"You speak very good English when you sing," remarked Pauline. "Why don't you do it all the time?"

The cook hesitated.

"Speak good English all time--bad English when sing!"

Pauline began to scrutinize half suspiciously this remarkable menial, but he kept stolidly at work at the potatoes, and his dark skin, his scraggly beard, his bagging trousers upturned over bare feet, his general dilapidation of appearance, proved him nothing but one of the common derelicts of the languid islands.

"If you could peel potatoes instead of butchering them, there would be a little more to eat in case we run out of supplies, Filipo," suggested Pauline.

He turned on her a frank American grin. For an instant the twinkle in the keen blue eyes upset her.

It was so, like the twinkle in a pair of keen blue eyes that were supposed to be figuratively weeping for her fate in far-off New York.

But instantly he changed his att.i.tude.

"No like cook--cook quit," he grumbled.

"'Oh, no, indeed, Filipo, you must not be offended. I was just speaking to Mr. Owen this morning about raising your salary."

A thick voice came to them from the cabin door.

"I begs to report, Miss," said Blinky Boyd, the pirate, reeling in, "that there be mut'ny in yer crew. Mr. Hicks and Mr. Owen, Miss, has rebelled against me authority and has refused me drink."

"That is an outrage, Mr. Boyd. They do not realize how your nerve-racking adventures have shattered your strength. I will attend to it myself," said Pauline sympathetically. "Filipo, give Mr. Boyd a drink."

"Drink? Yes, meem," replied Filipo, with such unwonted alacrity that Pauline turned in surprise.

She saw the slouching figure of the cook suddenly stiffen to his full stalwart height. She saw an ill clad, but majestic giant stride toward the pirate, bowl him over with a gentle tap, pinion his arms and legs in a lifting grasp and carry him toward the door of the cabin.

Cries of rage came stuffily from the thick throat of Boyd.

"Lemme go, ye sc.u.m, lemme go," he yelled.

"Filipo! Filipo! Stop this instant! How dare you treat Mr. Boyd in such a manner?" cried the indignant girl.

"You say, 'Give--him drink.' He say, 'Lemme go," answered Filipo, pausing with his squirming burden.

"Drink! Ye fool, drink! She is felling ye ter gimme a drink,"

screamed the hero of desperate encounters.

"Big, fat drink," agreed the cook, as he strode toward the rail.

Pauline rushed upon him. The peril of her precious pirate stirred all her courage. She saw her dreams vanishing--the chief narrator, navigator and guide of the treasure voyage suspended in two strong arms over the blue deep. Forgetting that he was accustomed to conquer twenty men single handed, she felt only pity for his plight. Her soft but determined hand gripped the cook's.

"Filipo, obey my orders!" she commanded.

"Yes, Mem. Let 'um go. Give 'um drink. Big liar need big drink."

He lifted the struggling but utterly helpless form of the pirate over his shoulders, then, with a sudden stooping movement, he made as if to plunge it into the sea.

"Help! Help!" cried Pauline, running up the deck.

Hicks and Owen rushed from their staterooms. Blinky Boyd was quivering, gasping beside the rail. They found a slouching, uncommunicative cook stolidly washing dishes in the galley.

Some hours later while Boyd was sleeping off his potations and Hicks and Owen were deep in conference on deck, Pauline slipped down into the galley ostensibly to explain the rudiments of the culinary art to the cook.

"The trouble is you have no respect for a potato, Filipo. You slash the poor thing to pieces, and then you boil it only long enough to hurt its feelings."

"Peel potato nice, good," he apologized. "Then peel 'um pirate.

Filipo want to peel pirate; boil him just half-hurt him feelings.

That's how."

"Oh, I see. But I think you do Mr. Boyd a great injustice, Filipo. He has consented to come all the way from New York with us and take command of our boat and find the buried treasure, and--"

"Buried potatoes," snapped Filipo with a sudden reversion to his unimpaired English.

"Well, at least you understand about tomorrow's breakfast now, don't you?"

"Yes, mem. Boil 'um eggs to death; no peel 'um."

"No, no, no, Filipo--boil them two minutes and a half. Here, take my watch and go by that. You must be very careful of it, Filipo."

"Yes, mem; boil 'um long time; stick fork in, see when soft."

"No!"

Pauline caught the watch from him. "You don't boil the watch at all, Filipo. You boil the eggs and watch the watch. Can you tell time, Filipo?"

"Yes, Mem."

"How long is an hour? Peel potatoes--hour is ver' ver' long. Talk to ship's lady--whist!--hour is no time," answered Filipo with upcast hands.

Again she eyed him through her long lashes a little askance. He was rather subtle, this half-breed cook, for one who could not even boil an egg.

"I will let you have the watch, Filipo," she said gravely, "but you must give it back to me. It is one of the most precious things I have.

It was given to me by--Filipo, were you ever in love with a girl?"

"Su-u-ure, mem!" replied the cook with sudden enthusiasm. "Love daughter big American--no love me. Big American daughter start from Na.s.sau--get buried treasure--not!"

"Filipo, where do you get all your New York slang?"

"Big American daughter, she sling slang-good," said Filipo.

"Why did you fall in love with her?"

"Nice girl--no eat much, no scold cook, no talk about potatoes-- just big fool 'bout buried treasure."

"What do you think love is?"

"Love-huh!" grunted the cook. "I like girl; girl no like me. Chase all 'round world--no good."