"By the way," I asked, "did you hear anything of STEVENSON?"
"Oh, yes, lots. I met several men who had known him—Tusitala he was called there, you know—and several natives. There was one extraordinary old fellow who had helped him make the road up the mountain. He and I had some great evenings together, yarning and drinking copra."
"Did he tell you anything particularly personal about STEVENSON?" I asked.
"Nothing that I remember," he said; "but he was a fine old fellow and as thirsty as they make 'em."
"What is copra like?" I asked.
"Great," he said. "Like—what shall I say?—well, like Audit ale and Veuve Clicquot mixed. But it got to your head. You had to be careful. I remember one night after a day's bathing at—at Tromo Titonui—"
"Where was that?" I asked.
"Oh, that little village I was telling you about," he said. "I remember one night—"
"Look here," I said, "you began by calling it Tormo Tonitui, then you called it Morto Notitui and now it's Tromo Titonui. I'm going to say again, quite seriously, that I don't believe you ever were in Hawaii at all."
"Of course I wasn't," he replied. "But what is one to do in a railway carriage, with nothing to read, and a drenched world and those two words staring one in the face?" and he pointed to a placard above my head advertising a firm which provided the best and cheapest Motor Tuition.