He paused and glanced at Hade as if for prompting.  Throughout his harangue Standish had given Brice the impression of a man who recites a lesson taught him by another.  Now Hade took up the tale.

“I think,” said he smilingly—­his momentary impatience gone —­“I think, before answering—­in fact before coming down to terms and other details—­you might perhaps care to stroll around the island a little, and get an idea of it for yourself.  It may be you won’t care to stay here.  It may be you will like it very much.  Mr. Standish and I have some routine business to talk over with Roke.  Suppose you take a walk over the place?  Roke, assign one of the men to go with him and show him around.”

With instant obedience.  Roke started for the door.  Indeed, he had almost reached it before Hade ceased speaking.  Gavin raised his brows at this swift anticipation of orders.  And into his mind came an odd thought.

“You seemed surprised to see me this afternoon,” said he as he followed Roke to the porch and closed the door behind them.  “Yet Mr. Hade had told you I was coming here.  He had told you, and he had told you to have some one ready to show me over the island.”

As he spoke Gavin indicated with a nod a man who was trotting across the sandy clearing toward them.

“Didn’t know it was you!” grunted Roke. too surprised by the direct assertion to fence.  “Said some feller would come with Mr. Standish.  He—.  How’d you know he told me?” he demanded in sudden angry bewilderment.

“There!” exclaimed Gavin admiringly.  “I knew we’d chat along as lovingly as two turtle-doves when once we’d get really started.  You’re quite a talker when you want to be, Rokie my lad!  If only you didn’t speak as if you were trying to save words on a telegram.  Here’s the chap you’d ordered to be cruising in the offing as my escort, eh?” as the barefoot roustabout reached the porch.  “All right.  Good-by.”

Leaving the grumbling and muttering Roke scowling after him.  Brice stepped out onto the sand to meet the newcomer.  The roustabout apparently belonged to the conch tribe of which Milo had spoken.  Thin. undersized. swarthy. with features that showed a trace of negro and perhaps of Indian blood as well, he had a furtive manner and seemed to cringe away from the Northerner as they set off across the clearing. toward the distant huts and still more distant orchards.

He was bareheaded and stoop-shouldered.  Beyond a ragged pair of drill trousers—­indescribably dirty—­his only garment was a still dirtier and raggeder undershirt.  His naked feet flapped awkwardly, like a turtle’s.  He was not a pretty or prepossessing sight.

Across the clearing he pattered, head down, still cringing away from the visitor.  As the two entered the shadows of the nearest grove Gavin Brice glanced quickly around him on all sides.  The conch did the same.  Then the two moved on with the same distance between them as before.