Just as she went out I heard some one tapping at the latticed window near which I was sitting. Looking out, I saw the face of the man Tematau, who was standing outside.
“May I come in and speak with thee, gentleman?” he said in Samoan.
“Enter, and welcome.”
He stepped round to the front door, and as he entered I saw that he had stripped to the waist; his hair was dressed in the Samoan fashion, and in his hand he carried a small, finely-plaited mat. In an instant I recognised that he was paying me a visit of ceremony, according to Samoan custom, so instead of rising and shaking hands with him, I kept my seat and waited for him to approach.
Stepping slowly across the matted floor, with head and shoulders bent, he placed the mat (his offering) at my feet, and then withdrew to the other side of the room, and, seating himself cross-legged, he inquired after my health, etc., and paid me the usual compliments.
As he spoke in Samoan, I, of course, replied in the same language, thanked him for his call, and requested him to honour me at my own place by a visit.
Then, to my surprise, instead of retiring with the usual Samoan compliments, he bent forward, and, fixing his deep-set, gloomy eyes on mine, he said slowly—
“Master, I shall be a true man to thee when we are together upon the deep sea in thy boat.”
“Why dost thou call me 'master'?” I said quickly, “and when and whither do thee and I travel together?” “I call thee 'master' because I am thy servant, but when and whither we go upon the far sea I know not.”
Then he rose, saluted me as if I were King Malietoa of Samoa himself, and retired without uttering another word.