VI. A Goboto Night

by Jack London

　　IAt Goboto the traders come off their schooners and the planters driftin from far, wild coasts, and one and all they assume shoes, white ducktrousers, and various other appearances of civilization. At Goboto mailis received, bills are paid, and newspapers, rarely more than five weeksold, are accessible; for the little island, belted with its coral reefs,affords safe anchorage, is the steamer port of call, and serves as thedistributing point for the whole wide-scattered group.Life at Goboto is heated, unhealthy, and lurid, and for its size itasserts the distinction of more cases of acute alcoholism than any otherspot in the world. Guvutu, over in the Solomons, claims that it drinksbetween drinks. Goboto does not deny this. It merely states, in passing,that in the Goboton chronology no such interval of time is known. Italso points out its import statistics, which show a far larger percapita consumption of spiritous liquors. Guvutu explains this on thebasis that Goboto does a larger business and has more visitors. Gobotoretorts that its resident population is smaller and that its visitorsare thirstier. And the discussion goes on interminably, principallybecause of the fact that the disputants do not live long enough tosettle it.Goboto is not large. The island is only a quarter of a mile in diameter,and on it are situated an admiralty coal-shed (where a few tons of coalhave lain untouched for twenty years), the barracks for a handful ofblack labourers, a big store and warehouse with sheet-iron roofs, and abungalow inhabited by the manager and his two clerks. They are the whitepopulation. An average of one man out of the three is always to be founddown with fever. The job at Goboto is a hard one. It is the policy ofthe company to treat its patrons well, as invading companies have foundout, and it is the task of the manager and clerks to do the treating.Throughout the year traders and recruiters arrive from far, dry cruises,and planters from equally distant and dry shores, bringing with themmagnificent thirsts. Goboto is the mecca of sprees, and when they havespread they go back to their schooners and plantations to recuperate.Some of the less hardy require as much as six months between visits. Butfor the manager and his assistants there are no such intervals. They areon the spot, and week by week, blown in by monsoon or southeasttrade, the schooners come to anchor, cargo'd with copra, ivory nuts,pearl-shell, hawksbill turtle, and thirst.It is a very hard job at Goboto. That is why the pay is twice that onother stations, and that is why the company selects only courageous andintrepid men for this particular station. They last no more than a yearor so, when the wreckage of them is shipped back to Australia, or theremains of them are buried in the sand across on the windward side ofthe islet. Johnny Bassett, almost the legendary hero of Goboto, brokeall records. He was a remittance man with a remarkable constitution,and he lasted seven years. His dying request was duly observed by hisclerks, who pickled him in a cask of trade-rum (paid for out oftheir own salaries) and shipped him back to his people in England.Nevertheless, at Goboto, they tried to be gentlemen. For that matter,though something was wrong with them, they were gentlemen, and had beengentlemen. That was why the great unwritten rule of Goboto was thatvisitors should put on pants and shoes. Breech-clouts, lava-lavas, andbare legs were not tolerated. When Captain Jensen, the wildest of theBlackbirders though descended from old New York Knickerbocker stock,surged in, clad in loin-cloth, undershirt, two belted revolvers anda sheath-knife, he was stopped at the beach. This was in the days ofJohnny Bassett, ever a stickler in matters of etiquette. Captain Jensenstood up in the sternsheets of his whaleboat and denied the existence ofpants on his schooner. Also, he affirmed his intention of coming ashore.They of Goboto nursed him back to health from a bullet-hole through hisshoulder, and in addition handsomely begged his pardon, for no pantshad they found on his schooner. And finally, on the first day he sat up,Johnny Bassett kindly but firmly assisted his guest into a pair of pantsof his own. This was the great precedent. In all the succeeding years ithad never been violated. White men and pants were undivorce-able. Onlyniggers ran naked. Pants constituted caste.IIOn this night things were, with one exception, in nowise different fromany other night. Seven of them, with glimmering eyes and steady legs,had capped a day of Scotch with swivel-sticked cocktails and sat down todinner. Jacketed, trousered, and shod, they were: Jerry McMurtrey, themanager; Eddy Little and Jack Andrews, clerks; Captain Stapler, of therecruiting ketch _Merry_; Darby Shryleton, planter from Tito-Ito; PeterGee, a half-caste Chinese pearl-buyer who ranged from Ceylon to thePaumotus, and Alfred Deacon, a visitor who had stopped off from the laststeamer. At first wine was served by the black servants to those thatdrank it, though all quickly shifted back to Scotch and soda, picklingtheir food as they ate it, ere it went into their calcined, pickledstomachs.Over their coffee, they heard the rumble of an anchor-chain through ahawse-pipe, tokening the arrival of a vessel."It's David Grief," Peter Gee remarked."How do you know?" Deacon demanded truculently, and then went on to denythe half-caste's knowledge. "You chaps put on a lot of side over a newchum. I've done some sailing myself, and this naming a craft whenits sail is only a blur, or naming a man by the sound of hisanchor--it's--it's unadulterated poppycock."Peter Gee was engaged in lighting a cigarette, and did not answer."Some of the niggers do amazing things that way," McMurtrey interposedtactfully.As with the others, this conduct of their visitor jarred on the manager.From the moment of Peter Gee's arrival that afternoon Deacon hadmanifested a tendency to pick on him. He had disputed his statements andbeen generally rude."Maybe it's because Peter's got Chink blood in him," had been Andrews'hypothesis. "Deacon's Australian, you know, and they're daffy down thereon colour.""I fancy that's it," McMurtrey had agreed. "But we can't permit anybullying, especially of a man like Peter Gee, who's whiter than mostwhite men."In this the manager had been in nowise wrong. Peter Gee was that rarecreature, a good as well as clever Eurasian. In fact, it was thestolid integrity of the Chinese blood that toned the recklessness andlicentiousness of the English blood which had run in his father's veins.Also, he was better educated than any man there, spoke better Englishas well as several other tongues, and knew and lived more of their ownideals of gentlemanness than they did themselves. And, finally, he wasa gentle soul. Violence he deprecated, though he had killed men in histime. Turbulence he abhorred.He always avoided it as he would the plague.Captain Stapler stepped in to help McMurtrey:"I remember, when I changed schooners and came into Altman, the niggersknew right off the bat it was me. I wasn't expected, either, much lessto be in another craft. They told the trader it was me. He used theglasses, and wouldn't believe them. But they did know. Told me afterwardthey could see it sticking out all over the schooner that I was runningher."Deacon ignored him, and returned to the attack on the pearl-buyer."How do you know from the sound of the anchor that it was thiswhatever-you-called-him man?" he challenged."There are so many things that go to make up such a judgment," PeterGee answered. "It's very hard to explain. It would require almost a textbook.""I thought so," Deacon sneered. "Explanation that doesn't explain iseasy.""Who's for bridge?" Eddy Little, the second clerk, interrupted, lookingup expectantly and starting to shuffle. "You'll play, won't you, Peter?""If he does, he's a bluffer," Deacon cut back. "I'm getting tired of allthis poppycock. Mr. Gee, you will favour me and put yourself in abetter light if you tell how you know who that man was that just droppedanchor. After that I'll play you piquet.""I'd prefer bridge," Peter answered. "As for the other thing,it's something like this: By the sound it was a small craft--nosquare-rigger. No whistle, no siren, was blown--again a small craft. Itanchored close in--still again a small craft, for steamers and big shipsmust drop hook outside the middle shoal. Now the entrance is tortuous.There is no recruiting nor trading captain in the group who dares to runthe passage after dark. Certainly no stranger would. There _were_ twoexceptions. The first was Margonville. But he was executed by the HighCourt at Fiji. Remains the other exception, David Grief. Night orday, in any weather, he runs the passage. This is well known to all. Apossible factor, in case Grief were somewhere else, would be some youngdare-devil of a skipper. In this connection, in the first place, I don'tknow of any, nor does anybody else. In the second place, David Grief isin these waters, cruising on the _Gunga_, which is shortly scheduled toleave here for Karo-Karo. I spoke to Grief, on the _Gunga_, in SandflyPassage, day before yesterday. He was putting a trader ashore on a newstation. He said he was going to call in at Babo, and then come on toGoboto. He has had ample time to get here. I have heard an anchor drop.Who else than David Grief can it be? Captain Donovan is skipper of the_Gunga_, and him I know too well to believe that he'd run in to Gobotoafter dark unless his owner were in charge. In a few minutes DavidGrief will enter through that door and say, 'In Guvutu they merely drinkbetween drinks.' I'll wager fifty pounds he's the man that enters andthat his words will be, 'In Guvutu they merely drink between drinks. '"Deacon was for the moment crushed. The sullen blood rose darkly in hisface."Well, he's answered you," McMurtrey laughed genially. "And I'll backhis bet myself for a couple of sovereigns.""Bridge! Who's going to take a hand?" Eddy Little cried impatiently."Come on, Peter!""The rest of you play," Deacon said. "He and I are going to playpiquet.""I'd prefer bridge," Peter Gee said mildly."Don't you play piquet?"The pearl-buyer nodded."Then come on. Maybe I can show I know more about that than I do aboutanchors.""Oh, I say----" McMurtrey began."You can play bridge," Deacon shut him off. "We prefer piquet."Reluctantly, Peter Gee was bullied into a game that he knew would beunhappy."Only a rubber," he said, as he cut for deal."For how much?" Deacon asked.Peter Gee shrugged his shoulders. "As you please.""Hundred up--five pounds a game?"Peter Gee agreed."With the lurch double, of course, ten pounds?""All right," said Peter Gee.At another table four of the others sat in at bridge. Captain Stapler,who was no card-player, looked on and replenished the long glassesof Scotch that stood at each man's right hand. McMurtrey, with poorlyconcealed apprehension, followed as well as he could what went on atthe piquet table. His fellow Englishmen as well were shocked by thebehaviour of the Australian, and all were troubled by fear of someuntoward act on his part. That he was working up his animosity againstthe half-caste, and that the explosion might come any time, was apparentto all."I hope Peter loses," McMurtrey said in an undertone."Not if he has any luck," Andrews answered. "He's a wizard at piquet. Iknow by experience."That Peter Gee was lucky was patent from the continual badgering ofDeacon, who filled his glass frequently. He had lost the first game,and, from his remarks, was losing the second, when the door opened andDavid Grief entered."In Guvutu they merely drink between drinks," he remarked casually tothe assembled company, ere he gripped the manager's hand. "Hello, Mac!Say, my skipper's down in the whaleboat. He's got a silk shirt, a tie,and tennis shoes, all complete, but he wants you to send a pair of pantsdown. Mine are too small, but yours will fit him. Hello, Eddy! How'sthat _ngari-ngari?_ You up, Jock? The miracle has happened. No one downwith fever, and no one remarkably drunk." He sighed, "I suppose thenight is young yet. Hello, Peter! Did you catch that big squall an hourafter you left us? We had to let go the second anchor."While he was being introduced to Deacon, McMurtrey dispatched ahouse-boy with the pants, and when Captain Donovan came in it was as awhite man should--at least in Goboto.Deacon lost the second game, and an outburst heralded the fact. PeterGee devoted himself to lighting a cigarette and keeping quiet."What?--are you quitting because you're ahead?" Deacon demanded.Grief raised his eyebrows questioningly to McMurtrey, who frowned backhis own disgust."It's the rubber," Peter Gee answered."It takes three games to make a rubber. It's my deal. Come on!"Peter Gee acquiesced, and the third game was on."Young whelp--he needs a lacing," McMurtrey muttered to Grief. "Come on,let us quit, you chaps. I want to keep an eye on him. If he goes too farI'll throw him out on the beach, company instructions or no.""Who is he?" Grief queried."A left-over from last steamer. Company's orders to treat him nice. He'slooking to invest in a plantation. Has a ten-thousand-pound letter ofcredit with the company. He's got 'all-white Australia' on the brain.Thinks because his skin is white and because his father was onceAttorney-General of the Commonwealth that he can be a cur. That's whyhe's picking on Peter, and you know Peter's the last man in the worldto make trouble or incur trouble. Damn the company. I didn't engageto wet-nurse its infants with bank accounts. Come on, fill your glass,Grief. The man's a blighter, a blithering blighter.""Maybe he's only young," Grief suggested."He can't contain his drink--that's clear." The manager glared hisdisgust and wrath. "If he raises a hand to Peter, so help me, I'll givehim a licking myself, the little overgrown cad!"The pearl-buyer pulled the pegs out of the cribbage board on which hewas scoring and sat back. He had won the third game. He glanced acrossto Eddy Little, saying:"I'm ready for the bridge, now.""I wouldn't be a quitter," Deacon snarled."Oh, really, I'm tired of the game," Peter Gee assured him with hishabitual quietness."Come on and be game," Deacon bullied. "One more. You can't take mymoney that way. I'm out fifteen pounds. Double or quits."McMurtrey was about to interpose, but Grief restrained him with hiseyes."If it positively is the last, all right," said Peter Gee, gathering upthe cards. "It's my deal, I believe. As I understand it, this final isfor fifteen pounds. Either you owe me thirty or we quit even?""That's it, chappie. Either we break even or I pay you thirty.""Getting blooded, eh?" Grief remarked, drawing up a chair.The other men stood or sat around the table, and Deacon played againin bad luck. That he was a good player was clear. The cards were merelyrunning against him. That he could not take his ill luck with equanimitywas equally clear. He was guilty of sharp, ugly curses, and he snappedand growled at the imperturbable half-caste. In the end Peter Geecounted out, while Deacon had not even made his fifty points. Heglowered speechlessly at his opponent."Looks like a lurch," said Grief."Which is double," said Peter Gee."There's no need your telling me," Deacon snarled. "I've studiedarithmetic. I owe you forty-five pounds. There, take it!"The way in which he flung the nine five-pound notes on the table wasan insult in itself. Peter Gee was even quieter, and flew no signals ofresentment."You've got fool's luck, but you can't play cards, I can tell you thatmuch," Deacon went on. "I could teach you cards."The half-caste smiled and nodded acquiescence as he folded up the money."There's a little game called casino--I wonder if you ever heard ofit?--a child's game.""I've seen it played," the half-caste murmured gently."What's that?" snapped Deacon. "Maybe you think you can play it?""Oh, no, not for a moment. I'm afraid I haven't head enough for it.""It's a bully game, casino," Grief broke in pleasantly. "I like it verymuch."Deacon ignored him."I'll play you ten quid a game--thirty-one points out," was thechallenge to Peter Gee. "And I'll show you how little you know aboutcards. Come on! Where's a full deck?""No, thanks," the half-caste answered. "They are waiting for me in orderto make up a bridge set.""Yes, come on," Eddy Little begged eagerly. "Come on, Peter, let's getstarted.""Afraid of a little game like casino," Deacon girded. "Maybe the stakesare too high. I'll play you for pennies--or farthings, if you say so."The man's conduct was a hurt and an affront to all of them. McMurtreycould stand it no longer."Now hold on, Deacon. He says he doesn't want to play. Let him alone."Deacon turned raging upon his host; but before he could blurt out hisabuse, Grief had stepped into the breach."I'd like to play casino with you," he said."What do you know about it?""Not much, but I'm willing to learn.""Well, I'm not teaching for pennies to-night.""Oh, that's all right," Grief answered. "I'll play for almost anysum--within reason, of course."Deacon proceeded to dispose of this intruder with one stroke."I'll play you a hundred pounds a game, if that will do you any good."Grief beamed his delight. "That will be all right, very right. Let usbegin. Do you count sweeps?"Deacon was taken aback. He had not expected a Goboton trader to beanything but crushed by such a proposition."Do you count sweeps?" Grief repeated.Andrews had brought him a new deck, and he was throwing out the joker."Certainly not," Deacon answered. "That's a sissy game.""I'm glad," Grief coincided. "I don't like sissy games either.""You don't, eh? Well, then, I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll play forfive hundred pounds a game."Again Deacon was taken aback."I'm agreeable," Grief said, beginning to shuffle. "Cards and spades goout first, of course, and then big and little casino, and the aces inthe bridge order of value. Is that right?""You're a lot of jokers down here," Deacon laughed, but his laughter wasstrained. "How do I know you've got the money?""By the same token I know you've got it. Mac, how's my credit with thecompany?""For all you want," the manager answered."You personally guarantee that?" Deacon demanded."I certainly do," McMurtrey said. "Depend upon it, the company willhonour his paper up and past your letter of credit.""Low deals," Grief said, placing the deck before Deacon on the table.The latter hesitated in the midst of the cut and looked around withquerulous misgiving at the faces of the others. The clerks and captainsnodded."You're all strangers to me," Deacon complained. "How am I to know?Money on paper isn't always the real thing."Then it was that Peter Gee, drawing a wallet from his pocket andborrowing a fountain pen from McMurtrey, went into action."I haven't gone to buying yet," the half-caste explained, "so theaccount is intact. I'll just indorse it over to you, Grief. It's forfifteen thousand. There, look at it."Deacon intercepted the letter of credit as it was being passed acrossthe table. He read it slowly, then glanced up at McMurtrey."Is that right?""Yes. It's just the same as your own, and just as good. The company'spaper is always good."Deacon cut the cards, won the deal, and gave them a thorough shuffle.But his luck was still against him, and he lost the game."Another game," he said. "We didn't say how many, and you can't quitwith me a loser. I want action."Grief shuffled and passed the cards for the cut."Let's play for a thousand," Deacon said, when he had lost the secondgame. And when the thousand had gone the way of the two five hundredbets he proposed to play for two thousand."That's progression," McMurtrey warned, and was rewarded by a glarefrom Deacon. But the manager was insistent. "You don't have to playprogression, Grief, unless you're foolish.""Who's playing this game?" Deacon flamed at his host; and then, toGrief: "I've lost two thousand to you. Will you play for two thousand?"Grief nodded, the fourth game began, and Deacon won. The manifestunfairness of such betting was known to all of them. Though he had lostthree games out of four, Deacon had lost no money. By the child's deviceof doubling his wager with each loss, he was bound, with the first gamehe won, no matter how long delayed, to be even again.He now evinced an unspoken desire to stop, but Grief passed the deck tobe cut."What?" Deacon cried. "You want more?""Haven't got anything yet," Grief murmured whimsically, as he began thedeal. "For the usual five hundred, I suppose?"The shame of what he had done must have tingled in Deacon, for heanswered, "No, we'll play for a thousand. And say! Thirty-one points istoo long. Why not twenty-one points out--if it isn't too rapid for you?""That will make it a nice, quick, little game," Grief agreed.The former method of play was repeated. Deacon lost two games, doubledthe stake, and was again even. But Grief was patient, though the thingoccurred several times in the next hour's play. Then happened what hewas waiting for--a lengthening in the series of losing games for Deacon.The latter doubled to four thousand and lost, doubled to eight thousandand lost, and then proposed to double to sixteen thousand.Grief shook his head. "You can't do that, you know. You're only tenthousand credit with the company.""You mean you won't give me action?" Deacon asked hoarsely. "You meanthat with eight thousand of my money you're going to quit?"Grief smiled and shook his head."It's robbery, plain robbery," Deacon went on. "You take my money andwon't give me action.""No, you're wrong. I'm perfectly willing to give you what action you'vegot coming to you. You've got two thousand pounds of action yet.""Well, we'll play it," Deacon took him up. "You cut."The game was played in silence, save for irritable remarks and cursesfrom Deacon. Silently the onlookers filled and sipped their longScotch glasses. Grief took no notice of his opponent's outbursts, butconcentrated on the game. He was really playing cards, and there werefifty-two in the deck to be kept track of, and of which he did keeptrack. Two thirds of the way through the last deal he threw down hishand."Cards put me out," he said. "I have twenty-seven.""If you've made a mistake," Deacon threatened, his face white and drawn."Then I shall have lost. Count them."Grief passed over his stack of takings, and Deacon, with tremblingfingers, verified the count. He half shoved his chair back from thetable and emptied his glass. He looked about him at unsympathetic faces."I fancy I'll be catching the next steamer for Sydney," he said, and forthe first time his speech was quiet and without bluster.As Grief told them afterward: "Had he whined or raised a roar I wouldn'thave given him that last chance. As it was, he took his medicine like aman, and I had to do it."Deacon glanced at his watch, simulated a weary yawn, and started torise."Wait," Grief said. "Do you want further action?"The other sank down in his chair, strove to speak, but could not, lickedhis dry lips, and nodded his head."Captain Donovan here sails at daylight in the _Gunga_ for Karo-Karo,"Grief began with seeming irrelevance. "Karo-Karo is a ring of sand inthe sea, with a few thousand cocoa-nut trees. Pandanus grows there, butthey can't grow sweet potatoes nor taro. There aremabout eight hundrednatives, a king and two prime ministers, and the last three named arethe only ones who wear any clothes. It's a sort of God-forsaken littlehole, and once a year I send a schooner up from Goboto. The drinkingwater is brackish, but old Tom Butler has survived on it for a dozenyears. He's the only white man there, and he has a boat's crew of fiveSanta Cruz boys who would run away or kill him if they could. That iswhy they were sent there. They can't run away. He is always suppliedwith the hard cases from the plantations. There are no missionaries.Two native Samoan teachers were clubbed to death on the beach when theylanded several years ago."Naturally, you are wondering what it is all about. But have patience.As I have said, Captain Donovan sails on the annual trip to Karo-Karo atdaylight to-morrow. Tom Butler is old, and getting quite helpless. I'vetried to retire him to Australia, but he says he wants to remain anddie on Karo-Karo, and he will in the next year or so. He's a queer oldcodger. Now the time is due for me to send some white man up to take thework off his hands. I wonder how you'd like the job. You'd have to staytwo years."Hold on! I've not finished. You've talked frequently of action thisevening. There's no action in betting away what you've never sweatedfor. The money you've lost to me was left you by your father or someother relative who did the sweating. But two years of work as trader onKaro-Karo would mean something. I'll bet the ten thousand I've won fromyou against two years of your time. If you win, the money's yours. Ifyou lose, you take the job at Karo-Karo and sail at daylight. Now that'swhat might be called real action. Will you play?"Deacon could not speak. His throat lumped and he nodded his head as hereached for the cards."One thing more," Grief said. "I can do even better. If you lose, twoyears of your time are mine--naturally without wages. Nevertheless,I'll pay you wages. If your work is satisfactory, if you observe allinstructions and rules, I'll pay you five thousand pounds a year for twoyears. The money will be deposited with the company, to be paid to you,with interest, when the time expires. Is that all right?""Too much so," Deacon stammered. "You are unfair to yourself. A traderonly gets ten or fifteen pounds a month.""Put it down to action, then," Grief said, with an air of dismissal."And before we begin, I'll jot down several of the rules. These you willrepeat aloud every morning during the two years--if you lose. Theyare for the good of your soul. When you have repeated them aloud sevenhundred and thirty Karo-Karo mornings I am confident they will be inyour memory to stay. Lend me your pen, Mac. Now, let's see----"He wrote steadily and rapidly for some minutes, then proceeded to readthe matter aloud:"_I must always remember that one man is as good as another, save andexcept when he thinks he is better._"_No matter how drunk I am I must not fail to be a gentleman. Agentleman is a man who is gentle. Note: It would be better not to getdrunk_."_When I play a man's game with men, I must play like a man_."_A good curse, rightly used and rarely, is an efficient thing. Too manycurses spoil the cursing. Note: A curse cannot change a card seguencenor cause the wind to blow._"_There is no license for a man to be less than a man. Ten thousandpounds cannot purchase such a license._"At the beginning of the reading Deacon's face had gone white with anger.Then had arisen, from neck to forehead, a slow and terrible flush thatdeepened to the end of the reading."There, that will be all," Grief said, as he folded the paper and tossedit to the centre of the table. "Are you still ready to play the game?""I deserve it," Deacon muttered brokenly. "I've been an ass. Mr. Gee,before I know whether I win or lose, I want to apologize. Maybe it wasthe whiskey, I don't know, but I'm an ass, a cad, a bounder--everythingthat's rotten."He held out his hand, and the half-caste took it beamingly."I say, Grief," he blurted out, "the boy's all right. Call the wholething off, and let's forget it in a final nightcap."Grief showed signs of debating, but Deacon cried:"No; I won't permit it. I'm not a quitter. If it's Karo-Karo, it'sKaro-Karo. There's nothing more to it.""Right," said Grief, as he began the shuffle. "If he's the right stuffto go to Karo-Karo, Karo-Karo won't do him any harm."The game was close and hard. Three times they divided the deck betweenthem and "cards" was not scored. At the beginning of the fifth andlast deal, Deacon needed three points to go out, and Grief needed four."Cards" alone would put Deacon out, and he played for "cards". He nolonger muttered or cursed, and played his best game of the evening.Incidentally he gathered in the two black aces and the ace of hearts."I suppose you can name the four cards I hold," he challenged, as thelast of the deal was exhausted and he picked up his hand.Grief nodded."Then name them.""The knave of spades, the deuce of spades, the tray of hearts, and theace of diamonds," Grief answered.Those behind Deacon and looking at his hand made no sign. Yet the naminghad been correct."I fancy you play casino better than I," Deacon acknowledged. "I canname only three of yours, a knave, an ace, and big casino.""Wrong. There aren't five aces in the deck. You've taken in three andyou hold the fourth in your hand now.""By Jove, you're right," Deacon admitted. "I did scoop in three. Anyway,I'll make 'cards' on you. That's all I need.""I'll let you save little casino----" Grief paused to calculate. "Yes,and the ace as well, and still I'll make 'cards' and go out with bigcasino. Play.""No 'cards' and I win!" Deacon exulted as the last of the hand wasplayed. "I go out on little casino and the four aces. 'Big casino' and'spades' only bring you to twenty."Grief shook his head. "Some mistake, I'm afraid.""No," Deacon declared positively. "I counted every card I took in.That's the one thing I was correct on. I've twenty-six, and you'vetwenty-six.""Count again," Grief said.Carefully and slowly, with trembling fingers, Deacon counted the cardshe had taken. There were twenty-five. He reached over to the corner ofthe table, took up the rules Grief had written, folded them, and putthem in his pocket. Then he emptied his glass, and stood up. CaptainDonovan looked at his watch, yawned, and also arose."Going aboard, Captain?" Deacon asked."Yes," was the answer. "What time shall I send the whaleboat for you?""I'll go with you now. We'll pick up my luggage from the _Billy_ as wego by, I was sailing on her for Babo in the morning."Deacon shook hands all around, after receiving a final pledge of goodluck on Karo-Karo."Does Tom Butler play cards?" he asked Grief."Solitaire," was the answer."Then I'll teach him double solitaire." Deacon turned toward the door,where Captain Donovan waited, and added with a sigh, "And I fancy he'llskin me, too, if he plays like the rest of you island men."