Argosy All-Story Weekly, January 21, 1922 — page 122: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

112 trade. The fellow had lost no opportunity to indicate that a hundred thousand was a wonderful price for the outfit. ‘They were taking their last walk, and Kitters was do- ing his last arguing, and Dascomb was do- ing his last resisting, when— “Gee!” Richard exclaimed. ‘‘ There’s the first girl I’ve seen that looks as if her beau could kiss her with his eyes open.” Kitters stared at the girl. It probably occurred to his memory that the late John Dascomb had married a native girl and set- tled down on Mangue for thirty years. He did not wish John Dascomb’s nephew to settle there for thirty days. It might in- terfere with his purchase for his client. “‘ Whoever kisses her had better keep his eyes open,” said Kitters. ‘“ Don’t you see the taboo sign on her?” “ Huh?” queried Dascomb, in a snort of opposition. “One of Chief Huali-m’uali’s girls,” the trader-lawyer elucidated. ‘See the white blossoms in the wreath on her head? Ta- boo sign! The chief has marked her for his own. If he doesn’t forget, he’ll make her wife number a hundred and something — in due time. Meanwhile and forever, she’s taboo. Any tender-hearted youth who makes cow-eyes at her is due for plague or cholera. One kiss on those lovely, purple- brown lips ‘is surer hell-before-midnight than plain suicide.” “Bah!” barked Dascomb; and, before Kitters could stop him, he had stepped up to the surprised brown lady and, as she stared wonderingly up at him, planted a smack upon her half-opened mouth. The girl giggled. Dascomb came back wiping his lips to Kitters. “ Ugh!” he shuddered. ‘ What was it?” “You’ve done it now. I told you she was taboo,” snapped his guide. “The deuce with the taboo. But that smell!”? cried Dascomb. “It’s enough to give you cholera and plague together.” “That’s only coco-oil; and it makes their hair shine,” Kitters explained. “ But the taboo is something else. It’s the chief’s law in the island. And he enforces it.” “ Give me cholera, eh?” Dascomb snort- ed again. “Tf he happens to give you a mess of ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. boiled rice with slivers of bamboo run into the grains, you’d better have cholera. It’s as good for the system as ground glass.” “Bah!” Dascomb snorted once more. They had come down the day before from Kilaue on the Empress of China. The steamer had gone on to the next island, some fifteen miles nearer than Kilaue, in the opposite direction. An Englishman had a big trading station there, Kitters in- formed his none too trusting client. The Empress of China’s smoke showed on the horizon. Kitters got into a boat and was rowed out to meet her. And Dascomb began to repent. He hadn’t trusted Kitters. He hadn’t liked the man. He still had a feeling that the lawyer was trying to put something over with that offer of a hundred thousand. In parting Kitters mentioned that a good Jaunch could reach Kilaue in ‘decent weather. If trouble appeared, Dascomb could sénd a message to him and he would come ina hurry. Otherwise he would come in a month or so, when Dascomb had found out whether the island was worth more to him than the price. Dascomb determined that. it would be a month or so. But, as he saw the other white man’s face fade into the distance, as he realized that he was alone with just one old native who could manage even a word of English—he began to repent. If Chief Huali-m’uali hadn’t come up at that mo- ment, bowing and grinning like a fawning dog, and, through the interpreter and ma- jordomo of the tin palace, expressed a wish to adopt the white man as his son, Dascomb might have started then and there to follow the Empress of China in a proa all the way to Kilaue. As it was, he didn’t send for Kitters until midnight. The adoption ceremony demanded a din- ner. It was held up on the chief’s paiae under the open roof. It was a stag affair, accompanied with a cabaret of mysterious dances. And the chief kept grinning all through it. Since Uncle John’s own cook thad prepared the meal it was to the king’s taste—and Dascomb’s. He ate heartily. Then he stopped eating. The chief grinned right on. But Das- comb could not eat. He could only think comiclboooks C©