"Oh, of course, yes. You want to set up housekeeping, don't you? Well, old fellow, here are the two half-crowns towards the mangle or the grand piano or whatever you've set your mind on getting first. Sorry I ragged you about being engaged to Laura last night at Smooth River. But, you see, I know Owe-it Slade, and I've known Laura all her life, and of course I was a bit surprised to be told, you know--well, to be told that you, of all people, had made it up with her. But, as I say, I'm sorry I ragged you." "Please don't apologize on a hot day like this," Carter snapped. "As I don't value your opinion on a matter like that one jot, I naturally didn't let anything you said disturb my sleep. Good-afternoon. If you're going to occupy your room, I'll go out on deck and enjoy the infernal crushed-marigold stink of this drain from a different point." "That young man knows he's made a fool of himself," commented the Purser sagely, "and he's as sore and uneasy as a skinned eel in a tub of sand. Well, if he wants to furnish a lil' log hut for his dusky Laura, so much the better for trade. He's the neatest trick of making native curios in all West Africa, and I've got all his home business in my hand. It's all rot about his trading with another purser; there isn't one on the Coast that works this line, or I should have heard about it. If the output's increased, I shall try and work up a connection with America. My Whiskers! why not? What's wrong with enriching the United States with some good broad-bladed Okky spears, and a war horn or two just as a-- Hullo, yes, who's that? Ah, come in." There was a knock at the Purser's door, and White-Man's-Trouble entered in reply to the invitation. "Oh, Purser," he said, "dem bug," and opened a black fist and showed three electric-blue butterflies in his white palm. The Purser took them one by one in his plump fingers and dropped them gingerly into an empty cardboard cigarette box. "I don't think they'll be much use, boy. You've rubbed too much fluff off with those delicate paws of yours. Savvy?" "I savvy I fit for dash," said the Krooboy pointedly. "Pooh, these are worth nothing. What do you take me for? A tripper, or the Bank of England? Ah, would you, you infernal thieving monkey?" Mr. Balgarnie had turned his back and had glanced in a shaving mirror which hung by the port and saw White-Man's-Trouble helping himself to a Tauchnitz novel, which he promptly tucked underneath his coat. The Krooboy put the book down. He did not waste time in apologizing for the theft of something that was entirely useless to him. He went straight to a matter of far graver interest. "Oh, Purser, how you seen me take dem thing? You no see with you eyes. You eyes lib for look out of window."