huckling when Tim, after a vain attempt to rise, lay back at full
length on his rug and begged some one to make a cigarette.

"Guess I'll have to follow Tim's example," confessed Knowlton. And he
too stretched out. Pedro and Lourenco also sprawled back. McKay, after
glancing around, compromised with his dignity by leaning on one elbow.
The subchiefs and Yuara, with slight smiles, relaxed in various
postures. Monitaya alone arose--not without some difficulty--and got
into his hammock, where he beamed down at them.

"Suppose this is a compliment to the chief," smiled McKay. "He thinks he
has eaten us helpless."

"Speakin' for li'l old Tim Ryan, that ain't no joke, neither. Lookit all
the girls givin' us the laff. Who are them tall ones that's been rushin'
the grub? Waitresses or somethin'?"

"Those are the chief's wives," Lourenco explained.

"Huh? Gosh! he's one brave guy, that feller! Two--four--six--eight--nine
of 'em! Swell lookers, too. I s'pose he has his pick o' the whole crowd
here."

"He does not have to pick them Senhor Tim. They pick him. He and the
subchiefs are the only ones who can take more than one wife. When a girl
wishes to become the wife of the great chief or of a subchief, she works
for months making feather dresses and necklaces and hammocks, and when
these are done she gives them all to him. If he likes her well enough he
accepts the gifts and allows her to be a wife to him."

"Yeah? And she's flattered to death, I s'pose. Wisht they'd start
somethin' like that up home, or, anyways, fix it so's a feller could get
an even break. Way it is now, a feller blows in every dollar he's got,
and then when he's fixin' to git the ring the girl leaves him flat for
some other guy that 'ain't spent his dough yet. Yo-ho-hum! I'm goin' to
take a snooze right there on the table. Wake me up, somebody, when the
next mess call blows."

And with no further ado he shut his eyes and drowsed.

His companions lolled for some time, smoking and watching the family
life of the ordinary members of the tribe, nodding now and then to some
friendly-looking young fellow, but ignoring the mischievous glances of
the girls. Monitaya himself lay back in his hammock and dozed. His
wives, stepping nonchalantly among the strangers, cleared away the
remnants of the feast by the simple process of eating them. Then they
carried off the clay vessels.

For another hour all hands rested. Then Monitaya sat up, stretched his
big arms,