in his sunlight. He lit his cigar-end, puffed it diligently for a
minute, and then said arbitrarily:

"The Tahitian is, first, a coward, afraid to fight the white; but
if he can, in a group or by secret, kill or hurt you, he will. He
is treacherous, and the more he pretends to be your friend, the more
he connives to cheat you. I should have said first of all that he is
lazy, but that is not to be disputed. He was corrupt to begin with,
and religion accentuates every evil passion in him. He is a profound
hypocrite, and yet a puritan for observance of the ceremonies and
interdictions of his faith. He has more guile than a Japanese guide,
and in land deals can skin a Moscow Jew. He will sell you land and
get the money, and later prove that his father or brother is the real
owner, and that relation will do the same, and you will pay several
times for the same land. In the Paumotus, where the missionaries are
like a swarm of gnats, this deception is threefold as bad."

"But the Tahitians are at least generous," I broke in.

Stroganoff combed his whiskers with a twig of the flamboyant tree
under which we sat. He glared at me.

"Generous! If you have money they will overwhelm you with presents,
looking for a double return; but if you are poor, they will treat
you as dirt under their feet. I know, for I am poor, and I live among
them. They are like those mina birds here, which will steal the button
off your coat if you do not guard it."

"Does not Christianity improve them?"