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in many ways. He takes photographs of the islanders,
and sells their skulls and skeletons to anthropological
institutes in Berlin. He took home a pair of ourang-
outangs for which he asked 20,000 francs. One
died on the way, and the other, as his wife says,
“ did sigh with his head in his hands; o h ! so sad,
for one of his own nation.” A year ago they found
a pair of dwarfs, and took them away to Germany,
where they are now famous, and a source of unascertained
income to the pearler and his wife. He has
sent for whaling tackle; and is, in short, a man of
ability. His wife is a plump, bright-eyed, brown-faced
girl, with some English which she has learnt since
she came to these seas, and many pretty Germanisms.
She talks well, and is full of appreciation of every kind
of beauty, and what she calls “ the Nature.” “ Ach
G o tt! ” she says, speaking of the archipelago, “ but
it is so beautifully. It do make such a thema fcr the
letters home.”
Allingham, a red man, sad and bashful, sits on a
stool, and offers a word here and there.
They talk ot ambergris and whales, and divers’
risks ; of two recent deaths from the snapping ot the
tube (the life-tender hauled hand-over-hand, but not
quick enough to save his man, who came up dead,
and black in the face) ; or divers half-paralysed and
scarce able to walk, who still dive; of one who, tired
of life as a cripple, shot himself; of the man whose
helmet being unadjusted let in the water (he signalled,
but was kept down, being supposed nervous, and ulti