidy sum of money in your pocket you’d be as pleased as not to get home to her again?”

Captain Kettle was on the point of breaking out into explanations and disavowals, but a thought came to him, and he refrained.

“Well,” he said, “I’m waiting to hear your offer.”

“Here it is, then.  You go ashore now, raise your village, bring off every nigger you can scare up, swamp the Krooboys on that steamboat and keep her from being looted, and I solemnly promise you 25 per cent. of her value and the value of what she has in her.”

“Yes,” said Kettle thoughtfully.  “That’s a square enough offer, and it’s made before witnesses, and I believe the courts would make you stick to it.”

“Ho!” grunted the Mate, “Robinson’s a sea lawyer, is he?  Courts, he talks about.”

Kettle ignored the suggestion.  “Should I know your name, sir?” he asked of the tall man.

“I’m Nicholson Sheriff.  If you know Liverpool, you’ll have heard of me.”

“You were with Kevendales?”

“That’s me.  I left there two years ago, to start on my own.”

“H’m,” said the little sailor in the canoe.  “I was master of one of Kevendale’s ships once.  It was me that had misfortune with the Armenia.”

“By gum! are you Captain Kettle that piled up the old Atrocity on that iceberg?  I’m sorry to see you come down to this, Captain.”

“Captain Kettle,” said the sulky Mate, “that was in the Congo Pilot Service?”

“Yes,” said Kettle.

“Then, Captain,” said the Mate, “I take back what I said about you being Robinson Crusoe.  You may have met with misfortune, but, by the Lord, you’re a man all the way through.  You’ve made the ports down there on the Congo just ring with the way you kept your end up with those beastly Belgians.  And now when any Englishman goes ashore at Boma or Matadi or any place on the river, they’re fit to eat him.”