"It must have been the Hamburg bark that sailed last night," quavered
Scanlon.
Of course, Skiddy blew that Scanlon up. He wiped the floor with him. He
roared at him till the great hulking creature shook like jelly, and his
round black eyes suffused with tears. He made him sit down then and
there, swore him on the consular Bible, and made him dictate a
statement, which was signed in the presence of the cook. This
accomplished, Alfred was ingloriously dismissed, while the consul went
out on the back veranda, and sat there in his pajamas, to think the
matter over.
It seemed a pity to rouse the Department. The Department's interest in
Satterlee could at no time have been called brisk, and it had now ebbed
to a negligible quantity. But it would be just like the Department to
get suddenly galvanized, and hysterically head Satterlee off at Hamburg.
This would mean his ultimate return to Samoa, and a perpetual further
outlay of fifty-five dollars from a hard-earned salary. No, he wouldn't
worry the Department.... Let sleeping dogs lie. There were better ways
of spending fifty-five dollars a month.
That night the consul had champagne at dinner, and drank a silent toast:
"Good luck to him, poor old devil!"