The two men at the gangway continued to talk. Phil recognized the language to be Kapuan, of which he could not understand a word. “To-morrow morning, then, I shall be ashore,” Captain Scott said finally in English. “When will my cargo be ready?” “It’s ready now at the plantations,” Klinger answered also in English. “You’ve got to go for it.” Then he lapsed again into Kapuan. After a few more minutes the man again climbed down the schooner’s side and into his boat, then Captain Scott walked aft to join Phil, while Klinger’s boat pulled swiftly toward the shore. “I’m under contract with the Kapuan firm,” Captain Scott said pleasantly. “That was the manager, Klinger. He is a very disagreeable fellow, and I shall be glad to finish my business with him and be off.” Phil saw there could be nothing further learned from Captain Scott, yet he was firmly convinced from Klinger’s remark that something had miscarried. There were a number of questions, however, usual in boarding an arriving vessel, which he proceeded to ask the captain. “Under what flag are you sailing?” Phil inquired. “Herzovinian,” Captain Scott replied readily. “You have no contraband on board?” the midshipman asked suddenly, his eyes riveted upon the sea-captain’s face. Captain Scott’s benign smile returned. “Young man, there’s no longer any profit in firearms.--Is that why your captain was so prompt to send his officer aboard?” he asked, laughing as if he enjoyed the joke immensely. “And besides, with the entire island available for a vessel of the ‘Talofa’s’ draft, Captain Scott would not be likely to sail into Ukula with a cargo of arms; not while there are three consuls ashore, and as many war-ships at anchor in the harbor. My cargo consists of cotton cloth and canned stuffs for the ‘firm,’ and I return to Fiji with a load of ‘copra.’” “What is that bar of iron alongside the compass?” Phil asked curiously. He was firmly convinced that Klinger and Captain Scott were partners in some unlawful trade, but for the life of him could not see how he could drag from this benevolent host, albeit pirate and smuggler, information upon which action could be taken. Captain Scott eyed the bar of steel. Phil thought he discerned a slight start, at least a hesitancy in his manner. “That,” the captain replied, “is one of my mate’s clever ideas in correcting the compass. I don’t know where he learned it, but it seems very effective.” Phil called to his boat, thanked Captain Scott, and was soon returning to the “Sitka.” After he had gone Captain Scott tore the steel bar savagely from the compass. Then he walked forward to the forecastle. His sailors had about finished stowing the sails. “Stump,” he called. He glanced about the deck. There was no one there. He picked up his mate’s hat from the spot where the man had fallen under the blow from Captain Scott’s fist. He turned toward several natives who were on the point of going below, their work finished.