You must do it." Babalatchi assented, and rose wearily to his feet.

"To-morrow ?" he asked.
"Yes; before the Dutch come.

He drinks much coffee," answered Lakamba, with seeming irrelevancy.
Babalatchi stretched himself yawning, but Lakamba, in the flattering consciousness of a knotty problem solved by his own unaided intellectual efforts, grew suddenly very wakeful.
"Babalatchi," he said to the exhausted statesman, "fetch the box of music the white captain gave me.

I cannot sleep." At this order a deep shade of melancholy settled upon Babalatchi's features.

He went reluctantly behind the curtain and soon reappeared carrying in his arms a small hand-organ, which he put down on the table with an air of deep dejection.