“Aue!” they cried as I showed them my speed, which would be a shame to a typist.

Chiefs especially were my visitors, thinking it proper to their estate and to mine that they should call upon me and invite me to their seats of government.

So it happened that one morning as I sat on my paepae eating a breakfast of roasted breadfruit prepared for me by Exploding Eggs, my naked skin enjoying the warmth of the sun and my ears filled with the bubbling laughter of the brook, I beheld two stately visitors approaching.  Exploding Eggs named them to me as they came up the trail.

Both were leading chiefs of the islands.  Katu, Piece of Tattooing, of Hekeani, led the way.  His severe and dignified face was a dark blue in color.  His eyes alone were free from imbedded indigo ink.  They gleamed like white clouds in a blue sky, but their glance was mild and kindly.  Sixty years of age, he still walked with upright grace, only the softened contours of his face betraying that he was well in his manhood when his valley was still given over to tribal warfares, orgies, and cannibalism.

Behind him came Neo Afitu Atrien, of Vait-hua, a stocky brown man with a lined face, stubby mustache, and brilliant, intelligent eyes.  He mounted the steps, shook hands heartily, and poured out his informed soul in English.

“Johnny, I spik Ingrish.  You Iris’man.  You got ‘O,’ before name.  I know you got tipwrite can make machine do pen.  I know Panama Canal.  How is Teddy and Gotali?”

I assured the chief that both Roosevelt and Goethals were well at last account, and he veered to other topics.

“Before time, come prenty whaleship my place,” he said.  “I know geograffy, mappee, grammal.  I know Egyptee, Indee, all country; I know Bufflobillee.  Before time, whaleship come America for take water and wood.  Stay two, t’ree week.  Every night sailor come ashore catchee girls take ship.  Prenty rum, biskit, molassi, good American tobbacee.  Now all finish.  Whaleship no more.  That is not good.”

His name means The Seventh Man Who Is So Angry He Wallows In The Mire.  “Neo” means all but the number, and for so short a word to be translated by so detailed a statement would indicate that there were many Marquesans whose anger tripped them.  Else such a word had hardly been born.

I showed the chiefs the marvels of my typewriter, displayed to their respectful gaze the Golden Bed, and otherwise did the honors.  As they departed, Neo said earnestly,

“You come see me you have my house.  You like, you bring prenty rum, keep warm if rain.”

“A wicked man,” said Exploding Eggs in Marquesan when the trail lay empty before us.  “One time he drink much rum, French gendarme go to arrest him, he bite—­” With an eloquent gesture my valet indicated that Neo’s teeth had removed in its entirety the nose of the valiant defender of morals.  “No good go see him,” he added with finality.