“And so I did,” says he. “But you must have seen for yourself, unless you’re blind, that the asking got the other way. I’ll go as far as I dare for another white man; but when I find I’m in the scrape myself, I think first of my own bacon. The loss of me is I’m too good-natured. And I’ll take the freedom of telling you you show a queer kind of gratitude to a man who’s got into all this mess along of your affairs.” “There’s a thing I am thinking of,” said I. “You were a fool to be so much about with Vigours. One comfort, you haven’t been much about with me. I notice you’ve never been inside my house. Own up now; you had word of this before?” “It’s a fact I haven’t been,” said he. “It was an oversight, and I am sorry for it, Wiltshire. But about coming now, I’ll be quite plain.” “You mean you won’t?” I asked. “Awfully sorry, old man, but that’s the size of it,” says Case. “In short, you’re afraid?” says I. “In short, I’m afraid,” says he. “And I’m still to be tabooed for nothing?” I asked “I tell you you’re not tabooed,” said he. “The Kanakas won’t go near you, that’s all. And who’s to make ’em? We traders have a lot of gall, I must say; we make these poor Kanakas take back their laws, and take up their taboos, and that, whenever it happens to suit us. But you don’t mean to say you expect a law obliging people to deal in your store whether they want to or not? You don’t mean to tell me you’ve got the gall for that? And if you had, it would be a queer thing to propose to me. I would just like to point out to you, Wiltshire, that I’m a trader myself.” “I don’t think I would talk of gall if I was you,” said I. “Here’s about what it comes to, as well as I can make out: None of the people are to trade with me, and they’re all to trade with you. You’re to have the copra, and I’m to go to the devil and shake myself. And I don’t know any native, and you’re the only man here worth mention that speaks English, and you have the gall to up and hint to me my life’s in danger, and all you’ve got to tell me is you don’t know why!” “Well, it _is_ all I have to tell you,” said he. “I don’t know—I wish I did.” “And so you turn your back and leave me to myself! Is that the position?” says I. “If you like to put it nasty,” says he. “I don’t put it so. I say merely, ‘I’m going to keep clear of you; or, if I don’t, I’ll get in danger for myself.’” “Well,” says I, “you’re a nice kind of a white man!” “O, I understand; you’re riled,” said he. “I would be myself. I can make excuses.” “All right,” I said, “go and make excuses somewhere else. Here’s my way, there’s yours!” With that we parted, and I went straight home, in a hot temper, and found Uma trying on a lot of trade goods like a baby. “Here,” I said, “you quit that foolery! Here’s a pretty mess to have made, as if I wasn’t bothered enough anyway! And I thought I told you to get dinner!”