The Reporter Who Made Himself King | Page 4

straw hat in the
water and began turning handsprings over the sand.

"That young gentleman, at least," said Albert, gravely, "seems pleased
to see us."
A dozen of the natives sprang into the water and came wading and
swimming toward them, grinning and shouting and swinging their
arms.
"I don't think it's quite safe, do you?" said the consul, looking out
wildly to the open sea. "You see, they don't know who I am."
A great black giant threw one arm over the gunwale and shouted
something that sounded as if it were spelt Owah, Owah, as the boat
carried him through the surf.
"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 awfully 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 so much 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 to lift out the
trunks, and others ran off toward 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'd 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."
"What makes him think that?" demanded the consul, with some
shortness. Young Mr. Stedman looked nervously at the consul and at
Albert, and said that he guessed someone must have told him.
The consul's office was divided into four rooms with an open court in
the middle, filled with palms, and watered somewhat unnecessarily by
a fountain.

"I made that," said Stedman, in a modest, offhand way. "I made it out
of hollow bamboo reeds connected with a spring. And now I'm making
one for the King. He saw this and had a lot of bamboo sticks put up all
over the town, without any underground connections, and couldn't
make out why the water wouldn't spurt out of them. And because mine
spurts, he thinks I'm a magician."
"I suppose," grumbled the consul, "someone told him that too."
"I suppose so," said Mr. Stedman, uneasily.
There was a veranda around the consul's office, and inside the walls
were hung with skins, and pictures from illustrated papers, and there
was a good deal of bamboo furniture, and four broad, cool-looking beds.
The place was as clean as a kitchen. "I made the furniture," said
Stedman, "and the Bradleys keep the place in order."
"Who are the Bradleys?" asked Albert.
"The Bradleys are those two men you