Boxing and cinemas were novelties in Tahiti, and though the bars were only adjuncts of the shows, they had become the scenes of a hectic life quite different from former days.  The groves, the beach, and the homes were less frequented for merrymaking, the white having brought his own comparatively new customs of men and women drinking together in public houses.  And there had crept in on a small scale an exploitation of beauty by those who profited by the receipts at the prize-fights, the cinemas, and the bars.  The French or part castes who owned these attractions were copying the cruder methods of the Chinese.

Llewellyn, David, and McHenry were habitues of these resorts, and I not an infrequent visitor.  We went together to a prize-fight, which had been well advertised.  A small boy with a gong handed me a bill on the rue du Four, which read: 

Casino de Tahiti
Ce Soir Vendredi

Pour le championnat des Etablissements francais de l’Oceanie

Grand Match de Boxe Entre mm. 
Great Boxing Match Between mm. 
Moto Raa rahi i rotopu ia

Opeta (Raratonga) & Teaea (Mataiea)

10 Rounds

Moni parahiraa 1re 2f. 50 2me 2f. 3me 1f. 50

The bill said further in French and Tahitian that this was to be the climax of all ring battles in the South Seas between natives, the Christchurch Kid and Cowan, the bridegroom, being hors concours.

Every seat was reserved by noon.  All day the automobile stages ran into the country districts to bring natives, and from Moorea came boat-loads of spectators.  On the streets native youths emulated the combatants, and at every corner boys were at fisticuffs.  The Casino de Tahiti was on the rue de Rivoli, a large wooden shed painted in polychromatic tints, and with a gallery open to the air for the band, which played an hour before all events to summon patrons.  Groups were in the street by eight o’clock, many having been unable to buy seats, and others there merely to hear the music and to laugh.  Many were Chinese, queueless, smartly dressed in conventional white suits and American straw hats.  The storekeepers had come in from the country.  The men heatedly discussed the merits of the boxers.  Opeta of Raratonga was mentioned as the champion of the world—­this part of it.

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, flirting, 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: