Deacon could not speak. His throat lumped and he nodded his head as hereached for the cards.
"One thing more," Grief said. "I can do even better. If you lose, twoyears of your time are mine--naturally without wages. Nevertheless,I'll pay you wages. If your work is satisfactory, if you observe allinstructions and rules, I'll pay you five thousand pounds a year for twoyears. The money will be deposited with the company, to be paid to you,with interest, when the time expires. Is that all right?"
"Too much so," Deacon stammered. "You are unfair to yourself. A traderonly gets ten or fifteen pounds a month."
"Put it down to action, then," Grief said, with an air of dismissal."And before we begin, I'll jot down several of the rules. These you willrepeat aloud every morning during the two years--if you lose. Theyare for the good of your soul. When you have repeated them aloud sevenhundred and thirty Karo-Karo mornings I am confident they will be inyour memory to stay. Lend me your pen, Mac. Now, let's see----"
He wrote steadily and rapidly for some minutes, then proceeded to readthe matter aloud:
"_I must always remember that one man is as good as another, save andexcept when he thinks he is better._
"_No matter how drunk I am I must not fail to be a gentleman. Agentleman is a man who is gentle. Note: It would be better not to getdrunk_.
"_When I play a man's game with men, I must play like a man_.
"_A good curse, rightly used and rarely, is an efficient thing. Too manycurses spoil the cursing. Note: A curse cannot change a card seguencenor cause the wind to blow._
"_There is no license for a man to be less than a man. Ten thousandpounds cannot purchase such a license._"
At the beginning of the reading Deacon's face had gone white with anger.Then had arisen, from neck to forehead, a slow and terrible flush thatdeepened to the end of the reading.
"There, that will be all," Grief said, as he folded the paper and tossedit to the centre of the table. "Are you still ready to play the game?"
"I deserve it," Deacon muttered brokenly. "I've been an ass. Mr. Gee,before I know whether I win or lose, I want to apologize. Maybe it wasthe whiskey, I don't know, but I'm an ass, a cad, a bounder--everythingthat's rotten."
He held out his hand, and the half-caste took it beamingly.
"I say, Grief," he blurted out, "the boy's all right. Call the wholething off, and let's forget it in a final nightcap."
Grief showed signs of debating, but Deacon cried:
"No; I won't permit it. I'm not a quitter. If it's Karo-Karo, it'sKaro-Karo. There's nothing more to it."
"Right," said Grief, as he began the shuffle. "If he's the right stuffto go to Karo-Karo, Karo-Karo won't do him any harm."
The game was close and hard. Three times they divided the deck betweenthem and "cards" was not scored. At the beginning of the fifth andlast deal, Deacon needed three points to go out, and Grief needed four."Cards" alone would put Deacon out, and he played for "cards". He nolonger muttered or cursed, and played his best game of the evening.Incidentally he gathered in the two black aces and the ace of hearts.
"I suppose you can name the four cards I hold," he challenged, as thelast of the deal was exhausted and he picked up his hand.
Grief nodded.
"Then name them."
"The knave of spades, the deuce of spades, the tray of hearts, and theace of diamonds," Grief answered.
Those behind Deacon and looking at his hand made no sign. Yet the naminghad been correct.
"I fancy you play casino better than I," Deacon acknowledged. "I canname only three of yours, a knave, an ace, and big casino."
"Wrong. There aren't five aces in the deck. You've taken in three andyou hold the fourth in your hand now."
"By Jove, you're right," Deacon admitted. "I did scoop in three. Anyway,I'll make 'cards' on you. That's all I need."
"I'll let you save little casino----" Grief paused to calculate. "Yes,and the ace as well, and still I'll make 'cards' and go out with bigcasino. Play."
"No 'cards' and I win!" Deacon exulted as the last of the hand wasplayed. "I go out on little casino and the four aces. 'Big casino' and'spades' only bring you to twenty."
Grief shook his head. "Some mistake, I'm afraid."
"No," Deacon declared positively. "I counted every card I took in.That's the one thing I was correct on. I've twenty-six, and you'vetwenty-six."
"Count again," Grief said.
Carefully and slowly, with trembling fingers, Deacon counted the cardshe had taken. There were twenty-five. He reached over to the corner ofthe table, took up the rules Grief had written, folded them, and putthem in his pocket. Then he emptied his glass, and stood up. CaptainDonovan looked at his watch, yawned, and also arose.
"Going aboard, Captain?" Deacon asked.
"Yes," was the answer. "What time shall I send the whaleboat for you?"
"I'll go with you now. We'll pick up my luggage from the _Billy_ as wego by, I was sailing on her for Babo in the morning."
Deacon shook hands all around, after receiving a final pledge of goodluck on Karo-Karo.
"Does Tom Butler play cards?" he asked Grief.
"Solitaire," was the answer.
"Then I'll teach him double solitaire." Deacon turned toward the door,where Captain Donovan waited, and added with a sigh, "And I fancy he'llskin me, too, if he plays like the rest of you island men."
Chapter Seven--THE FEATHERS OF THE SUN
I
It was the island of Fitu-Iva--the last independent Polynesianstronghold in the South Seas. Three factors conduced to Fitu-Iva'sindependence. The first and second were its isolation and thewarlikeness of its population. But these would not have saved it inthe end had it not been for the fact that Japan, France, GreatBritain, Germany, and the United States discovered its desirablenesssimultaneously. It was like gamins scrambling for a penny. They gotin one another's way. The war vessels of the five Powers clutteredFitu-Iva's one small harbour. There were rumours of war and threats ofwar. Over its morning toast all the world read columns about Fitu-Iva.As a Yankee blue jacket epitomized it at the time, they all got theirfeet in the trough at once.
So it was that Fitu-Iva escaped even a joint protectorate, and KingTulifau, otherwise Tui Tulifau, continued to dispense the high justiceand the low in the frame-house palace built for him by a Sydney traderout of California redwood. Not only was Tui Tulifau every inch a king,but he was every second a king. When he had ruled fifty-eight years andfive months, he was only fifty-eight years and three months old. Thatis to say, he had ruled over five million seconds more than he hadbreathed, having been crowned two months before he was born.
He was a kingly king, a royal figure of a man, standing six feet anda half, and, without being excessively fat, weighing three hundred andtwenty pounds. But this was not unusual for Polynesian "chief stock."Sepeli, his queen, was six feet three inches and weighed two hundredand sixty, while her brother, Uiliami, who commanded the army in theintervals of resignation from the premiership, topped her by an inch andnotched her an even half-hundredweight. Tui Tulifau was a merry soul, agreat feaster and drinker. So were all his people merry souls, save inanger, when, on occasion, they could be guilty even of throwing deadpigs at those who made them wroth. Nevertheless, on occasion, they couldfight like Maoris, as piratical sandalwood traders and Blackbirders inthe old days learned to their cost.
II
Grief's schooner, the _Cantani_, had passed the Pillar Rocks at theentrance two hours before and crept up the harbour to the whisperingflutters of a breeze that could not make up its mind to blow. It wasa cool, starlight evening, and they lolled about the poop waiting tilltheir snail's pace would bring them to the anchorage. Willie Smee, thesupercargo, emerged from the cabin, conspicuous in his shore clothes.The mate glanced at his shirt, of the finest and whitest silk, andgiggled significantly.
"Dance, to-night, I suppose?" Grief observed.
"No," said the mate. "It's Taitua. Willie's stuck on her."
"Cat
ch me," the supercargo disclaimed.
"Then she's stuck on you, and it's all the same," the mate went on. "Youwon't be ashore half an hour before you'll have a flower behind yourear, a wreath on your head, and your arm around Taitua."
"Simple jealousy," Willie Smee sniffed. "You'd like to have heryourself, only you can't."
"I can't find shirts like that, that's why. I'll bet you half a crownyou won't sail from Fitu-Iva with that shirt."
"And if Taitua doesn't get it, it's an even break Tui Tulifau does,"Grief warned. "Better not let him spot that shirt, or it's all day withit."
"That's right," Captain Boig agreed, turning his head from watching thehouse lights on the shore. "Last voyage he fined one of my Kanakas outof a fancy belt and sheath-knife." He turned to the mate. "You can letgo any time, Mr. Marsh. Don't give too much slack. There's no sign ofwind, and in the morning we may shift opposite the copra-sheds."
A minute later the anchor rumbled down. The whaleboat, already hoistedout, lay alongside, and the shore-going party dropped into it. Save forthe Kanakas, who were all bent for shore, only Grief and the supercargowere in the boat. At the head of the little coral-stone pier WillieSmee, with an apologetic gurgle, separated from his employer anddisappeared down an avenue of palms. Grief turned in the oppositedirection past the front of the old mission church. Here, amongthe graves on the beach, lightly clad in _ahu's_ and _lava-lavas_,flower-crowned and garlanded, with great phosphorescent hibiscusblossoms in their hair, youths and maidens were dancing. Farther on,Grief passed the long, grass-built _himine_ house, where a few scoreof the elders sat in long rows chanting the old hymns taught them byforgotten missionaries. He passed also the palace of Tui Tulifau, where,by the lights and sounds, he knew the customary revelry was goingon. For of the happy South Sea isles, Fitu-Iva was the happiest. Theyfeasted and frolicked at births and deaths, and the dead and the unbornwere likewise feasted.
Grief held steadily along the Broom Road, which curved and twistedthrough a lush growth of flowers and fern-like algarobas. The warm airwas rich with perfume, and overhead, outlined against the stars, werefruit-burdened mangoes, stately avocado trees, and slender-tufted palms.Every here and there were grass houses. Voices and laughter rippledthrough the darkness. Out on the water flickering lights and soft-voicedchoruses marked the fishers returning from the reef.
At last Grief stepped aside from the road, stumbling over a pig thatgrunted indignantly. Looking through an open door, he saw a stout andelderly native sitting on a heap of mats a dozen deep. From time totime, automatically, he brushed his naked legs with a cocoa-nut-fibrefly-flicker. He wore glasses, and was reading methodically in what Griefknew to be an English Bible. For this was Ieremia, his trader, so namedfrom the prophet Jeremiah.
Ieremia was lighter-skinned than the Fitu-Ivans, as was natural in afull-blooded Samoan. Educated by the missionaries, as lay teacher he hadserved their cause well over in the cannibal atolls to the westward. Asa reward, he had been sent to the paradise of Fitu-Iva, where all wereor had been good converts, to gather in the backsliders. Unfortunately,Ieremia had become too well educated. A stray volume of Darwin, anagging wife, and a pretty Fitu-Ivan widow had driven him into the ranksof the backsliders. It was not a case of apostasy. The effect of Darwinhad been one of intellectual fatigue. What was the use of trying tounderstand this vastly complicated and enigmatical world, especiallywhen one was married to a nagging woman? As Ieremia slackened in hislabours, the mission board threatened louder and louder to send him backto the atolls, while his wife's tongue grew correspondingly sharper. TuiTulifau was a sympathetic monarch, whose queen, on occasions when he wasparticularly drunk, was known to beat him. For political reasons--thequeen belonging to as royal stock as himself and her brother commandingthe army--Tui Tulifau could not divorce her, but he could and diddivorce Ieremia, who promptly took up with commercial life and the ladyof his choice. As an independent trader he had failed, chiefly becauseof the disastrous patronage of Tui Tulifau. To refuse credit to thatmerry monarch was to invite confiscation; to grant him credit wascertain bankruptcy. After a year's idleness on the beach, leremia hadbecome David Grief's trader, and for a dozen years his service hadbeen honourable and efficient, for Grief had proven the first man whosuccessfully refused credit to the king or who collected when it hadbeen accorded.
Ieremia looked gravely over the rims of his glasses when his employerentered, gravely marked the place in the Bible and set it aside, andgravely shook hands.
"I am glad you came in person," he said.
"How else could I come?" Grief laughed.
But Ieremia had no sense of humour, and he ignored the remark.
"The commercial situation on the island is damn bad," he said with greatsolemnity and an unctuous mouthing of the many-syllabled words. "Myledger account is shocking."
"Trade bad?"
"On the contrary. It has been excellent. The shelves are empty,exceedingly empty. But----" His eyes glistened proudly. "But there aremany goods remaining in the storehouse; I have kept it carefullylocked."
"Been allowing Tui Tulifau too much credit?"
"On the contrary. There has been no credit at all. And every old accounthas been settled up."
"I don't follow you, Ieremia," Grief confessed. "What's thejoke?--shelves empty, no credit, old accounts all square, storehousecarefully locked--what's the answer?"
Ieremia did not reply immediately. Reaching under the rear corner of themats, he drew forth a large cash-box. Grief noted and wondered thatit was not locked. The Samoan had always been fastidiously cautious inguarding cash. The box seemed filled with paper money. He skinned offthe top note and passed it over.
"There is the answer."
Grief glanced at a fairly well executed banknote. "_The First Royal Bankof Fitu-Iva will pay to bearer on demand one pound sterling_," he read.In the centre was the smudged likeness of a native face. At the bottomwas the signature of Tui Tulifau, and the signature of Fulualea, withthe printed information appended, "_Chancellor of the Exchequer._"
"Who the deuce is Fulualea?" Grief demanded. "It's Fijian, isn'tit?--meaning the feathers of the sun?"
"Just so. It means the feathers of the sun. Thus does this baseinterloper caption himself. He has come up from Fiji to turn Fitu-Ivaupside down--that is, commercially."
"Some one of those smart Levuka boys, I suppose?"
Ieremia shook his head sadly. "No, this low fellow is a white man anda scoundrel. He has taken a noble and high-sounding Fijian name anddragged it in the dirt to suit his nefarious purposes. He has made TuiTulifau drunk. He has made him very drunk. He has kept him very drunkall the time. In return, he has been made Chancellor of the Exchequerand other things. He has issued this false paper and compelled thepeople to receive it. He has levied a store tax, a copra tax, and atobacco tax. There are harbour dues and regulations, and other taxes.But the people are not taxed--only the traders. When the copra tax waslevied, I lowered the purchasing price accordingly. Then the peoplebegan to grumble, and Feathers of the Sun passed a new law, settingthe old price back and forbidding any man to lower it. Me he fined twopounds and five pigs, it being well known that I possessed five pigs.You will find them entered in the ledger. Hawkins, who is trader forthe Fulcrum Company, was fined first pigs, then gin, and, because hecontinued to make loud conversation, the army came and burned his store.When I declined to sell, this Feathers of the Sun fined me once more andpromised to burn the store if again I offended. So I sold all that wason the shelves, and there is the box full of worthless paper. I shallbe chagrined if you pay me my salary in paper, but it would be just, nomore than just. Now, what is to be done?"
Grief shrugged his shoulders. "I must first see this Feathers of the Sunand size up the situation."
"Then you must see him soon," Ieremia advised. "Else he will have anaccumulation of many fines against you. Thus does he absorb all thecoin of the realm. He has it all now, save what has been buried in theground."
III
On h
is way back along the Broom Road, under the lighted lamps thatmarked the entrance to the palace grounds, Grief encountered a short,rotund gentleman, in unstarched ducks, smooth-shaven and of floridcomplexion, who was just emerging. Something about his tentative,saturated gait was familiar. Grief knew it on the instant. On thebeaches of a dozen South Sea ports had he seen it before.
"Of all men, Cornelius Deasy!" he cried.
"If it ain't Grief himself, the old devil," was the return greeting, asthey shook hands.
"If you'll come on board I've some choice smoky Irish," Grief invited.
Cornelius threw back his shoulders and stiffened.
"Nothing doin', Mr. Grief. 'Tis Fulualea I am now. No blarneyin' ofold times for me. Also, and by the leave of his gracious Majesty KingTulifau, 'tis Chancellor of the Exchequer I am, an' Chief Justice I am,save in moments of royal sport when the king himself chooses to toy withthe wheels of justice."
Grief whistled his amazement. "So you're Feathers of the Sun!"
"I prefer the native idiom," was the correction. "Fulualea, an' itplease you. Not forgettin' old times, Mr. Grief, it sorrows the heartof me to break you the news. You'll have to pay your legitimate importduties same as any other trader with mind intent on robbin' the gentlePolynesian savage on coral isles implanted. ----Where was I? Ah! Iremember. You've violated the regulations. With malice intent have youentered the port of Fitu-Iva after sunset without sidelights burnin'.Don't interrupt. With my own eyes did I see you. For which offence areyou fined the sum of five pounds. Have you any gin? 'Tis a seriousoffence. Not lightly are the lives of the mariners of our commodiousport to be risked for the savin' of a penny'orth of oil. Did I ask: haveyou any gin? Tis the harbour master that asks."