I wish to--briefly, to resign, in favor of this young--ah--bachelor." "Don't go rotting me," complained Heywood, and his sallow cheeks turned ruddy.

"I merely bring up these points.

And five is this: your compound's very cramped, where the nunnery could shelter the goodly blooming fellowship of native converts." Chantel laughed heartily, and stretched his legs at ease under the table.
[Illustration: Portuguese Nunnery:--Sketch Map.] "What strategy!" he chuckled, preening his moustache.

"Your mythical siege--it will be brief! For me, I vote no to that: no rice-Christians filling their bellies--eating us into a surrender!" He made a pantomime of chop-sticks.

"A compound full, eating, eating!" One or two nodded, approving the retort.