“Lady,” said Billy, getting hot inside, and when he got hot inside he was likely to be blunt in his remarks, “supposin’ some stranger come to a friend of yours and asked are you married to a nigger!” She flushed and caught her breath, but someway it seemed that she was very much pleased, though she said: “You are right. I apologize. But will you please take us to Mr. Tomlin. I am a friend--a former friend of his.” So Billy led them up to the house, and the natives came along chattering and grinning and wanting to touch the woman’s clothes. Billy warned them off repeatedly with a strange mixture of native words and New York slang. The Captain, speaking like a man does who has something on his mind, asked: “And how long have _you_ been here, Rev. Mr. Rand?” “Me? Oh, let’s see. Two--no not quite two years. Be two years soon. A feller sort o’ loses track of time in a place like this, you know.” “So I would judge!” said the Captain with a strange intonation that caused Billy some vague uneasiness. It stood this way with Billy: The District Attorney back in New York was after the Chief. Certain contractors lost money on a job and that made them peevish, so they swore that they had handed out a bribe to get the contract awarded to them. The Chief stood pat and said: “Prove it!” Billy had carried the money. If Billy confessed, the District Attorney had the proof. But Billy jumped. If he should be caught and still refuse to come through with a confession, it was highly probable that the District Attorney would pry loose some little episodes in Billy’s past and hand him something. He would not snitch on the Chief and as he did not like the accommodations at Sing Sing, Billy had been ducking and dodging all over the Pacific, and the detectives--though they had never laid eyes on him--had been stubborn and alert as ferrets in a rabbit warren. It wasn’t that Billy had a criminal record--far from it. But he had been in practical politics as an aid to the Chief. This was a stubborn political fight involving some pretty big pickings, and he had the misfortune to be a crucial witness. So Billy grew very thoughtful at the way Captain Farwell spoke. He led the guests into the house and had them sit down. They looked at the bugs and pickled lizards and stuffed fish, but the woman did not shiver. “This has always been Roscoe’s habit,” she said. Billy sent some of the native youngsters for green cocoanuts and poured a drink of cool milk for the guests. The woman was eager and busy with questions, wanting to know everything knowable about Tomlin; and the Captain watched Billy steadily and continued remarks that made him nervous. Billy reflected that the Captain was not a big man in any way--something like himself in build, only a trifle thinner--and, well, a fight wouldn’t help much to keep him out of New York, but it would be gratifying. While they were talking, Tomlin came.