But at any rate
it went off under the house, which lifted up corner-wise and settled
back on its foundations. Half the china on the table was shattered,
while the eight-day clock stopped. Yelling for vengeance, the three
men rushed out into the night, and the bombardment began.
When they returned, there was no Bertie. He had dragged himself away
to the office, barricaded himself in, and sunk upon the floor in a
gin-soaked nightmare, wherein he died a thousand deaths while the
valorous fight went on around him. In the morning, sick and headachy
from the gin, he crawled out to find the sun still in the sky and God
presumably in heaven, for his hosts were alive and uninjured.
Harriwell pressed him to stay on longer, but Bertie insisted on sailing
immediately on the _Arla_ for Tulagi, where, until the following
steamer day, he stuck close by the Commissioner's house. There were
lady tourists on the outgoing steamer, and Bertie was again a hero,
while Captain Malu, as usual, passed unnoticed. But Captain Malu sent
back from Sydney two cases of the best Scotch whiskey on the market,
for he was not able to make up his mind as to whether it was Captain
Hansen or Mr.
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