The Reporter Who Made Himself King | Page 5

saw with me," said Stedman;
"they deserted from a British man-of-war that stopped here for coal,
and they act as my servants. One is Bradley, Sr., and the other Bradley,
Jr."
"Then vessels do stop here occasionally?" the consul said, with a
pleased smile.
"Well, not often," said Stedman. "Not so very often; about once a year.
The Nelson thought this was Octavia, and put off again as soon as she
found out her mistake, but the Bradleys took to the bush, and the boat's
crew couldn't find them. When they saw your flag, they thought you
might mean to send them back, so they ran off to hide again; they'll be
back, though, when they get hungry."
The supper young Stedman spread for his guests, as he still treated
them, was very refreshing and very good. There was cold fish and
pigeon-pie, and a hot omelet filled with mushrooms and olives and
tomatoes and onions all sliced up together, and strong black coffee.

After supper, Stedman went off to see the King, and came back in a
little while to say that his Majesty would give them an audience the
next day after breakfast. "It is too dark now," Stedman explained; "and
it's raining so that they can't make the street-lamps burn. Did you
happen to notice our lamps? I invented them; but they don't work very
well yet. I've got the right idea, though, and I'll soon have the town
illuminated all over, whether it rains or not."
The consul had been very silent and indifferent, during supper, to all
around him. Now he looked up with some show of interest.
"How much longer is it going to rain, do you think?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't know," said Stedman, critically. "Not more than two
months, I should say." The consul rubbed his rheumatic leg and sighed,
but said nothing.
The Bradleys returned about ten o'clock, and came in very sheepishly.
The consul had gone off to pay the boatmen who had brought them,
and Albert in his absence assured the sailors that there was not the least
danger of their being sent away. Then he turned into one of the beds,
and Stedman took one in another room, leaving the room he had
occupied heretofore for the consul. As he was saying good-night,
Albert suggested that he had not yet told them how he came to be on a
deserted island; but Stedman only laughed and said that that was a long
story, and that he would tell him all about it in the morning. So Albert
went off to bed without waiting for the consul to return, and fell asleep,
wondering at the strangeness of his new life, and assuring himself that
if the rain only kept up, he would have his novel finished in a month.
The sun was shining brightly when he awoke, and the palm-trees
outside were nodding gracefully in a warm breeze. From the court
came the odor of strange flowers, and from the window he could see
the ocean brilliantly blue, and with the sun coloring the spray that beat
against the coral reefs on the shore.
"Well, the consul can't complain of this," he said, with a laugh of
satisfaction; and pulling on a bath-robe, he stepped into the next room

to awaken Captain Travis. But the room was quite empty, and the bed
undisturbed. The consul's trunk remained just where it had been placed
near the door, and on it lay a large sheet of foolscap, with writing on it,
and addressed at the top to Albert Gordon. The handwriting was the
consul's. Albert picked it up and read it with much anxiety. It began
abruptly--
"The fishermen who brought us to this forsaken spot tell me that it rains
here six months in the year, and that this is the first month. I came here
to serve my country, for which I fought and bled, but I did not come
here to die of rheumatism and pneumonia. I can serve my country
better by staying alive; and whether it rains or not, I don't like it. I have
been grossly deceived, and I am going back. Indeed, by the time you
get this, I will be on my return trip, as I intend leaving with the men
who brought us here as soon as they can get the sail up. My cousin,
Senator Rainsford, can fix it all right with the President, and can have
me recalled in proper form after I get back. But of course it would not
do for me to leave my post with no one to take my place, and no one
could be more ably fitted to do so than yourself; so I feel no
compunctions at leaving you behind. I hereby, therefore, accordingly