He turned to Herr Schwankmacher, who had just refilled his pipe, and repeated to him the astounding announcement.  The German scoffed.  Seeing that there was no help for it if he wished to get away in a reasonable time, Smith explained that he was halfway on a voyage round the world, and had not a minute to spare.

“Ach! business are business.  Zat is vat take me round ze world.  Permit me, sir.”

He handed Smith a large business card, inscribed with the name “Hildebrand Schwab,” and the address of his firm in Duesseldorf.

“Ve shall lose no time, sir,” he added.  “Zis is ze most amazing zink zat efer haf I heard, and I esteem it great honour to haf ze opportunity to introduce you to ze excellent firma vat supply you viz petrol for your so vonderful machine.  Vun minute until I tell Herr Schwankmacher, zen ve go doublequick.”

Herr Schwankmacher’s vexation and incredulity vanished together when his friend told him the facts of the case.  He was a good fellow at bottom, and now that he knew that the aeroplane’s descent in his garden was purely accidental, he was ready to do all in his power to speed the parting guest.  In a few minutes Smith was hurrying along the shore road with a German on either side, at his left the surf roaring on the fringe of coral reef, at his right a screen of tufted palms and plantations running up the lower slopes of the mountains.  He soon came to a collection of drinking-bars and stores, all bearing German names.  Herr Schwankmacher, now transformed into a cordial host, invited him to drink a bottle of lager with him at one of the bars, but he excused himself and followed Schwab into a large store where every sort of requisite for machines was kept in stock.

The purchase of petrol proved to be a lengthy transaction, for Schwab was impelled to tell the story to the store-keeper, he repeated it to his clerks, they ran out to tell the neighbours, and the place was soon thronged with Germans—­merchants, clerks, sailors, stokers—­all eager to see the airman who was flying round the world.  The store was filled with smoke and gutturals.  The purchase being at last concluded, the cans were rolled to a motor lorry which lumbered along in the direction of Mulinuu like a triumphal car at the head of a procession.  First came Smith with Schwankmacher on his right and Schwab on his left; then a crowd of the German population, in which wealthy merchants found themselves neighbours to grimy stokers, and youthful clerks to the inevitable uniforms; the tail was formed of swarthy Samoans, men and women, skipping boys and laughing girls with flowers in their hair.

Rodier had cleaned the engine, and was eating his dinner among the cabbages.  He favoured the crowd with a pleasant smile, although some were Germans, and because others were pretty.

The petrol was placed on board and the tank filled, Smith, with long-suffering patience, replying to the questions of the English-speaking spectators.  All was at last ready for the start; Schwab, who alone of the company had knowledge of the conditions, made himself useful in clearing the course; and Schwankmacher positively declined to accept payment for the plants which had been crushed under the aeroplane, and those which were trampled by the spectators’ feet.