I own this tribe of Peche Indians by right of conquest--single handed
and unafraid. I drifted up here four years ago, and won 'em by my size
and complexion and nerve. I learned their language in six weeks--it's
easy: you simply emit a string of consonants as long as your breath
holds out and then point at what you're asking for.

"'I conquered 'em, spectacularly,' goes on King Shane, 'and then I went
at 'em with economical politics, law, sleight-of-hand, and a kind of New
England ethics and parsimony. Every Sunday, or as near as I can guess at
it, I preach to 'em in the council-house (I'm the council) on the law of
supply and demand. I praise supply and knock demand. I use the same text
every time. You wouldn't think, W. D.,' says Shane, 'that I had poetry
in me, would you?'

"'Well,' says I, 'I wouldn't know whether to call it poetry or not.'

"'Tennyson,' says Shane, 'furnishes the poetic gospel I preach. I always
considered him the boss poet. Here's the way the text goes:


"'"For, not to admire, if a man could learn it, were more
Than to walk all day like a Sultan of old in a garden of spice."


"'You see, I teach 'em to cut out demand--that supply is the main
thing. I teach 'em not to desire anything beyond their simplest needs.
A little mutton, a little cocoa, and a little fruit brought up from
the coast--that's all they want to make 'em happy. I've got 'em well
trained. They make their own clothes and hats out of a vegetable fibre
and straw, and they're a contented lot. It's a great thing,' winds up