“All right, old thing,” answered Stevens. “Fire the whole broadside!”
“No, no; I’m goin’ to spare you the whole official document. It pretends to be a formal instruction to this beef-headed flunky, from his guardian, of a test to prove his mettle and gain experience to fit him for the highest posts of the diplomatic service by going round the bally world and doin’ other people in for their tin. It is a yard long, and was undoubtedly written by the same dish-washer who wrote that doggerel on his shirt. It promises him half a million sterling when he comes back to London after visiting Australasia, China, India, and other countries, and pickin’ up his tucker free as he goes. Also, the shark is permitted to send back for coin at this date, and he must get married to a Tahitian. He probably fixes it different in every country. It’s signed, ‘Your affectionate guardian, James Kitson, Baron Airedale of Gledhow.’ ”
“Whew!” spluttered Hobson, “the blighter has no limits. Do you mean to tell me he gets away with that folderol?”
“For months he has lived at Lovaina’s, Fanny’s, and even on the Chinese. He has borrowed thousands of francs, and spent it for drink and often for champagne. He did old Lovaina up for money as well as board. She believes in him yet, and calls him Lord Innes or Sir Gordon, but says she has no more to risk. He promised to build her a big hotel where the Annexe is. He’s got many of the Tahitian girls and their mothers mad over his style and his prospects. Finally, he was warned by me to leave the island, and the result was his tryin’ to borrow the lethal weapon, the poem and the letter. The Baron Airedale document he showed me when he first landed, to try to get my indorsement. There’s no Burke in the South Seas, and there probably is no such bloomin’ baron. Sounds more like a dog.” The consul chuckled.
“Those lairds are as plentiful as brands of Scotch whisky made in England,” Stevens said derisively. “What will you do to uphold the honor of the British crown? Is the Scotch bastard to go on with his fairy-tale and do brown the colonials?”
“I am going to have the diplomat repair the roads of Tahiti for two months, and then ship him third-class to New Zealand, where he has to go to carry out his blasted fate,” the consul declared, and ordered all glasses filled.
We discussed the sudden and abnormal appearance of boot-blacks. One had set up an ornate stand on the rue de Rivoli. He was an American, Tom Wilkins, and the first ever known to practise his profession in the South Seas. He had come like a non-periodic comet, and suddenly flashed his brass-tagged platform and arm-chair upon the gaping natives. Most of them being barefooted, one would have thought his customers not many; but the novelty of a white man doing anything for them was irresistible to all who had shoes. He did not lower himself in their estimation. It is noteworthy that the Tahitian does not distinguish between what we call menial labor and other work. Nor did we until recently. The kings and nobles of Europe were actually served by the lords of the bedchamber and the maids in waiting. The American boot-black was really a boot-white, as all wore white canvas shoes except preachers and sailors.
The boot-white called out, “Shine!” and the word, unpronounceable by the native, entered a himene as tina. Within a week he had his Tahitian consort doing the shining most of the time while he loafed in the Paris saloon. He lived at the Annexe, and told me that he was not really a boot-cleaner, but was going around the world on a wager of twenty thousand dollars, “without a cent.” He, too, had a credulous circle, who paid him often five francs for a shine to help him win his bet by arriving at the New York City Hall on a fixed date with a certain sum of money earned by his hands. He raised the American flag over his stand, and referred to Uncle Sam as if he were a blood relation to whom he could appeal for anything at any time.
All the foregoing was brought out in our conversation at the British consul’s. Willi, temporarily conducting American affairs in French Oceanie, gave a denouement.
“The shine isn’t a bad fellow,” he said, “but he’s serious about the twenty thousand dollars. His statement was doubted to-day by an English sailor, who called him ’a blarsted Hamerican liar,’ and the shine took off his own rubber leg, and knocked the sailor down. He could move faster on his one leg than the other on two, and Monsieur Lontane had to summon two assistants to take him to the calaboose. He wouldn’t resume his rubber leg. I saw him being led and pulled by my office, calling out, ‘Tell the ’Merican consul a good American is in the grip of the frogs.’ ”