"By-the-bye," I said, "what sort of a party is that priest? Seems
rather a friendly sort."

At this Case laughed right out loud. "Ah!" says he, "I see what
ails you now. Galuchet's been at you." - FATHER GALOSHES was the
name he went by most, but Case always gave it the French quirk,
which was another reason we had for thinking him above the common.

"Yes, I have seen him," I says. "I made out he didn't think much
of your Captain Randall."

"That he don't!" says Case. "It was the trouble about poor Adams.
The last day, when he lay dying, there was young Buncombe round.
Ever met Buncombe?"

I told him no.

"He's a cure, is Buncombe!" laughs Case. "Well, Buncombe took it
in his head that, as there was no other clergyman about, bar Kanaka
pastors, we ought to call in Father Galuchet, and have the old man
administered and take the sacrament. It was all the same to me,
you may suppose; but I said I thought Adams was the fellow to
consult. He was jawing away about watered copra and a sight of
foolery. 'Look here,' I said, 'you're pretty sick. Would you like
to see Galoshes?' He sat right up on his elbow. 'Get the priest,'
says he, 'get the priest; don't let me die here like a dog!' He
spoke kind of fierce and eager, but sensible enough. There was
nothing to say against that, so we sent and asked Galuchet if he
would come. You bet he would. He jumped in his dirty linen at the
thought of it. But we had reckoned without Papa. He's a hard-