"It's the _Minerva_," Joan said decidedly.
"How do you know?" Sheldon asked, sceptical of her certitude.
"It's a ketch to begin with. And besides, I could tell anywhere the
rattle of her main peak-blocks--they're too large for the halyard."
A dark figure crossed the compound diagonally from the beach gate, where
whoever it was had been watching the vessel.
"Is that you, Utami?" Joan called.
"No, Missie; me Matapuu," was the answer.
"What vessel is it?"
"Me t'ink _Minerva_."
Joan looked triumphantly at Sheldon, who bowed.
"If Matapuu says so it must be so," he murmured.
"But when Joan Lackland says so, you doubt," she cried, "just as you
doubt her ability as a skipper. But never mind, you'll be sorry some day
for all your unkindness. There's the boat lowering now, and in five
minutes we'll be shaking hands with Christian Young."
Lalaperu brought out the glasses and cigarettes and the eternal whisky
and soda, and before the five minutes were past the gate clicked and
Christian Young, tawny and golden, gentle of voice and look and hand,
came up the bungalow steps and joined them.
CHAPTER XVI--THE GIRL WHO HAD NOT GROWN UP
News, as usual, Christian Young brought--news of the drinking at Guvutu,
where the men boasted that they drank between drinks; news of the new
rifles adrift on Ysabel, of the latest murders on Malaita, of Tom
Butler's sickness on Santa Ana; and last and most important, news that
the _Matambo_ had gone on a reef in the Shortlands and would be laid off
one run for repairs.
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