“One day the schooner was off in an out-of-the way part of the ocean, and the skipper come up from down below, bringing one of the photographing bottles from the carpetbag.

“’See ‘ere,’ says he to Rosy, who was swabbing decks just to keep him out of mischief, ’w’at kind of a developer stuff is this?  It has a mighty familiar smell.’

“‘That ain’t developer, sir,’ answers Rosy, meek as usual.  ’That’s alcohol.  I use it—­’

“‘Alcohol!’ says George.  ’Do you mean to tell me that you’ve ’ad alcohol aboard all this time and never said a word to one of us?  If that ain’t just like you!  Of all the ungrateful beasts as ever I—­’

“When him and the other two got through convincing Rosy that he was ungrateful, they took that bottle into the cabin and begun experimenting.  Julius had lived a few months in Maine, which is a prohibition State, and so he knew how to make alcohol ’splits’—­ one-half wet fire and the rest water.  They ‘split’ for five days.  Then the alcohol was all out and the Emily was all in, being stove up on a coral reef two mile off shore of a little island that nobody’d ever seen afore.

“They got into the boat—­the four white men and the Kanaka—­histed the sail, and headed for the beach.  They landed all right and was welcomed by a reception committee of fifteen husky cannibals with spears, dressed mainly in bone necklaces and sunshine.  The committee was glad to see ’em, and showed it, particular to Teunis, who was fat.  Rosy, being principally framework by this time, wa’n’t nigh so popular; but he didn’t seem to care.

“The darkies tied ’em up good and proper and then held a committee meeting, arguing, so Julius cal’lated, whether to serve ’em plain or with greens.  While the rest was making up the bill of fare, a few set to work unpacking the bags and things, Rosy’s satchel among ’em.  Pretty soon there was an awful jabbering.

“‘They’ve settled it,’ says George, doleful.  ’Well, there’s enough of Teunis to last ’em for one meal, if they ain’t ’ogs.  You’re a tough old bird, cooky; maybe you’ll give ’em dyspepsy, so they won’t care for the rest of us.  That’s a ray of ‘ope, ain’t it?’

“But the cook didn’t seem to get much hope out of it.  He was busy telling the skipper what he thought of him when the natives come up.  They was wildly excited, and two or three of ’em was waving square pieces of cardboard in their hands.

“And here’s where the Emily’s gang had a streak of luck.  The Kanaka sailor couldn’t talk much English, but it seems that his granddad, or some of his ancestors, must have belonged to the same breed of cats as these islanders, for he could manage to understand a little of their lingo.

“‘Picture!’ says he, crazy-like with joy.  ’Picture, cappy; picture!’

“When Rosy was new on board the schooner, afore George and the rest had played with him till he was an old story, one of their games was to have him take their photographs.  He’d taken the cap’n’s picture, and Julius’s and Van Doozen’s.  The pictures was a Rogues’ Gallery that would have got ’em hung on suspicion anywhere in civilization, but these darkies wa’n’t particular.  Anyhow they must have been good likenesses, for the committee see the resemblance right off.