“Who’s she?” said I.  “She’ll do.”

“That’s Uma,” said Case, and he called her up and spoke to her in the native.  I didn’t know what he said; but when he was in the midst she looked up at me quick and timid, like a child dodging a blow, then down again, and presently smiled.  She had a wide mouth, the lips and the chin cut like any statue’s; and the smile came out for a moment and was gone.  Then she stood with her head bent, and heard Case to an end, spoke back in the pretty Polynesian voice, looking him full in the face, heard him again in answer, and then with an obeisance started off.  I had just a share of the bow, but never another shot of her eye, and there was no more word of smiling.

“I guess it’s all right,” said Case.  “I guess you can have her.  I’ll make it square with the old lady.  You can have your pick of the lot for a plug of tobacco,” he added, sneering.

I suppose it was the smile stuck in my memory, for I spoke back sharp.  “She doesn’t look that sort,” I cried.

“I don’t know that she is,” said Case.  “I believe she’s as right as the mail.  Keeps to herself, don’t go round with the gang, and that.  O no, don’t you misunderstand me — Uma’s on the square.”  He spoke eager, I thought, and that surprised and pleased me.  “Indeed,” he went on, “I shouldn’t make so sure of getting her, only she cottoned to the cut of your jib.  All you have to do is to keep dark and let me work the mother my own way; and I’ll bring the girl round to the captain’s for the marriage.”

I didn’t care for the word marriage, and I said so.

“Oh, there’s nothing to hurt in the marriage,” says he.  “Black Jack’s the chaplain.”

By this time we had come in view of the house of these three white men; for a negro is counted a white man, and so is a Chinese! a strange idea, but common in the islands.  It was a board house with a strip of rickety verandah.  The store was to the front, with a counter, scales, and the poorest possible display of trade:  a case or two of tinned meats; a barrel of hard bread; a few bolts of cotton stuff, not to be compared with mine; the only thing well represented being the contraband, firearms and liquor.  “If these are my only rivals,” thinks I, “I should do well in Falesa.”  Indeed, there was only the one way they could touch me, and that was with the guns and drink.

In the back room was old Captain Randall, squatting on the floor native fashion, fat and pale, naked to the waist, grey as a badger, and his eyes set with drink.  His body was covered with grey hair and crawled over by flies; one was in the corner of his eye — he never heeded; and the mosquitoes hummed about the man like bees.  Any clean-minded man would have had the creature out at once and buried him; and to see him, and think he was seventy, and remember he had once commanded a ship, and come ashore in his smart togs, and talked big in bars and consulates, and sat in club verandahs, turned me sick and sober.