mystery, of secret arrangements between traders, or hard endeavors
for circumvention of competitors in the business of the dispersed
islands of French Oceania.

A delightful incident enlivened my first visit, and gave me an
acquaintance with a group of habitués, When I reached the balcony I
saw a group of Frenchmen at a table who were singing at the top of
their voices. I sat down at the farthest table and ordered a Dr. Funk.

I did not look at them, for I felt de trop; but suddenly I heard them
humming the air of "John Brown's Body," and singing fugitive words.

"Grory, grory, harreruah!" came to my ears, and later, "Wayd' 'un S'ut'
in le land de cottin."

They were making fun of me I thought, and turned my head away. It
would not do to get angry with half a dozen jovial Frenchmen.

"All Coons Look alike to Me," I recognized, though they sang but
fragments of the text.

Through a corner of my eye I saw them all anxiously staring at me;
then one of the merrymakers came over to me. I had a fleeting thought
of a row before he bowed low and said in English:

"If you please, we make good time, we sing your songs, and must be
happy to drink with you."

He announced himself as M. Edmond Brault, chief clerk of the office
of the secretary-general, fresh-faced, glowing and with a soul for