King o' the Beach Part 33

"Yah!" he yelled, and clapped the treacly place to his mouth, tasted the mola.s.ses, and the fierce look died out, his countenance expanding into a grin as he sucked, and then in good animal fas.h.i.+on began to lick, holding out his other hand for the biscuit.

The next minute he was munching away in a high state of delight, while the others crowded round with hands extended, and were served as fast as the boy could place dabs of the sticky syrup on the hard biscuits.

They crowded him so that several times over he whisked the spoon round, giving one a dab on the hand, another on the cheek, while one had a topper on his thick, black-haired head--all these rebuffs being received with shouts of laughter, the recipients setting to work at once to prevent the saccharine mess from being wasted.

But at last all were supplied, and the boy rested for half a minute, looking at the merry, delighted crowd with good-humoured contempt.

"Well, you are a set of savages," he said.

"More--gib more," cried Black Jack, who had just finished.

"You look a pretty sticky beauty," said Carey.

"Berry 'ticky good," said Black Jack. "Gib more; plenty 'ticky."

Carey took another biscuit from the basket and put a very small dab of treacle upon it, to the black's great disgust.

"No, no, no!" he yelled, with childlike annoyance. "Plenty 'ticky-- plenty 'ticky."

"Not good," said Carey, mockingly. "Kill a black fellow."

Black Jack's face expanded again into a tremendous grin.

"Yah!" he cried; "baal mumkull. Good--good--good!"

"There you are, then," said Carey, giving the spoon a twirl and dabbing a goodly portion on the biscuit. "That do?"

"Good, plenty 'ticky," cried the savage, gumming his face gloriously and grinding up the biscuit as easily as if it were a cracknel.

By this time the others were finis.h.i.+ng, and for another quarter of an hour the boy was kept busy at work, to find in the very thick of it that he had an addition to his audience in the shape of the coa.r.s.e-faced beachcomber, who looked less ferocious now, with his countenance softened by a good-humoured grin.

"Feeding 'em up then," he said. "Mind they don't finish up by eating you."

"I'm not afraid of that," said Carey, shortly.

"Aren't you? Well, perhaps we shall see. But it's your turn now: breakfast. Come on."

Carey followed him without a word, and, like his companions in adversity, ate the meal in silence.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

The doctor made no opposition and showed no sign of resentment, for he was biding his time. The beachcomber asked questions and he answered them, about the lading of the vessel; but both Carey and Bostock noticed that he carefully avoided all reference to the bullion that was on board.

Later on in the morning the invader announced his intention of inspecting the stores, and made his prisoners march before him and show him all they could; it was hot and stifling between-decks, and he was soon tired and ordered all on deck, where he had a long look round, and at last caught sight of something on sh.o.r.e.

"Hullo, here!" he cried, turning his fists into a binocular gla.s.s without lenses; "who's been meddling with my pearl-oyster grounds?"

The doctor, being referred to in this question, turned to the man and laughed bitterly.

"Your pearl-oyster grounds!" he said, in a tone full of the contempt he felt.

The man thrust his unpleasant-looking face close to the doctor's.

"Yes," he said, with an ugly smile; "mine. Didn't I tell you before that all the reefs and islands here, and all that's on them or comes ash.o.r.e on them's mine? Someone's been meddling over yonder and collecting and stacking sh.e.l.ls; someone's been sinking tubs and rotting the oysters to get my pearls. It's been done by your orders, eh?"

"Yes," said the doctor, quietly; "I suppose I am to blame for it."

"Ho! Well, I suppose you did it for me, so I won't complain. Here, bring out the box."

"What box?" said the doctor.

"What box?" roared the man, fiercely; "why, the box o' pearls you've got put away. Now don't you put me out, young fellow, because when I'm put out I'm ugly. Ask Black Jack what I can do when I'm ugly. He can understand and talk English enough to tell you."

"I tell you this," began the doctor, but he was stopped by a growl that might have emanated from some savage beast.

"You wait till I've done. Coo-ee!"

"Coo-ee!" came in answer, and Black Jack rushed forward in a series of bounds, nulla-nulla in one hand, boomerang in the other.

"Here, Jack, what do I do when I'm ugly?"

"Mumkull--killa fellar," said the black, grinning as if it were a fine joke. "Mumkull now?" he continued, with his eyes beginning to look wild, as he turned them questioningly on one after the other.

"Not yet. Get out."

The black darted away again as quickly as he had come.

"That chap's a child o' nature, young fellow," said the beachcomber, scowling; "so I say to you, don't you try to gammon me. Fetch out that box."

"How can he," cried Carey, boldly, "when he hasn't got one?"

"What?" roared the man, clapping his hand upon his revolver, and turning fiercely upon the boy. "What's that?"

"You heard what I said," cried Carey, in no way daunted. "Why, we haven't tried one of the tubs yet."

"Good job for you," growled the man, fiercely, as he tried to look Carey down; but the boy did not for a moment wince. "You're a nice imprunt young c.o.c.k bantam, though. But you're s.h.i.+vering in your shoes all the same--aren't you?"

He made a s.n.a.t.c.h at the boy's shoulder, but quick as thought Carey struck at the coming hand, catching it heavily with his fist and eluding the touch.

"Don't do that," he cried, fiercely, "you know I've got a bad shoulder."

"Why, you insolent young c.o.c.k-sparrow, I've a good mind to--No, I won't--I'll let them do it by-and-by."

He jerked his head sidewise in the direction of the blacks, who were eagerly watching and seeing everything, the sight of the boy striking at their white king sending a thrill of excitement through them; however, they did not advance, but stood watching and noting that the beachcomber was laughing heartily.

"I like pluck in a boy," he growled. "Hi, coo-ee."