CHAPTER XLVI.

SOMETHING ABOUT THE KANNAKIPPERS

A WORTHY young man, formerly a friend of mine (I speak of Kooloo with
all possible courtesy, since after our intimacy there would be an
impropriety in doing otherwise)--this worthy youth, having some
genteel notions of retirement, dwelt in a "maroo boro," or
bread-fruit shade, a pretty nook in a wood, midway between the
Calabooza Beretanee and the Church of Cocoa-nuts. Hence, at the latter
place, he was one of the most regular worshippers.

Kooloo was a blade. Standing up in the congregation in all the bravery
of a striped calico shirt, with the skirts rakishly adjusted over a
pair of white sailor trousers, and hair well anointed with cocoa-nut
oil, he ogled the ladies with an air of supreme satisfaction. Nor
were his glances unreturned.

But such looks as the Tahitian belles cast at each other: frequently
turning up their noses at the advent of a new cotton mantle recently
imported in the chest of some amorous sailor. Upon one occasion, I
observed a group of young girls, in tunics of course, soiled
sheeting, disdainfully pointing at a damsel in a flaming red one.
"Oee tootai owree!" said they with ineffable scorn, "itai maitai!"
(You are a good-for-nothing huzzy, no better than you should be).

Now, Kooloo communed with the church; so did all these censorious
young ladies. Yet after eating bread-fruit at the Eucharist, I knew
several of them, the same night, to be guilty of some sad
derelictions.