"It is well," he said, in Tahitian. "For we have been mates
together for three days on the lips of Death."

"But Death stuttered," I smiled.

"It was a brave deed you did, master," he replied, "and Death was
not vile enough to speak."

"Why do you `master' me?" I demanded, with a show of hurt
feelings. "We have exchanged names. To you I am Otoo. To me you
are Charley. And between you and me, forever and forever, you
shall be Charley and I shall be Otoo. It is the way of the
custom. And when we die, if it does happen that we live again,
somewhere beyond the stars and the sky, still shall you be
Charley to me and I Otoo to you."

"Yes, master," he answered, his eyes luminous and soft with joy.

"There you go!" I cried indignantly.

"What does it matter what my lips utter?" he argued. "They are
only my lips. But I shall think OTOO always. Whenever I think of
myself I shall think of you. Whenever men call me by name I shall
think of you. And beyond the sky and beyond the stars always and
forever you shall be Otoo to me. Is it well, master?"

I hid my smile and answered that it was well.

We parted at Papeete. I remained ashore to recuperate, and he
went on in a cutter to his own island, Bora Bora. Six weeks later