picks and shovels, shrieking Chinese war-cries and chopped 'em to
bits. Oh, splendid! But how on earth did you rouse these tame coolies
to it?"

The Beachcomber tugged his red moustache and laughed deprecatingly.
"It wasn't very difficult really. You see, these birds of mine are
only temporary coolies. In civilian life they're mostly river pirates,
Tong-fighters and suchlike professional cut-throats. Killing comes
natural to 'em. They only wanted somebody who could organize and lead
'em."

"And you could?"

The Beachcomber drew himself up proudly.

"I should hope so. Wasn't I their Pirate King for seven long years?"

PATLANDER.

* * * * *

[Illustration: OUR COURTEOUS TELEPHONE SERVICE.

_City Magnate_. "YOU'VE CUT ME OFF! HELL!!"

_Sweet Voice from the other end_. "THAT WILL BE A TRUNK CALL."]

* * * * *

SELF-DETERMINATION IN DEVON.