Part 17 (1/2)
Five minutes later, Mr. Gibney was aboard the _Tropic Bird_ and had presented himself at her master's cabin. ”Where're you bound for next trip, sir?” he inquired.
”General trading through the Marquesas, the Society Islands, and the Gilberts.”
”Happen to be goin' to Aranuka, in the Gilberts?”
”You bet. Got a trading station there.”
”How are you off for a good mate?”
”Got one.”
”How about a second mate?”
”Got a crackerjack.”
”Well, I'm not particular. I'll make a bully bo'sun, sir.”
”Very well. We'll be sailing some day next week and you can sign up before the Commissioner any time you're ready. By the way, what's your name?”
”Gibney, sir. Adelbert P. Gibney.”
”Any experience in the South Seas?”
”Heaps of it. I was mate for three years with Bull McGinty in the old _Das.h.i.+n' Wave_ more'n twenty years ago.”
The master of the _Tropic Bird_ blinked. ”Gibney! Gibney!” he murmured. ”Why, I wonder if you're the same man. Are you the chap that was king of Aranuka for six months and then abdicated for no reason at all?”
”I was, sir,” Mr. Gibney confessed shamefacedly. ”I'm King Gibney of Aranuka.”
”What was your wife's name?”
”I called her Pinky for short.”
”By Neptune, what a coincidence! Why, Gibney, I saw Her Majesty on our last trip, less than two months ago, and she was telling me all about you. Great old girl, Pinky, and mighty proud of the fact that once she had a white husband. So you're King Gibney, eh? Well, well! The world is certainly small.” The skipper chuckled, nor noticed Mr. Gibney's bulging eyes and hanging jaw.
”Going back to take over your kingdom again, Gibney?” he demanded jocosely.
”You say you saw her _two months ago_?” Mr. Gibney bellowed.
”D'ye mean to tell me she's alive?”
”I did and she's very much so.”
”An' the twins. How about them?”
”There are no twins. Pinky never had any children until after Bull McGinty took up with her, which was after you left her. They say she doesn't think quite as much of McGinty as she did of you.
He has a dash of dark blood and it shows up strong.”
”The dog wrote me he'd married a sugar plantation in Maui.”
”Perhaps he did. If the plantation didn't produce, though, you can bet Bull McGinty wouldn't stay put. By the way, I have a photograph of Queen Pinky. Snapped her with my kodak on the last trip.” He searched around in the drawer of his desk and brought the picture forth. ”Think you'd recognize Her Majesty after all these years?” he asked.