“Then,” said Dan smilingly, “why make a will, with its fees and taxes? Why not make a gift of all you possess to Tamea now? Gifts are not taxable, nor do they have to be probated—expensively.”
Gaston of the Beard smiled and winked at the lawyer. “I knew I should make no mistake in entrusting my little Tamea to this good friend,” he declared. “Dan, the drafts are already indorsed to her. Take them. The pearls you already have. Go ashore, my good friend, and return with a bill of sale and a check for my interest in the Moorea, which I sell to you, and your firm’s check for the amount due me on the final adjustment of the ship’s accounts. I will then indorse both checks to Tamea and the troublesome business of dying will have been simplified a thousand-fold.”
Dan returned to the office of Casson and Pritchard, found a printed bill of sale form such as is used in shipping offices, filled it in, unlocked the safe, drew Casson and Pritchard’s check and his own for the amount due Larrieau and returned to the Moorea. Three scratches of a pen and Dan’s word passed, and the estate of Gaston of the Beard had been probated and distributed.
Meanwhile Tamea had opened the boxes of flowers Dan had brought aboard in compliance with her father’s request. Deftly she wove a lei of sweet peas, and when the business with Dan and the lawyer was done she hung the lei around old Gaston’s burly neck and garlanded his shaggy head with roses.
Presently, at his suggestion, Tamea called the steward, who brought glasses and a dusty bottle of old French Malaga. When the glasses had been filled and passed by Tamea, Gaston of the Beard raised his on high.
“I drink to my loves, living and dead; to you, friend Dan Pritchard, and to you, Monsieur l’Avocat! Morituri te salutamus! I wish you good luck, good health, happiness and a life just long enough not to become a burden. May you live as joyously as I have lived and love life as I have loved it; may you die as contented as I shall die, and without repining. And may we embrace, like true friends and clean, in Paliuli!”
They drank.
“I have six quarts of that Malaga left. It is very old and of a rare vintage. Monsieur l’Avocat, will you have money for your fee or would you prefer the six live soldiers?. . . Ah, I thought so! The steward will deliver them to you at your home, provided the prohibition agents are not encountered first. Let us go on deck.”
At the head of the companion Tamea kissed a rose and passed it to her father.
And that was their farewell.