“It surprises me to see how you’ve made nothing at all spin out,” said Sheriff; “and as for the Lagos authorities I was speaking about, it’s done more; it’s made them suspicious.  Hang it, man, be reasonable; you must see they are bound to be suspicious.”

Captain Kettle’s brown face grew darker in tint, and he spoke with visible shame.  “I’ve come by a living, sir, honest, but I couldn’t bear it to be told aloud here to all the world how it was done.  I may be down, Mr. Sheriff, but I have my pride still.”

Sheriff spread his hands helplessly.  “That’s no kind of answer,” he said.  “They won’t let you continue to stay here in Lagos on an explanation like that.  Come now, Kettle, be sensible:  put yourself in the authorities’ place.  They’ve got a town to administer—­a big town—­that not thirty years ago was the most murderous, fanatical, rowdy dwelling of slave-traders on the West Coast of Africa.  To-day, by dint of careful shepherding, they’ve reduced it to a city of quiet respectability, with a smaller crime rate than Birmingham; and in fact made it into a model town suitable for a story-book.  You don’t see the Government much, but you bet it’s there, and you bet it isn’t asleep.  You can bet also that the nigger people here haven’t quite forgotten the old days, and would like to be up to a bit of mischief every now and again, just for old association’s sake, which of course the Government is quite aware of.

“Now there’s nothing that can stir up niggers into ructions against a white man’s government better than a white man, as has been proved tons of times already, and here are you already on the carpet quite equal to the job.  I don’t say you are up to mischief, nor does the Government, but you must see for yourself that they’d be fools if they didn’t play for safety and ship you off out of harm’s way.”

“I must admit,” said Kettle ruefully, “that there’s sense in what you say, sir.”

“Are you going to give a free and open explanation of your means of employment here in Lagos, and earn the right to stay on openly, or are you going to still stick to the mysterious?”

The little sailor frowned.  “No, sir,” he said; “as I told you before, I have my pride.”

“Very-well, then.  Now, are you going to be the Distressed Seaman, and be jeered at all the run home as you cadge round for your ’baccy money, or are you going to do the sensible thing, and step into this billet I’ve put in your way?”

“You corner me.”

“I’m glad to hear it, and let me tell you it hasn’t been for want of trying.  Man, if I hadn’t liked you, I would not have taken all this trouble to put a soft thing ready to your hand.”

“I believe you want service out of me in return, sir,” said Kettle stiffly.