extraordinary old fellow who had helped him make the road up the
mountain. He and I had some great evenings together, yarning and
drinking copra."

"Did he tell you anything particularly personal about STEVENSON?" I
asked.

"Nothing that I remember," he said; "but he was a fine old fellow and
as thirsty as they make 'em."

"What is copra like?" I asked.

"Great," he said. "Like--what shall I say?--well, like Audit ale and
Veuve Clicquot mixed. But it got to your head. You had to be careful.
I remember one night after a day's bathing at--at Tromo Titonui--"

"Where was that?" I asked.

"Oh, that little village I was telling you about," he said. "I
remember one night--"

"Look here," I said, "you began by calling it Tormo Tonitui, then you
called it Morto Notitui and now it's Tromo Titonui. I'm going to say
again, quite seriously, that I don't believe you ever were in Hawaii
at all."

"Of course I wasn't," he replied. "But what is one to do in a railway
carriage, with nothing to read, and a drenched world and those two
words staring one in the face?" and he pointed to a placard above my
head advertising a firm which provided the best and cheapest Motor