Island Nights' EntertainmentsStevenson, Robert Louis
General
Island Nights' Entertainments
Stevenson, Robert Louis
Islands of the Pacific -- Fiction; Short stories
There is no doubt when an island chief wants to be civil he can do it.
I saw the way things were from the word go. There was no call for Uma
to say to me: “He no ’fraid Ese now, come bring copra.” I tell you I
shook hands with that Kanaka like as if he was the best white man in
Europe.
The fact was, Case and he had got after the same girl; or Maea
suspected it, and concluded to make hay of the trader on the chance. He
had dressed himself up, got a couple of his retainers cleaned and armed
to kind of make the thing more public, and, just waiting till Case was
clear of the village, came round to put the whole of his business my
way. He was rich as well as powerful. I suppose that man was worth
fifty thousand nuts per annum. I gave him the price of the beach and a
quarter cent better, and as for credit, I would have advanced him the
inside of the store and the fittings besides, I was so pleased to see
him. I must say he bought like a gentleman: rice and tins and biscuits
enough for a week’s feast, and stuffs by the bolt. He was agreeable
besides; he had plenty fun to him; and we cracked jests together,
mostly through the interpreter, because he had mighty little English,
and my native was still off colour. One thing I made out: he could
never really have thought much harm of Uma; he could never have been
really frightened, and must just have made believe from dodginess, and
because he thought Case had a strong pull in the village and could help
him on.
This set me thinking that both he and I were in a tightish place. What
he had done was to fly in the face of the whole village, and the thing
might cost him his authority. More than that, after my talk with Case
on the beach, I thought it might very well cost me my life. Case had as
good as said he would pot me if ever I got any copra; he would come
home to find the best business in the village had changed hands; and
the best thing I thought I could do was to get in first with the
potting.
“See here, Uma,” says I, “tell him I’m sorry I made him wait, but I was
up looking at Case’s Tiapolo store in the bush.”
“He want savvy if you no ’fraid?” translated Uma.
I laughed out. “Not much!” says I. “Tell him the place is a blooming
toy-shop! Tell him in England we give these things to the kids to play
with.”
“He want savvy if you hear devil sing?” she asked next.
“Look here,” I said, “I can’t do it now because I’ve got no
banjo-strings in stock; but the next time the ship comes round I’ll
have one of these same contraptions right here in my verandah, and he
can see for himself how much devil there is to it. Tell him, as soon as
I can get the strings I’ll make one for his picaninnies. The name of
the concern is a Tyrolean harp; and you can tell him the name means in
English that nobody but dam-fools give a cent for it.”
This time he was so pleased he had to try his English again. “You talk
true?” says he.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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