While he made some purchases in the little
stores, I went up to the broken-down shanty where Pierre the Rat ran his
house of refuge, and, after I had collected my few belongings, I went
back to the wharf, where a boat from _The Waif_ was waiting to take us
aboard the yacht.
It was when I was climbing into the boat that I got a surprise. One of
the two natives at the oars was the little Fijian who had been the pupil
of the Maori, but he didn't bat an eyelash when I stared at him.
"What's up?" asked Holman. "Do you know Toni?"
"He's one of the brace that were singing that song about the white
waterfall," I growled.
The Fijian let out a volley of indignant denials, and Holman laughed.
"You might be mistaken," he said. "Toni came ashore with me about two
hours ago, but I don't think he left the boat."
"I'm not mistaken," I said, as the Fijian kept on protesting that he had
never moved from the boat, "but it doesn't matter much. Let it go."
We were about a quarter of a mile from the shore when a man raced down
from the town, ran along to the sea end of the wharf and waved his arms
as if he was signalling us.
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