"The Wrecker" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stevenson Robert Louis)

neat chestnut. "VOUS ALLEZ BOIRE UN VERRE DE
BIERE?"

But Prince Stanila Moanatini, the only reasonably busy
human creature on the island, was riding hot-spur to
view this morning's landslip on the mountain road; the
sun already visibly declined; night was imminent; and
if he would avoid the perils of darkness and precipice,
and the fear of the dead, the haunters of the jungle,
he must for once decline a hospitable invitation. Even
had he been minded to alight, it presently appeared
there would be difficulty as to the refreshment
offered.

"Beer!" cried the Glasgow voice. "No such a thing; I
tell you there's only eight bottles in the club! Here's
the first time I've seen British colours in this port!
and the man that sails under them has got to drink that
beer."

The proposal struck the public mind as fair, though far
from cheering; for some time back, indeed, the very
name of beer had been a sound of sorrow in the club,
and the evenings had passed in dolorous computation.

"Here is Havens," said one, as if welcoming a fresh
topic.--"What do you think of her, Havens?"

"I don't think," replied Havens, a tall, bland, cool-
looking, leisurely Englishman, attired in spotless
duck, and deliberately dealing with a cigarette. "I
may say I know. She's consigned to me from Auckland by
Donald and Edenborough. I am on my way aboard."

"What ship is she?" asked the ancient mariner.

"Haven't an idea," returned Havens. "Some tramp they
have chartered."

With that he placidly resumed his walk, and was soon
seated in the stern-sheets of a whaleboat manned by
uproarious Kanakas, himself daintily perched out of the
way of the least maculation, giving his commands in an
unobtrusive, dinner-table tone of voice, and sweeping
neatly enough alongside the schooner.

A weather-beaten captain received him at the gangway.

"You are consigned to us, I think," said he. "I am Mr.
Havens."