“Surely, then, come,” I said, struck by an incredible possibility.  Could it be that the crafty O Lalala—­absurd!  But Apporo, hurrying before me down the lantern-lighted trail, confirmed my suspicions.

O Lalala had stated and put into effect the prohibition of any other stakes other than the innocent matches—­mere counters—­which he had mentioned to the governor.  But swift messengers had heralded throughout the valley that there would be gambling—­authorized par gouvernement—­in Lam Kai Go’s plantation, and already the cards had been shuffled for seven or eight hours.  Throughout all Atuona matches had been given an extraordinary and superlative value.  To the farthest huts on the rim of the valley the cry was “Matches!” And as fast as they arrived, O Lalala won them.

We hastened into my cabin, and Apporo was beneath the Golden Bed ere the rays of my lantern fell upon the floor.  The packets had disappeared.

“Exploding Eggs!” cried Apporo, her dark eyes tolling in rage.

“But—­he is honest,” I objected.

In such a crisis, she muttered, all standards were naught.  Exploding Eggs had been one of the first squatters at the sugar-cane mat.  “The Bishop himself would trade the holy-water fonts for matches, were he as thirsty to play as I am!”

There were no more matches in the valleys of Atuona or Taka-Uka, she said.  Every dealer had sold out.  Every house had been invaded.  The losers had begged, borrowed, or given articles of great value for matches.  The accursed Tahitian had them all but a few now being waged.  Defeated players were even now racing over the mountains in the darkness, ransacking each hut for more.

The reputation of Hiva-oa, of the island itself, was at stake.  A foreigner had dishonored their people, or would if they did not win back what he had gained from them.  She was half Chinese; her father’s soul was concerned.  He had died in this very room.  To save his face in death she would give back even her interest in the Golden Bed, she would pledge all that Great Fern possessed, if I would give her only a few matches.

Her pleas could only be hopeless.  There was not a match in the cabin.

Together we returned to the cocoanut-grove.  O Lalala still sat calmly winning the matches, the supply of which was from time to time replenished by panting newcomers.  He swept the mat clean at every valuable pot.

His only apparent advantage was that he made the rules whenever questions arose.  He was patient in all disputes, yielding in small matters, but he was as the granite rocks of the mountain above him when many matches were at stake.  With solemnity he invoked the name of Hoy-lee, the mysterious person who had fixed immutably the tapus of pokaree.  He made an occult sign with his thumb against his nose, and that settled it.  If any one persisted in challenging this tiki he added his other thumb to the little finger of his first symbol, and said, “Got-am-to-hellee!” As a last recourse, he would raise his crutch and with public opinion supporting him would threaten to invoke the law against gambling and stop the game if disputation did not cease.