go now and then for
a day's fun. It was called--let me get it right--it was called
Tormo Tonitui--and there were pleasure-gardens there and the most
fascinating girls." His eyes took on a far-away wistfulness.

"Yes, yes?" I said.

"Fascinating brown girls," he said, "who played that banjo-mandolin
thing they all play, and sang mournful luxurious songs, and danced
under the lanterns at night. And the bathing! There's no bathing here
at all. There you can stay in the sea air day if you like. It's like
bathing in champagne. Sun and surf and sands--there's nothing like
it." He sighed rapturously.

"Well, I can't help saying again," I interrupted, "that it's a most
extraordinary thing that, after knowing you all these years, you
have never told me a word about Honolulu or the South Seas or this
wonderful pleasure-garden place called--what was the name of it?"

He hesitated for a moment. "Morto Notitui," he then replied.

"I don't think that's how you had it before," I said; "surely it was
Tormo Tonitui?"

"Perhaps it was," he said. "I forget. Those Hawaiian names are very
much alike and all rather confusing. But you really ought to go out
there. Why don't you cut everything for a year and get some sunshine
into your system? You're fossilising here. We all are. Let's be
gamblers and chance it."

"I wish I could," I said. "Tell me some more about your life there."

"It was wonderful," he went on--wonderful. I'm not surprised that
STEVENSON found it a paradise."

"By the way," I asked, "did you hear anything of STEVENSON?"

"Oh, yes, lots. I met several men who had known him--Tusitala he
was called there, you know--and several natives. There was one
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 Not