CHAPTER V 



The Pare de Bougainville — Ivan StroganofF — He tells me the history of 

 Tahiti — He berates the Tahitians — Wants me to start a newspaper. 



IN the pare de Bougainville I sat down on a bench 

 on which was an old European. He was reading 

 a tattered number of "Simplicissimus," and held 

 the paper close to his watery eyes. I said, "Good 

 morning" and he replied in fluent though accented Eng- 

 lish. 



His appearance was eccentric. He was stout, and 

 with a rough, white beard all over his face and neck, 

 and even on his chest. He wore a frock coat and a 

 large cow-boy hat of white felt. His sockless feet were 

 in old base-ball shoes of "eelskin," which were of the 

 exact color of his coat, a dull green, like moldy, dried 

 peas. Apparently the coat was his only garment; but 

 it was capacious, and came almost to his knobby knees. 

 Missing buttons down its front were replaced by bits 

 of cord or rope. The pockets were stuffed with papers, 

 mangos, and a hunk of bread. A stump of lead-pencil 

 was behind his ear. His hair, a dusty white, met the 

 frayed collar of the coat, and through the temporary 

 gaps which he made in its length to cool his body, I saw 

 it like a gnarled and mossy tree. His hands were 

 grimy and his nails black-edged, but there was intellect 

 in his eye, and a broken force in his huddled, loosed at- 

 titude. He was not decrepit, or with a trace of humil- 



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