It was nearing four o'clock that afternoon when Commodore Gibney
and his navigating officer, Captain Scraggs, both faultlessly
arrayed in Panama hats, white ducks, white canvas shoes, cut low,
showing pink silk socks, and wearing broad, black silken sashes
around their waists, climbed over the side into the whaleboat and
were rowed ashore in a manner befitting their rank. McGuffey
stood at the rail and jeered them, for his democratic soul could
take no cognizance of form or ceremony to a cannibal king, or at
least a king but recently delivered from cannibalism.




CHAPTER XXIII


Upon arrival at the beach the two adventurers were met by a
contingent of frightful-looking savages bearing long spears. As
the procession formed around the two guests of honour and plunged
into the bush, bound for the king's wari, two island maidens
marched behind the two sea-dogs, waving huge palm-leaf fans, the
better to make passage a cool and comfortable one.

"By the gods of war, Gib, my _dear_ boy," said the delighted
Captain Scraggs, "but this is class, eh, Gib?"

"Every time," responded the commodore. "If that chuckle-headed
McGuffey only had the sense to come along he might be enjoyin'
himself, too. You must be dignified, Scraggsy, old salamander.
Remember that you're bigger an' better'n any king, because you're