The odour of coconut prevailed, delicately but abidingly; for, save for the occasioned pleasure junket, The Tigress was a copra carrier, shell and fibre. ‘Pardon, milor’,’ said Valade, ‘but Monsieur Charvill, he was not at fault. For what could be more ironical than for Howard Spurlock to see himself grow famous under the name of Taber? The ambrosia of which he had so happily dreamt!—and this gall and wormwood! He stood up and rapped his pipe on the rail. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. Listen. I always fall on my feet, you know.
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