Bubbling with excitement, he shook hands with this one and that; and both hands being engaged at once in this hearty mode of salutation, he would have been able to enjoy little of the good fare provided had not one of the group begun to fend off the enthusiastic visitors.

“That’s enough,” he said; “give him breathing space.  Eat away, man; the junket won’t keep; everything else will, and you can take with you what is left.”

Thus, when Smith arrived on the scene, he found his man surrounded by an alfresco confectioner’s shop, eating, laughing, talking, and breaking forth into eloquent praise of Australian hospitality.

“Ah, mister,” he cried, as Smith joined him; “this is a country!  We are pigs in clover.  There is here enough for a regiment of Zouaves.”

Here a diversion was caused by the arrival of Mr. Martin’s friends with rifles and ammunition enough to equip a company of grenadiers.  Smith accepted a dozen rifles and two or three hundred rounds of ammunition; and these had just been placed in the car when the Chinamen arrived with the petrol.  He implored the torchbearers to stand back while the inflammable fluid was put on board.  This was done amid a buzz of excitement, everybody talking at once.

“Speech! speech!” cried some one in the crowd, and Smith, thinking the shortest way out of his embarrassment was to comply, stood up in the car and thanked his good friends in Palmerston for the warmth of their reception, and their kindness in supplying his wants.

“You will excuse me from saying more, I know,” he added.  “I have nearly two thousand miles still to go; my father is in great danger; and we are already several hours behind time.  I can’t shake hands with you all, but I shall never forget your kindness.  Now, if you will clear the course so that I can get a run-off, I will say ‘good-bye,’ and hope that some day I may come back and not be in such a hurry.”

His simple words were cheered to the echo.  Then Mr. Martin and three or four more pressed the throng back.  The good people cheered again as the machine ran forward and sailed above them, and Smith, as he looked down upon the sea of faces lit up by the flaring torches until it became a blurred spot of light, felt cheered and encouraged, and set his face hopefully towards the starlit east.

CHAPTER XII

STALKED BY PIGMIES

Smith had noticed before leaving Palmerston that the wind had risen and was blowing steadily from the north-west.  He was very anxious not to miss Port Moresby, the principal harbour in British New Guinea, for he hoped, in spite of what the Resident at Palmerston had said, to be able to replenish his stock of petrol there, knowing very well that among the smaller islands of the South Pacific the places where petrol was kept must be very few.  He determined, however, if he should fail to make Port Moresby, to steer straight for Ysabel Island.  If it turned out to be impossible to obtain petrol, he would have to resign himself to the inevitable, return to Australia on the gunboat that had been dispatched to relieve the castaways, and endure as philosophically as he might the consequences of overstepping his leave.