822 MYSTIC ISLES 



insistent, and though loath to end the show, the Kid 

 held up the gloved hand of the Mataiean. 



The announcer declared him the "champignon" of 

 Papeete, but naively declared that Opeta was still full 

 of fight, and challenged the universe. The Raratonga 

 man was dumfounded at the result of his forgetfulness, 

 and gazed coldly and accusingly at the red plaits. The 

 people, too, now regretted their enthusiasm for the right, 

 which had shortened their program of rounds, and de- 

 manded that the battle go on. But the band had left, 

 the lights were dimmed, and gradually the crowd de- 

 parted. 



The Australian waited to shake the hand of her 

 knight, to whom she said: 



"I bloomin' well knew you 'd do 'im hup! 'E's got 

 nothin' hin 'is right. 'E's a runaw'y, 'e is." 



David and I went into the buffet of the cinema after 

 the fight to hear the arguments over it, and he to collect 

 bets. He had chosen the winner by the toss of a coin. 

 The French Governor of the Paumotus was there, gaily 

 bantering half a dozen girls for whom he bought drinks. 

 We joined him with Miri and Caroline and Maraa and 

 others, the best-known sirens of Papeete. They were 

 handsome, though savage-looking, and they had lost 

 their soft voices. Alcohol and a thousand upaupahuras 

 had made them shrill. They smoked endless cigarettes. 

 Some wore shoes and stockings, and some were bare- 

 footed. Their dresses were red or blue, with insertions 

 of lace and ribbons, and they were crowned with flowers 

 in token of their mood of gaiety. 



David insisted on a bowl of velvet, three quarts of 

 champagne, and three of English porter mixed in a 



