Old Tapee’s under lip trembled like a scolded babe’s. I had doubted a Tahitian’s veracity!
“Me ole mans from heaben times, me knowee ebery think.”
“Begorra, pal, it’s a shame,—don’t! Look at that face! Does it look dishonest?” said O’Hara.
“No,” I said, as I gazed reflectively, then handed Tapee my last forty francs. This made in all eighty francs, for O’Hara had given him a like amount.
That same night O’Hara pensioned off for life almost everyone in Old Ireland. He was sure that Tapee told the truth about those pearls.
As the sun was setting, we met Tapee, as arranged. “Come on, white mans,” said he, as he toddled off. Then he intimated that, before he took us round the coast to the lagoon where the wondrous pearls were, he must first consult someone. O’Hara and I were in a fever of excitement as we followed him. It seemed incredible that in a few hours we should both be wealthy men, and that the élite of the civilized world would fall in humble obeisance on their knees before two such scallawags as we were! But it was no dream. There stood Tapee before us, real enough, wisdom and truth inscribed on his tawny wrinkled countenance, as he said:
“Waiter here, Massers; me back presently, then shower you pearls.”
“Yes, we’ll wait,” we replied, as, with a chuckle in his dusky throat, old Tapee toddled away beneath the palms. We saw him fade away amid the orange groves. O’Hara and I looked at each other.
“What’s he up to?” said I.
It was a lonely spot. To the right rose the mountains, and below us, far away, heaved the ocean, as sleepy winds stirred the forest trees overhead.