“Well, the article said that you had made slaves of some of the natives of New Guinea, purchasing them by a promise to help a native chief against his enemies.”

“There wasn’t much harm in that:  I did it,” said he.

“And then it went on to say that you kept your promise,” said Phyllis.

“What!  They accused me of keeping my promise?” said he.  “Well, I’m afraid I can’t deny that charge either.”

“Did you really slaughter the natives?” cried Phyllis.

The interest which she felt appeared in her eyes.

“I did my best for the savages who had purchased my services,” he replied.  “The campaign was not a protracted one.  Two days after the outbreak of hostilities brought things to a climax.  We fought our decisive battle—­the Sedan of King Mubamayo.  You see, I had a trustworthy Winchester.  I believe that about seventy of the enemy bit the dust.”

“Only seventy?  That was unworthy of you, Mr. Courtland,” cried Ella.  “Nothing short of thousands counts as a civilized battle.  Seventy!  Oh, I’m afraid you don’t do yourself justice.”

“Of course a battle is a battle,” said Phyllis stoutly.  “If you hadn’t killed them they would have killed you.  You were in the right, I’m sure.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” said he, shaking his head.  “To tell you the truth, the elements of the crisis of Headman Glowabyola were somewhat involved.  The original dispute was difficult for a foreigner to understand—­it was, in fact, the Schleswig-Holstein question of Kafalonga.”

“You settled it, anyway,” suggested Ella.  “You were the Bismarck of what’s-its-name?”

“I doubled the parts of Bismarck and Von Moltke,” said he.

“And that’s why they worshiped you as their god?  I don’t wonder at the heathen in his blindness doing that.  Any man who was the same as Bismarck and Von Moltke would certainly shoulder a deity out of his way,” laughed Ella.

“It so happened, however, that my deification was due neither to my recognition as a diplomatist nor as a military strategist,” said the explorer.  “No, they wanted something beyond the mere fighting man to worship, and my knowledge of that fact combined with their paeans of victory—­to the obbligato of a solid iron-wood drum beaten with the thigh bones of the conquered—­to keep me awake at night.  But one morning the headman came upon me when I was about to boil my kettle to make myself a cup of tea.  I had a small lamp that burned spirits, and he stood by while I filled it up from the bottle that I carried with me.  He took it for granted that the spirit was water, and he was greatly impressed when he saw it flare up as I applied a lighted match to it.  He asked me if I possessed the power to set water in a blaze, and I assured him that that was something for which I had long been celebrated; adding that when I had had my breakfast I meant to while away an hour or two by setting fire to the ocean itself.