ve affair between her daughter, Naumoo, and Motuaro.

"They're certainly a romantic lot," Brown, the mate, said. "As romantic
as we whites."

"As romantic as Pilsach," Grief laughed, "and that is going some. How
long ago was it, Captain, that he jumped you?"

"Eleven years," Captain Glass grunted resentfully.

"Tell me about it," Brown pleaded. "They say he's never left Fuatino
since. Is that right?"

"Right O," the captain rumbled. "He's in love with his wife--the little
hussy! Stole him from me, and as good a sailorman as the trade has ever
seen--if he is a Dutchman."

"German," Grief corrected.

"It's all the same," was the retort. "The sea was robbed of a good man
that night he went ashore and Notutu took one look at him. I reckon they
looked good to each other. Before you could say skat, she'd put a wreath
of some kind of white flowers on his head, and in five minutes they were
off down the beach, like a couple of kids, holding hands and laughing. I
hope he's blown that big coral patch out of the channel. I always start
a sheet or two of copper warping past."

"Go on with the story," Brown urged.

"That's all. He was finished right there. Got married that night. Never
came on board again. I looked him up next day. Found him in a straw
house in the bush, barelegged, a white savage, all mixed up with flowers
and things and playing a guitar. Looked like a bally ass. Told me to
send his things ashore. I told him I'd see him damned first. And that's
all. You'll see her to-morrow. They've got three kiddies now--wonderful
little rascals. I've a phonograph down below for him, and about a
million records."

"And then you made him trader?" the mate inquired of Grief.

"What else could I do? Fuatino is a love island, and Filsach is a lover.
He knows the native, too--one of the best traders I've got, or ever had.
He's responsible. You'll see him to-morrow."

"Look here, young man," Captain Glass rumbled threateningly at his mate.
"Are you romantic? Because if you are, on board you stay. Fuatino's the
island of romantic insanity. Everybody's in love with somebody. They
live on love. It's in the milk of the cocoa-nuts, or the air, or the
sea. The history of the island for the last ten thousand years is
nothing but love affairs. I know. I've talked with the old men. And if I
catch you starting down the beach hand in hand--"

His sudden cessation caused both the other men to look at him. They
followed his gaze, whi