OF THE SOUTH SEAS 819 



Smoking was not allowed inside, so not until the last 

 moment did the men file in. Hundreds of women were 

 long in their places, some white, many part white, and 

 others Tahitians. They were in their best gowns, flirt- 

 ing, eating fruit and nuts, laughing, and talking. 

 Every girl of the Tiare Hotel was there, and all the 

 guests. I was wedged in between Lovaina and Atupu, 

 and the latter stroked my leg often, as one does a cat or 

 dog, affectionately, but without much thought about it. 

 Lovaina, too, rubbed my back from time to time. 



A picture preceded the fight. It was of cow-boys, 

 robbers, and the Wild West, with much shooting. A 

 half-caste explained it, and his wit was considerable, 

 tickling the ears as the scenes tickled the eyes. The 

 natives applauded or execrated the films as the Parisians 

 do at the opera. They encouraged the heroes and 

 cursed the villains. Lovaina was interested, but said: 



"Those robber in picshur make all boy bad. The gov- 

 ernor he say that maybe he stop that Bill 'Art kind of 

 picshur. Some Tahiti boy steal horse and throw rope 

 on other boy for lassoo." 



When the screen was removed, a roped enclosure, a 

 square "ring," was disclosed. The announcer spoke in 

 Tahitian of the signal achievements of the two fighters, 

 of their determination to do their best then and there. 

 The women cheered these declarations. Seated just 

 below me was a red-headed French girl, with perhaps a 

 slight infusion of Polynesian blood, who had a baby in 

 a perambulator. Her strawberry plaits dangled tempt- 

 ingly as she cooed to the baby. She was for Opeta, the 

 foreign competitor. 



