OF THE SOUTH SEAS 83 



He sat meditatively for a few moments. 



"I 'm all but eighty years old," the raider of the '60's 

 continued sorrowfully. "I work now for Chinese, pre- 

 paring their mail, their custom-house papers, and orders. 

 I scrape along like a watch-dog in a sausage factory, 

 getting sufficient to eat, but fearful all the time that the 

 job will kill me. Most of the time I live a few kilo- 

 meters from Papeete, toward Fa'a, and come in to town 

 about steamer-time. I sleep in the chicken-coop or 

 anywhere. I make about forty francs a month." He 

 stamped upon the grass. "I take it you are a journal- 

 ist, and, do you know, what is needed here most is pub- 

 licity. Graft permeates the whole scheme. Mind you, 

 there are no secrets. You could not whisper anything 

 to a cocoanut-tree but that the entire island would know 

 it to-morrow. But there is no open publicity. Start a 

 newspaper!" 



"In what language?" I demanded, interested. 



"Huh? That's it. If in French, only the French 

 would read it; and if in Tahitian, the French won't 

 touch it ; and English is known only by the Chinese and 

 the few British and Americans here. I hate that Ta- 

 hitian. I don't know a word of it after seventeen years. 

 Say what you will, Roosevelt made them stand around. 

 I hked him for many things ; but, after all, the old order 

 must stand, and Root is the boy for me. This fellow 

 Wilson is a regular pedagogue." 



"But they have newspapers here?" I asked. 



"Newspapers? They call them that." 



He stood up and searched in the pockets of his 

 voluminous coat, which he opened. I saw that the lin- 



