The festival of Christmas was approaching. Susannah was greatly excited over the preparations. Mrs. Ulswater was making mince pies. Ram Nad—whose opinion of himself is that he is an astral and unworldly soul, while Mrs. Ulswater's is that he differs from all heathen described in the missionary quarterlies, and my own is that he is as full of gammon as an eggshell is full of egg—Ram Nad was taking no interest in mince pies. For myself, in the tropics, I would as soon have eaten a pound of bent whalebone, or a swarm of congealed bees, as a mince pie, whose inward action upon me would, I was sure, be similar to that of resilient whalebone or thawed-out bees; and therefore, although interested in mince pies, I yet regarded the subject with a certain,—shall I say?—anxiety. It was under these circumstances that we sighted, approached, and at length took anchorage at the island of Lua.

It was not an unknown Pacific Island, nor yet well-known. The date of its discovery, its size, inhabitants and products will not be found stated in a school geography, but a good chart will show its location. Whether or not there were any white men there I did not know, but thought it likely. There is a considerable and curious drifting white population in the South Pacific. The Caucasian is ubiquitous. There is a restless germ in his blood, unknown to the Oriental and mysterious to himself.

A numerous village of wattled huts stretched along the white beach of the bay where we came to anchor. I have been not a little here and there in the South Pacific in my time, but never before on the island of Lua. Its blue and lilac mountains in panorama,—white threads of falling water on their steeps,—its nearer hills, palmy and green and like moss in the softening distance, the smooth lacquered water in the bay, the beach, the little brown huts with domed roofs of leafy thatch, truly all seemed at peace. A few people came down to the beach to observe us, and presently a boat put out,—not one of the native outriggers, but a dumpy little ship's dinghy. With the aid of a glass I made out that the occupants were two white men.

Of the two men, who now came aboard the Violetta, the foremost was a tall, bony, swing-shouldered powerful man, with a melancholy countenance, dangling gray moustache, whitish hair, lean throat, remarkably large hands, and a husky voice, who carried a banjo swung by a cord around his neck; the other was plainly a Hibernian, stoop-shouldered, his hair and whiskers forming a circular, complete, and resplendent aureole around his face, at the centre of which aurora a short black tobacco pipe was firmly inserted.

“How do?” said the bony stranger, mournfully, and then casting his eyes down on the Violetta's deck, he stopped and gazed.

On the flowered carpet under the neat awning sat Mrs. Ulswater as usual with her workbasket beside her, her knitting in her hand; there were the rocking chairs with their doilies, some geranium pots along the scuppers, and some lashed to the awning supports; there sat that venerable Cingalese, Ram Nad, with his magic-basket beside him; Susannah held Georgians Tupper in her lap.

“I don't seem to get my vest around your combination,” said the bony one, observing this domestic scene. “Is it waxworks, or pirates?” He looked worried about it. “My name's Sadler,” he continued, “and this yere conflagration behind me is named Irish or Jimmie Hagan, just as you like. We'd be pleased to know you.”

This sounded ingratiating, though his countenance was melancholy. Presently he sat in one of the doilied rocking chairs, with his feet tucked away behind him, and he seemed easy-going in his talk, and candid as to his history.

He had been a sailor once, as it seemed, on a smuggling or filibustering ship along South American coasts, and after that had lived in the city of Portate, South America, and from there he had gotten himself banished on account of his interest in romantic politics, and gone to California, and made money in some kind of Oriental trade; but lately he had been in Burmah professionally, that is to say, his profession there had been that of a sort of high priest, a species of abbot of a kind of monastery; and after that in Sumatra. But a month or more since he had dropped on Lua. The island had interested him by its romantic politics. He had resolved to “take a hand in that seducing game, which it looked real sporty,” he said, “and I judged the showdown was coming soon, but it hasn't yet, and it's been rolling up the blankedest jackpot you ever saw.”

“What!” said Mrs. Ulswater.

“Beg pardon, ma'am. I shouldn't have swore, but them's the facts.”

“What are the facts?”

Sadler looked worried.

“May I,” I said, “venture to suggest that your terms are perhaps a trifle technical, or—shall I say?—a trifle remote. Let me explain to Mrs. Ulswater that by a 'showdown' is intended merely the decision of a given issue; that a 'jackpot,' as such, may be defined as an accumulation of undecided issues.”

“Why,” said Sadler, “you see, doctor, it's this way. Your ideas about technical language and mine don't jibe with each other, and I'll bet my last week's shirt to yours of the week before, Mrs. Ulswater's idea ain't agreeable with either of us on which point my own opinion was similar to his, and I regretfully let pass that interesting wager.

“Well!” said Mrs. Ulswater again; “What are the facts?”

Sadler then described the politics of Lua, in a voice slow, husky, and bereaved.

“Some years ago,” he said, “a friend of mine, who was a white man named Craney, was king of Lua, for he bought out the different candidates, or pooled the interests, or something, and mounted the throne himself. Anyhow, he was killed in a ruction. It occurred to me to come around this way, which happened about a month back, to ask Craney for the job of Prime Minister, but I found he was dead, and the place seemed to me then on the edge of another dynastic war. There was a young chap named Kolosama, who was the son of the king who succeeded Craney, and there was an old chap named Ogelomano, who claimed the throne by right of superior wisdom, with some other complicated rights, and relations, by which it appeared he ought to have been king before. Awful names, ain't they? Well, this yere royalty appeared to be partly hereditary, partly elective, and mostly revolutionary, which is all very well, but hard feeling inside of families is vicious. That's my opinion. Kolo had the largest backing, but Ogel had the superior wisdom, as appeared from this: namely, he immejitly laid himself out to get the support of the newly arrived combination of military genius, statecraft, and diplomacy—that's me. Arguing with a scrupulous conscience, then, I comes to this conclusion; I says: 'The first requirement for a happy kingdom is a forehanded king; the next is a superior Prime Minister; which it's clear from the behaviour of this party that he knows what's what, and it's clear from the behaviour of the other party that he ain't got no real penetration at all; nor he ain't onto the points of royalty, or he'd know that a kingdom without a Prime Minister is as unhappy as a cat with no dog to chase her, which anybody but a fool knows; and consequently this yere Kolosama is unfit to rule this balmy isle, and this yere Ogel is a promising monarch. That's my opinion.' I stated that argument to Ogel, and he agreed that was a tart argument all right, and I was a Prime Minister sent by the gods. Then Ogel and Irish and I, we went over till we come to the palace, which is built of bamboo and all on the ground floor, but else-wise is a commojous mansion, and chuck full of Craney's furnishings; and we discharged artillery from the front door, to let folks know we was on the throne. Then Kolosama collected his party, and went off to the other side of the island, and declared war. Then we called him, on the chance it was a bluff. So it was, and so was ours. Neither of us showed down. That's how it is. Me and Irish with Ogel's warriors, and Kolosama with his warriors, have been prancing forth over these picturesque mountains like we intended to be real vicious, and dodging back till the island's near distracted. We've got the wisdom and foresight, and we got all Craney's firearms by the coopdee-tat, but Kolo appears to have a majority of the foolish population with him just now, and there you are. There's your jackpot, which me and Kolo are playing for. I haven't got the hand to open it, or to do anything but jockey for position, for Kolo's got most of the warriors. I don't know what's the matter with him, unless his warriors don't like gunpowder. Maybe his hand's weaker than it looks, but I'd bet something if I held it, this jackpot would be opened.”

“What sort of a man is Ogelomano?” I asked, when Sadler paused.

“Fat and sulky,” he said; “but I've seen worse. I've seen homelier looking men too, somewhere, but I've forgotten where that was. Maybe it was in a nightmare. For that matter Kolo's all right enough too. I guess the island would be happy with either, were t'other dear charmer away.”

Sadler stopped and rubbed his chin gloomily, and said: “Nice outfit of yours. Waxwork pirates, maybe?”

I explained the purposes and mission of the Violetta.

“Floating orphan asylum,” said Sadler, “sort of perambulating benevolence, and steam-propulsion mission house, to teach temperateness to the tropics. Why, that's all right. A chap that wants to pad his soul with good deeds, and go to sleep on his benevolence like a downy bed, why, he's got a good proposition. I've done it myself, and it worked, more or less. But I always got restless.”

He began thrumming distressful and complaining chords on his banjo, looked off to sea with a dreamy expression, until presently he raised a tune that never should have existed, and sang to it in a voice like that of a walrus with a cold:

“ I want to be an orphan,

And with the orphans roam,

A millionaire my guardian,

A steam yacht for my home—-

“Doctor,” he said, huskily; “it's this way. You've come to the right shop with those goods. Yere's your chance for benevolence. If you'd steam around to the other side of Lua, and find Kolo, which I could spot his location for you pretty near; and if you'd ladle him out some of that there benevolence, and tell him you were his long-lost aunt that was thinking of giving him some toy firearms, maybe he'd come aboard. I shouldn't wonder. But if he brought any warriors with him, you'd better make him send them ashore to wash their faces, which they'll need it all right. Then if you happened to get up steam and sail away with him, and took him to the States, and give him a college education, and sent me the bill, why, I'd send a draft on San Francisco for any amount in reason. Why, see yere, doctor, that scheme is neat surely, and benevolent to hatch eggs, ain't it? Yere you leave the island of Lua with its politics smooth as milk, and a forehanded king whose policy is guided by an unequalled Prime Minister, in the direction of single matrimony and a vegetarian diet. Consider that strategy! Regard it! Look at it all around! Remark the moral purpose! Catch onto its simplicity of design! Why, it's a wonder!” I looked at Mrs. Ulswater, who had said nothing during the above, but sat there sewing, and sometimes glancing up at Sadler. Now she laid down her sewing and said: “Are you sure the island would be better off if one of the kings were taken away?”

“Sure, ma'am! Why, look at it! You can see for yourself.”

“Of course it would look so. But then, is Kolosama a nice person? We don't like to take orphans without knowing about them.”

“I'll tell you on the square, ma'am,” said Sadler, “Kolo ain't bright, or he'd have called me before now. He's slow. He's plodding. Moreover he's self-willed and opinionated. He don't take to prime ministers, or official advice. He needs discipline, and he needs encouragement. And yet I'd call him a promising kid, and a hopeful orphan. He'd be a credit to you. Yes'm. No doubt of it.”

Mrs. Ulswater took up her knitting and said, “I should like to see the older king first.”

“If you'll come up to the palace to-morrow,” said Sadler, “the old man'd be pleased to see you. You've no notion how he'd like Kolo to have a foreign education.”

He gathered up his large frame, murmured, “Piratical waxworks!” and departed, together with Irish, who silently smoked his short black pipe.