burnt hair and ancient goat, and uttering horrible, blood-curdling bah-h-h-s, till he got into the card-table corner, and mistaking the wide glass window for an open door, he promptly jumped through it, and fell with a shower of glass outside on to the verandah again, where Thady O’Brien and the fat German with the spectacles fell on him, and tried to hold him down, and the spectacles were ground into dust and otherwise damaged, and some of the ladies endeavouring to escape out of the hideous melee fell with him, and then the goat struggled to his feet with the bucket squashed flat against his forehead, and his horns covered with lace, and tulle, and bits of kid gloves, and planted one of his cloven forefeet into the shirt-front of a German officer, and smashed his watch.  Then with another roar of defiance he burst through and disappeared into the wilderness at the back of Mrs. MacLaggan’s garden, where he was followed by Leger, the drunken carpenter, and his wife, and nineteen Samoans, all armed with rifles.  The army fired at him for two hours, and about midnight returned and reported him riddled with bullets, whereupon Mrs. Molly, who was a little hysterical at the awful mess and wreckage caused by the brute, thanked them and gave them ten dollars.

Now it so happened that Billy MacLaggan was not killed at all, for about two o’clock in the morning, as Bully Hayes and Tom Denison were sitting on the verandah of the former’s house at Matautu Point, drinking brandy and soda, and dabbing arnica bandages on their various contusions, Pilot Hamilton hailed them from the front gate.  He had just left the dance with his wife, and was quite sober—­for Samoa.  He asked them to come on with him to his place, as Billy MacLaggan, he said, was lying down in Mrs. Hamilton’s kitchen, and seemed poorly, and that he hoped Hayes would forgive the poor thing, which was only a dumb animal.  So Hayes and Denison went and saw William, who was now sober and looked sorry.  They dressed his wounds, and Tom Denison took him on board early in the morning, intending to take him to sea till the memory of his misdeeds had toned down a bit, for Billy was a great institution in Samoa, and had many friends.  Hardly a white man in the place, no matter how hard up he was, but would stand Billy a bottle of lager or a chew of tobacco. (I forgot to mention that Billy would drink anything and chew anything, except cigarettes, at which he snorted with contempt.) Now Denison’s little vessel was lying quite near the German man-of-war, and was to sail next day for the Solomons if the captain was sober, and he (Denison) had a lot of work to do to get the ship ready, and whilst he was poring over accounts in the cabin about noon, a boat ran alongside and Bully Hayes came into the cabin.

“Where’s Billy?” he said.  “Quick, get him into my boat at once.  There’s a search-party coming on board, and the widow is going to give you the dirty kick-out, Tom Denison.  There’s been the devil to pay over that cursed goat, but I’m going to save his life all the same.  But if she does sack you, you can come to me for a berth.”