Two days after the Grand Banquet described in the last chapter, Whinney, Swank and I awoke with a sigh of simultaneous satisfaction, completely rested and restored. Ten minutes later we were engaged in a brisk debate in which the question before the house was, stated boldly, Should we or should we not "go native?" In other words, should we hold ourselves aloof, live contrary to the customs of the country and mortally offend our hosts,--to say nothing of our hostesses,--or should we fulfil our destinies, take unto ourselves island brides and eat our equatorial fruit, core and all? For the purpose of discussion Whinney was designated to uphold the negative, and for an hour we argued the matter pro and con. Whinney advanced a number of arguments, the difference in our nationalities, our standing in our home communities (which I thought an especially weak point), our lack of a common language, and several other trivial objections, all of which Swank and I demolished until Whinney got peevish and insisted that he and I change sides. I spoke very seriously of the lack of precedent for the step which we were considering and of what my people in Derby, Conn., would say when they learned that a Traprock had married a Filbert. Swank replied with some heat that he didn't believe that anything could be said in Derby that hadn't been said already and Whinney was much more eloquent on the affirmative than he had been on the negative. Finally when I thought we had talked enough I said-- "Well, gentlemen, are you ready for a ballot?" "We are," said Swank and Whinney. "Remember," I warned, "The green nuts are for the affirmative,--the black ones for the negative. Secret ballots, of course." Wrapping our votes in _metani_ leaves we dropped them in the ballot shell. Whinney was teller. It was an anxious moment until he looked up and said with a hysterical quiver in his voice: "Unanimously green." "Let's go!" shouted Swank, but I stopped him. "Hold on," I said. "Triplett is in on this. We agreed that it must be unanimous." My companions' faces lengthened like barrel-staves. "Damn," muttered Whinney. "I hadn't thought of him." You can imagine our disgust when we interviewed the Captain. "Not on your life!" he said decidedly. "Why, boys, I got two a 'em a-ready, one in Noo Bedford--she's my lawful,--and one--a sort of 'erdeependence, in Sausalito. But boys, I don't go for to commit trigonometry, no sir!" Thunder rested on our brows but the Captain continued,-- "But you--you boys, you ain't married, leastways if you are I don't know about it, and if you ain't"--he looked at us severely,--"if you ain't, it's high time you was. And what's more, if you want to be, I kin do it for you." "What do you mean?" we gasped. "Justice of the peace," he said proudly, "dooly signed and registered in Dartmouth County, Mass." We were overwhelmed. This was more than we dared hope for,--more than we had even dreamed of!