“How do you do?” said Gordon, doubtfully. The boat shook the giant off under the wave and beached itself so suddenly that the American consul was thrown forward to his knees. Gordon did not wait to pick him up, but jumped out and shook hands with the young man who had turned handsprings, while the natives gathered about them in a circle and chatted and laughed in delighted excitement. “I’m awful glad to see you,” said the young man, eagerly. “My name’s Stedman. I’m from New Haven, Connecticut. Where are you from?” “New York,” said Albert. “This,” he added, pointing solemnly to Captain Travis, who was still on his knees in the boat, “is the American consul to Opeki.” The American consul to Opeki gave a wild look at Mr. Stedman of New Haven and at the natives. “See here, young man,” he gasped, “is this all there is of Opeki?” “The American consul?” said young Stedman, with a gasp of amazement, and looking from Albert to Captain Travis. “Why, I never supposed they would send another here; the last one died about fifteen years ago, and there hasn’t been one since. I’ve been living in the consul’s office with the Bradleys, but I’ll move out, of course. I’m sure I’m awfully glad to see you. It’ll make it more pleasant for me.” “Yes,” said Captain Travis, bitterly, as he lifted his rheumatic leg over the boat; “that’s why we came.” Mr. Stedman did not notice this. He was too much pleased to be anything but hospitable. “You are soaking wet, aren’t you?” he said; “and hungry, I guess. You come right over to the consul’s office and get on some other things.” He turned to the natives and gave some rapid orders in their language, and some of them jumped into the boat at this, and began lifting out the trunks, and others ran off towards a large, stout old native, who was sitting gravely on a log, smoking, with the rain beating unnoticed on his gray hair. “They’ve gone to tell the King,” said Stedman; “but you both better get something to eat first, and then I’ll be happy to present you properly.” “The King,” said Captain Travis, with some awe; “is there a king?” “I never saw a king,” Gordon remarked, “and I’m sure I never expected to see one sitting on a log in the rain.” “He’s a very good King,” said Stedman, confidentially; “and though you mightn’t think it to look at him, he’s a terrible stickler for etiquette and form. After supper he’ll give you an audience; and if you have any tobacco, you had better give him some as a present, and you’d better say it’s from the President: he doesn’t like to take presents from common people, he’s so proud. The only reason he borrows mine is because he thinks I’m the President’s son.”