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Mystic Isles of the South Seas. Frederick O'Brien

Mystic Isles of the South Seas. Frederick O'Brien

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14<br />

Ben Fuller, <strong>the</strong> Australian <strong>the</strong>atrical manager, frowned on him. Fuller<br />

was as round as a barrel, and he also was certain <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> remedies<br />

for a sick world.<br />

"How you 're goin' a get any bloody fun with no roast beef, no mutton,<br />

no puddin', and let alone a drop <strong>of</strong> ale and a pipe?"<br />

The Swiss smiled beatifically.<br />

"You can get rid <strong>of</strong> all those desires," he said.<br />

"My Gawd! I don't want to get rid o' <strong>the</strong>m, I don't. I'm bringing up<br />

my kiddies right, and I'm a proper family man, but I want my meat<br />

and my bread and my puddin'. The world needs proper entertainment;<br />

that's what'll cure <strong>the</strong> troubles."<br />

The Swiss was also ardent in attention to <strong>the</strong> women aboard, and I<br />

wondered if <strong>the</strong>re was a new school <strong>of</strong> self-denial. The old celibate<br />

monks eschewed women, but had Gargantuan appetites, which <strong>the</strong>y<br />

satisfied with meat pasties, tubs <strong>of</strong> ale, and vats <strong>of</strong> wine.<br />

There were two Tahitians aboard, both females. One was an oldish<br />

woman, ugly and waspish. She counted her beads and spoke to me in<br />

French <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> consolations <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> Catholic religion. She had been to<br />

America for an operation, but despaired <strong>of</strong> ever being well, and so<br />

was melancholy and devout. I talked to her about Tahiti, that island<br />

which <strong>the</strong> young Darwin wrote, "must forever remain classical to <strong>the</strong><br />

voyager in <strong>the</strong> <strong>South</strong> <strong>Seas</strong>," and which, since I had read "Rarahu"<br />

as a boy, had fascinated me and drawn me to it. She warned me.<br />

"Prenez-garde vous, monsieur!" she said. "There are evils <strong>the</strong>re,<br />

but I am ashamed <strong>of</strong> my people."<br />

The o<strong>the</strong>r was about twenty-two years old, slender, kohl-eyed,<br />

and black-tressed. She was dressed in <strong>the</strong> gayest colors <strong>of</strong><br />

bourgeois fashion in San Francisco, with jade ear-rings and diamond<br />

ornaments. Her face was <strong>of</strong> a lemon-cream hue, with dark shadows<br />

under her long-lashed eyes. Her form was singularly svelt, curving,<br />

suggestive <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> rounded stalk <strong>of</strong> a young cocoa-palm, her bosom<br />

molded in a voluptuous reserve. Her fa<strong>the</strong>r, a clergyman, had cornered<br />

<strong>the</strong> vanilla-bean market in Tahiti, and she was bringing an automobile

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