THE SAN BLAS PEOPLE 



On a beam in front of us were several litho- 

 graphs one of the Crucifixion, another of the 

 late King Edward VII, a third showing an 

 African explorer and his naked gun bearers 

 in a desperate battle with some faded-blue 

 crocodiles which had gnawed one end of 

 his canoe to the bone. They were products 

 of the Paris-green pre-half-tone, nature-faking 

 school of expression. 



Having paid fulsome respects to the chief, 

 we explained that we desired nothing from 

 him or his people, that we had nothing to sell 

 or to buy, that we wanted neither lands nor 

 coconuts, and that we were all happily mar- 

 ried. When he had digested this amazing 

 intelligence, the chief spoke. From his tone, 

 from the light in his eyes, I am sure that a 

 literal translation of his words was: 



"Well, what do they want?" 



This was Salisbury's moment, and he rose 

 to it. He gestured magnificently; his smile 

 was warm and friendly, and it embraced every 

 hostile countenance. 



"Tell the chief that we are different from 

 any white men he has ever seen. We're not 

 looking for mines; we don't want any lands, 

 for we have both. We are immensely wealthy. 



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