NO MORE GAS CHARLES NORDHOFF AND JAMES NORMAN HALL The Literary Guild of America, Inc. NEW YORK NO MORE GAS appeared in the Saturday Evening Post under the title of OUT OF GAS COPYRIGHT 1939, 1940, BY CHARLES NORDHOFF ANB JAMES NORMAN HALL ALL RIGHTS RESERVE©, INCLUDING THE RIGHT TO REPRODUCE THIS BOOK OR PORTIONS THEREOF IN ANY FORM CL PRINTED IN THE UNITED- sTATE-S OF AMERICA CHAPTER I On a cloudy October night, a motorcar with one pas- senger in the rear seat was proceeding along the road which skirts- the coastal lands on the western side of the island of Tahiti. It was well past midnight and the only light on the narrow winding road was that made by the lamps of the car, illuminating with a magical effect the stems of the coconut palms on either side, the tunnels of foliage passed through from time to time, and the scattered houses that emerged from the gloom ahead and vanished into the yet deeper black- ness behind. It was evident that the driver knew the road well, every hole and bump and corrugation, but in at- tempts to avoid the worst, he struck others which seemed fully as bad to his passenger, who was flung from side to side and sometimes bounced high out of his seat. After one particularly atrocious jolt he leaned forward to speak to the driver. “Have a heart, Manu! Haere marul" The man turned his head slightly. “Kind of rough going along this bit,” he called back, cheerily. “The road ain’t no better’n when you left, Chester. All they do is chuck a bit of sand in the holes once in a while.” "You du-du-don’t need to tell me,” his passenger re- plied. “Take it easy.” 4 NO MORE GAS “Thought you was in a hurry to get home?” “I am, but you forget what I got back here.” The driver immediately slowed down. “I wasn’t thinking,” he said, blankly. “He ain’t hurt, is he?” “Hope not; bu-bu-but another jolt like that last one ... Stop a minute. I want to have a look.” The car was brought to a halt and the driver got out to join his fare, who had turned a small wooden box on the seat beside him. "Got a mori pata?” he asked. Manu nodded, and, lifting the cushion of the front seat, drew out a flash lamp which he handed to the other. Chester switched on the light and the two young men gazed anxiously into the box, enclosed on one side with wooden slats. A cock of brilliant plumage was crouched in a corner of the box. Chester gave a quiet “tuk-tuk-tuk,” and the bird sprang to its feet, regarding its owner fiercely, turning its head from side to side. Its reddish eyes gleamed like gems in the lamplight. Chester gave a sigh of relief, and turned the box gently once more to protect the cock from the draft. “He’s all right,” he said. “I was scared for a minute.” "I never saw such a cock,” Manu said, in an awe- struck voice. "They ain’t nothing on the island can touch him, Chester.” “Wait till you see him in action,” the other replied, proudly. “But listen, Manu! If ever you say a word about him . . . !” “What do you think I am?” the driver said, indig- nantly. "Don’t I come from Vaipopo myself?” “I just wanted to make sure. You can bet your last franc on him, and all you can borrow besides. But it’d NO MORE GAS S be all oflf if the Taios found out. What they got now?” "IVe heard they got a fine cock from Raiatea, but they ain’t fought him yet, and nobody’s seen him.” "They bragging about him?” "Bragging!” "Good. Let ’em. We’ll clean ’em out if we can keep it dark.” "Don’t worry,” said Manu. "They’ll never hear from me.” He took the wheel again. "C0 :^^ ^ NO MORE GAS 11 "Mama!” Effie exclaimed. “And Chester just home? It wouldn’t be right! Dr. Blondin would say so him- self.” The argument that followed was far from being the j&rst of the kind in the Tuttle household. Mama Ruau found herself a party of one, feebly supported by Jonas, whose resistance melted away by degrees as he listened to the unanswerable arguments of the rest of the family. Chester, who felt himself a little of a stranger after so long an absence, maintained a polite silence, but the other sons well knew whose side he was on. Ropati, their father’s cousin, a man of fifty, sat forward in his wheelchair, arguing strongly on the side of the boys. “It wouldn’t be right. Grandma, like Effie says,” he urged. “And you don’t need to worry at all. The boys can go fishing tomorrow. They’re sure to make a big catch and they can take it right on in to market.” Mama Ruau shook her head. “It’s tomorrow now,” she replied. “But there’s plenty of time,” said Nat. “If the bonito’s running good it won’t take us half an hour to fill the launch.” The old woman sighed. "Well, have it so,” she said. "I want Chester welcomed as much as any of you, but we ought to wait till we can do it as we should, on our own money.” This reluctant consent was taken as though offered with the greatest good will. Jonas alone felt uneasy, but with his sanguine nature he readily persuaded himself that the boys were right: they would have fish enough for the Sunday-morning market to pay Dr. Blondin, his ancient and obliging creditor, half the sum he owed 12 NO MORE GAS liim and perhaps more. But when, after a hasty calcula- tion, they had determined the amount needed for food and wine, they found they were sixty francs short. It occurred to no one to suggest cutting down the list of supplies, and they knew how the Tuttle credit stood with the Chinese storekeepers of Papeete. “You ain’t got a bit of change, Chester?” Fana asked, hopefully. His brother searched his pockets and brought forth a franc and two twenty-five-centime pieces. Small as the amount was, Fana took it. “That’s the lot,” Chester said. "And you been gone three years,” Nat replied, with a grin. “You must have worked hard to earn all that.” Chester thumbed his nose at his brother. “I couldn’t even pay Manu for bringing me out from town,” he added. “That’s all right,” the driver replied. “You don’t come home every day. Give me what you got, Jonas. I’ll make up the balance myself.” “We don’t like to ask you, Manu,” Jonas replied, apologetically. "But if you’ll call it a loan ...” “Many’s the good feed and good time I’ve had here that ain’t cost me a franc,” the driver broke in. “Ought to pay my share for once. What about the things in the car, Chester? Shall I fetch ’em?” Chester nodded, a smile of anticipation on his face. The driver returned with the demijohn of wine in one hand and a large box, well wrapped in oilcloth, under his arm. He next brought the crate containing the cock, which he set gently down at Chester’s feet. Then, with NO MORE GAS 13 a nod, he started for the door. "I’ll be back in an hour, easy,” he said. “There’s nobody on the road this time of night.” A moment later he whirled out of the drive- way on his way to town. The family were now gathered in the living room, a great bare apartment furnished with some homemade benches, a chair or two, and a table for the lamp fash- ioned of packing cases. Chester stood before the crate smiling mysteriously. "I bu-bu-bu-brought a present for the whole fam- ily,” he said. "Now wait, Fana! Get back a little. I’ll bring him out.” He looked cautiously around the room. "All the kids asleep?” They were. The children lying in the corners and along the walls were again deep in the land of dreams. Chester then stooped to open a little door in the crate. He called softly: “Te, U, U?' and the magnificent gamecock stepped out, shaking his ruffled feathers into place. Chester caressed his head. “Ain’t he a beauty? Look how well he knows me. . . . Fana’s mouth dropped open as he stared at the bird, Nat and Ru were speechless, and their father gave a sigh that seemed to rise from the soles of his large bare feet. No dream of a fighting cock could have equaled this reality. He was handsomer, fiercer, more formi- dable in appearance than the most legendary of Tahiti’s cocks. "Where’d you get him, Chester?” Fana exclaimed. “Frisco,” his brother replied. "They got cocks there that make ours look like pigeons. They’re born fighters; they don’t do nothing else. Want to see him work? He’s 14 NO MORE GAS wide awake; a couple of passes won’t hurt him. Fetch me that umbrella.” An umbrella without a handle stood in a corner. Chester opened it with difficulty, then moved until he was behind the bird and gave a shrill crow of defiance, so lifelike that the cock spun about to face him, head lowered and hackles raised. The umbrella was thrust at him; he sprang at it twice before Chester could draw it clear, his spurs leaving long gashes in the fab- ric. Chester then took him up in his arms and calmed him by stroking his head. He had hoped to make an impression on the family and was well rewarded. Nat was the first to break silence. “Chester taneV* he exclaimed. Their father’s broad face wore an expression of such beatitude that it seemed to radiate a faint light. “You couldn’t have done better,” he said. “We got a match with Emily Taio next month. Her boys got a cock I heard was from Raiatea. They’ll bet everything they got on him. Our best bird’s jxist as good, but we all been worried about that match. We couldn’t be dead sure of taking Emily’s money with him. But now . . .” He gave another deep sigh of happiaess, as though every franc the Taio family might be able to place on their bird were already in his pocket. “You know what they call this breed?” Chester asked, as he carefully placed the cock in the crate again. “ 'Mortgage Lifter.’ I don’t know what you owe Doc Blondin, Jonas. Whatever it is, this cock will pay it for you.” The family now discussed with enthusiasm the com- NO MORE GAS 15 ing match with the Taio cock. Fana was an expert trainer and Chester was the first to acknowledge that the Mortgage Lifter should be placed in his competent hands. The bird in its crate was removed to the shed where the fish truck was kept, and at dawn, before any of the children were awake, he was to be taken up the valley, lest one of the yoxmgsters should innocently give away the secret. There was no need to counsel any of the grown-ups against this danger. “Now, boys,” their grandmother said, presently, "Tve heard enough about fighting cocks. I want Chester to tell us how he got home; and why he’s been away for three long years.” “It ain’t my fault. Grandma. I been trying to get back most of the time since I left.” Chester, who was twenty-five, was the second of Jonas’s sons. There had been handed on to him some- thing of his New England great-grandfather’s love of wandering; the other boys were content to remain at home and had never gone farther from Tahiti than to some of the adjacent islands. Chester had left Tahiti in an American yacht that had called at the island to pay oflf and send home by steamer an obstreperous and in- competent crew. The owner then hired five Tahitian boys to sail his vessel to San Francisco. Arriving there, Chester had decided to see something more of the world before returning home, and the family had heard little from him since, although now and then picture postcards had been received, with brief messages and strange-looking stamps, and views of places of which the Tuttles had never heard. 16 NO MORE GAS Now that he had come home, he passed over his wanderings with the briefest possible mention, nor were the family greatly interested in where he had been. A few polite questions were asked, to which he replied in the same perfunctory manner; then the sub- ject was dropped. Like all Tahitians, the Tuttles had little curiosity about the outside world. They knew there were countries called France and England and Canada and the United States and AustraUa and New Zealand, and others yet more remote; but, with the exception of France, which the children learned about in school, these lands were vague conceptions: places where men were always engaged in war, or foolishly toiling day and night to pile up wealth; places where marine en- gines came from, and gasoline, flour, tinned beef, and a few other necessities the islands could not provide. Chester had seen these places, all the while longing and trying to find a vessel that would carry him home again. At last he had come. There was no need to say more. "But what vessel brought you?” his father asked. "That’s something else again,” Chester replied. "I didn’t come on her all the way home. She was lost.” "Wrecked, you mean?” his Aunt EflSe asked. "We had to abandon her at sea,” he replied. "It was three months ago. She was an old barque, the Charlotte, been t-t-t-tied up at Vancouver, I don’t know how long. There was a company at Vancouver had an idea to patch her up, fill her with lumber and send her to Australia, and sell her, afterward, for whatever she’d bring. I’d worked my passage from Japan to Vancouver, and that’s when I heard about her. Maybe I wasn’t glad NO MORE GAS 17 to get a chance to sign on! I knew I could get home from Australia. We stopped at Frisco to take on a lot of gaso- line; then we s-s-s-sailed for Sydney.” "And then what?” Ropati asked, after a considerable silence. "I ain’t going to t-t-talk about that,” said Chester. "We was well south of the Line when we got in a hur- ricane. I don’t want no more! One was enough.” "But you can tell us what happened, Chester,” Hio, Nat’s wife, put in. "We lost the first mate and the cook and one seaman,” Chester continued. "When it was over we had the fore- mast left, and only part of that. We was about two hundred and fifty miles northwest of the Marquesas. The captain was bound to get there if he could. The sails were all gone, but we patched up some old canvas and tried hard for three weeks. But there was a lot of water in the hold and we couldn’t make five miles in twenty-four hours. No wind. She might have sunk if it hadn’t been for the lumber. But it wasn’t so bad on that old tub. We had wonderful weather, after the storm — calm as anything. And any amount of food. Caught a lot of fish, too. Aita e faufaa: we couldn’t get nowhere. So the captain said we’d take the one boat we had left and go to Nuku Hiva to get a tow. There was eight of us, and it was a f-f-fine big boat. She’d had her stern stove in but we fixed that. Couldn’t take much with us, though. I had my sea chest full of presents for everybody, but I had to leave it.” “Chester! What a shame!” Hio exclaimed. "I couldn’t help it, Hio. I had a hard enough time 18 NO MORE GAS getting the captain to let me bring the cock. First he said no, but I t-t-told him Fd stay aboard if he wouldn’t let me bring my bird. He was an old man, but we all liked him; and when he saw how much I wanted the cock he said all right. So I brought him and one other thing.” "Is that the other thing?” EflSe ashed, with a nod toward the large oilcloth-covered package. "Yes.” "What’s in it?” "Nothing so much. I’ll show you after a while. . . . We got to Nuku Hiva all right, but there wasn’t no vessel there. We had to wait two months, then Don- ald’s schooner came along from here. The captain char- tered her right off to go looking for the Charlotte. There’d been some dirty weather since we got to the Marquesas and I don’t think the captain expected to find her. Anyway, we didn’t. We searched two weeks, and Knudson’s schooner that c-c-come to Nuku Hiva when the Tereora did was out looking too. We didn’t see a sign of her. I was glad, then, I hadn’t stayed on her like I would have if the captain hadn’t let me bring our cock. She must have broke up in the bad weather that came on after we left her.” As Chester finished his story, his grandmother took his hand and held it as though to convince herself that they had him safe. "Guess you’ll stay at home now,” his Aunt EflSe said. "Why you ever left in the first place is more t han I know.” Of a sudden the room, dimly lighted by two cmatl NO MORE GAS 19 lamps, was filled with the white radiance from Manu’s car, which had just turned into the driveway. "Now then,” said Effie. "You men can sit here and talk with Chester while we get supper ready.” The Tuttle cookhouse and dining room shared with the family dwelling the picturesque quality derived from an absence of straight lines and ninety-degree angles. It was in the shape of an L, the shorter line representing the kitchen proper. The table where the food was served was twenty feet long by four wide, supported on several pairs of legs of slightly varying lengths. The result was a series of gentle undulations like the imperceptible roll of the steppes. The roof that sheltered it had once been galvanized, but was now red with rust, and supported on time-defying iron- wood posts. Here the women soon completed the prepa- rations for supper and the men were called in. It could never be said that there was food and to spare at any meal of the Tuttle family, but on this occasion, with all of the children asleep and with half a dozen of the adults absent, preparing food for the real feast to come, those at table, eighteen in all, were well satisfied with what was set before them. One of the demijohns of wine was broached, and at Jonas’s suggestion it was watered to make it last till day- light. "There’ll be everybody here, soon’s they know Ches- ter’s back,” he said. "We must keep the rest of the wine for them.” When the remnants of food had been cleared away he leaned back in his chair, glancing benevolently down the long table. 20 NO MORE GAS "Now, boys, what about a little music?” he asked. "Maitu, bring my concertina.” No urging was needed; the Tuttles lived for such hours as this. There was scarcely a member of the clan who did not play some instrument, and all could sing or dance. The latter accomplishments they learned in- stinctively, acquiring knowledge and skill from baby- hood on. The instruments were brought: guitars, uku- leles, mouth organs, and mandolins, while Ropati had his nose flute, an ancient Tahitian instrument with four stops. Jonas’s concertina looked like a child’s toy in his hands, but no one was better shilled in drawing music from it. He settled back more comfortably and played a few preliminary chords, while the others, with light touches of the keys, brought their instruments into perfect tune. Then, with a nod from Jonas, they fell in together, and of thirty-six bare feet, eighteen could not have been kept in repose save by some elaborate attachment of weights and cords. Jonas’s right foot thumped the hard ground rapturously. It was a rol- licking song, the air French in origin, but so thoroughly transformed that it was now as native to the island as the Tuttles themselves. The words were the fam- ily’s own, in part, though other versions were sung in other villages. The making of songs is a widely shared accomplishment on Tahiti; they grow as though by a natural process, without the people knowing or caring whence the various contributions come. Ru, usually the quietest of Jonas’s sons, was a dif- ferent boy the moment music started. The quietness was still there, but with a drollery imposed upon it that NO MORE GAS 21 all the family loved. He was a skilled mimic, and had in a high degree the Tahitian’s gift for improvisation. This was best displayed in the paoa, a type of island song in which one man does the singing while the others keep time by slapping the ground or their knees, all joining in a chanted chorus repeated at frequent in- tervals. "Now, Ru,” Jonas said, presently, "a paoa. We got to show Chester we’re glad he’s home.” There was immediate approval of this suggestion. Eflfie, who was to be the dancer, rose and tied a strip of cloth about her hips. Despite her great bulk, when stirred by music she was as light as a girl in her move- ments and carried out to perfection in her gestures the gay or comic spirit of the song. "■Well, Ru?” said Fana, with a preliminary flourish over the strings of his guitar. "Give him time,” said Jonas. "Ru’s got to have a min- ute to think what he’s going to sing. Chester, get your ears opened up wide. Shouldn’t wonder if he’s going to tell you what we think about your being away from home so long.” Chester grinned, and all waited in keen expectation. They knew Ru’s gift. Once started he was never at a loss, composing verse after verse as he stood before them, all in perfect time to the music. A moment later he got to his feet. "What’s it going to be?” Ropati asked. The lad smiled. "Why Chester came home without any money. . . . All right!” The accompaniment started and the expression on 22 NO MORE GAS Ru’s face changed at once. He stood before them a per- fect imitation of Chester, struggling to speak in a mo- ment of excitement, eyes bulging, lips working. His auditors shouted with delight before a word had been spoken. Then, facing the butt of his song, he began. His listeners were delighted. Ru imagined himself Chester, explaining to their father why, after an ab- sence of three years, he had come home with only one franc fifty centimes in his pockets; then trying to console the family by describing the wonderful things that might be bought with this wealth. At the end of each verse came the stuttered chorus: — Au-t,, Ch-ch-ch-Chester ’/i e . . . Heh! Au-A, Ch-ch-ch-Chester ’ti e , , . Hah! which the company repeated after him in great glee, while Effie danced before her world- wandering nephew with gestures and contortions in perfect keeping with the spirit of the song. All of Chester’s foibles were brought to the fore, but there was no hint of malice in the song, and as these were shared by the family, the portrayal of them only added to the common enjoy- ment, in which Chester partook as freely as the rest. "I wouldn’t have thought you could du-du-du-do it so well, Ru,” he said, when the song was ended. "Any- way, the rest of you gu-gu-got that f-f-f-franc and a half away from me before I’d been home t-t-t-ten minutes.” Thus far Chester had taken only a listener’s part in the entertainment. Jonas regarded him reproachfully. "You used to be a good concertina player, Chester,” he said. NO MORE GAS 23 Chester had been waiting for this opening. "I still p-p-p-play a little,” he replied. "Let’s hear you, then,” said his father, and the con- certina was passed to him down the table. Chester fin- gered it for a moment with intentional awkwardness, while the others waited, abashed and anxious. It was unthinkable that a Tuttle could show such a lack of skill. "I’m sort of out of practice with the concertina,” he said. "You don’t need to tell us,” said Fana. "Now, Fana, there’s no call to say that,” Jonas said. "Chester wouldn’t have much time for music, wandering around the way he’s been. He’ll be as good as any of you once he gets his hand in again.” "I b-b-b-been playing the accordion lately,” Ches- ter explained. "I brought one wu-wu-with me, if you’d like to hear it?” There were murmurs of polite assent, and Chester, leaving them for a moment, returned with the large box covered with oilcloth. The others waited with in- terest while he unfastened the cord. In the box was a leather case, and from this he drew forth a superb piano accordion. The astonishment of the family at viewing this instrument was expressed in a common gasp of delight. He adjusted the shoulder straps; then, stand- ing before them, by the side of Ropati’s chair, he drew out the instrument and half closed it again, in a couple of minor chords that sent shivers of anticipation racing up and down Jonas’s spine. "What’ll I play?” he asked. "Anything, Chester. Go ahead.” 24 NO MORE GAS He turned to Fana. “You know the 'Poet and Peas- ant’ overture?” he asked. The only reply was a shame- faced shake of the head. Chester felt that he had repaid his brother for the dig of a moment before. Letting his fingers fly over the keys as a brief preliminary, he then struck into the opening passage, and proceeded with such virtuosity that Pietro himself might have lis- tened in respectful silence. The chorus of applause well repaid him for the innumerable hours spent in ac- quiring mastery of the instrument. "Tahiti! Tapiti!” they shouted, while Chester stood gr inning modestly. He was about to repeat the per- formance when old Tupa said: “Wait, Chester! I got a harmonica that pitch!” He searched hastily in an empty gasoline case and brought forth his largest harmonica, with a horn attachment. Meanwhile, Ru and Fana had been hastily bringing their instruments into accord. “We won’t get it just right at first,” Ru said. Chester nodded indulgently and glanced at their father, who shook his head. “I’ll have to listen, Chester. That’s too fast for me.” The hours flew by like minutes. The family repertoire was an endless one, and after the “Poet and Peasant” had been partially mastered by the others, they went on to music they all knew. At last Jonas, having repeatedly reminded Tupa that it was time for morning coffee, took him by the neck and marched him off to the place where the fire, already lighted by Maitu, threw a clear ruddy light through the half-gloom of approaching day. V CHAPTER II Jonas Tuttle’s sons loved the sea, and justified their existence, in a practical way, by fishing for the Papeete market. Nat was the oldest, tallest, and most power- ful of the boys. He stood six feet three, and weighed well over two hundred pounds. It was Nat who, when a tuna as large as himself had been hooked by one of his brothers, seized the pole from his hands and heaved the fish up to be gaffed. He was expert in every branch of inshore and offshore fishing, and, more than his brothers, had the patient hopefulness necessary to the calling; but on land he was inclined to be lazy. At home he would do what his greater strength required of him but no more. He was not agile-minded like his brother Fana, and it was usually the latter whose guidance he followed, who made the proposals which Nat agreed to, sometimes to his regret, in which case it would be long before Fana was allowed to forget whose was the fault for these impulsive decisions. Fana was the third of Jonas’s sons, the handsomest of the four, and something of a dandy in his love for dress. Ru, the baby of the family, was more like his grandmother than any of the others. He was quiet, intelligent, and dependable, and, like all of his broth- ers, a lover of gaiety. He was the engineer of the TLimha, the family fishing launch, and knew more about the 26 NO MORE GAS ■whims and moods of her twel've-horsepower engine than the makers of that antiquated piece of machinery. One afternoon, a few days after Chester’s return, his three brothers were well out to sea in the Zimba, which was proceeding still farther westward at her full six Tnilft«! an hour. The engine, a Frisco Standard, had been on starvation rations for longer than any of them could remember. The fuel tank, in the bow, had a capacity of forty gallons, but rarely, even in moments of the greatest Tuttle prosperity, had the Zimba headed sea- ward with more than fifteen gallons in her tank, and the usual allowance was less. For all that, engine and launch were well cared for, according to Tuttle no- tions. The former never lacked oil, and the launch herself, although more than thirsty for paint on the top- sides, was sound below water. None of the few pos- sessions remaining to the Tuttle clan was more valued than the Zimba, and according to Fana’s reckoning she had carried them on ofishore fishing expeditions a dis- stance of three times the circumference of the earth. On the present occasion there was little fuel left in the tank, which added to a suspense the launch itself seemed to feel; for not a quarter of a mile ahead was a fast-moving school of bonito, feeding ravenously upon the mullet and other small fry they had driven to the surface; and overhead, moving with them, a cloud of birds, boobies and noddy terns, were diving repeatedly, scores at once, indicating to the Tuttle boys the splen- did fishing awaiting them within the next five minutes. Ru was at the wheel; Nat and Fana had taken their places, side by side, astern. A moment later they had NO MORE GAS 27 their poles out, making the pearl-shell lures skitter lightly over the surface of the sunlit water. "Here they are!” Ru called back. The warning was needless, for already a silvery-blue streak of hunger and vitality had made a lunge at Fana’s lure, barely missing it. Fana smiled, taking a firmer grip on his stout bamboo pole. Nat gave an exultant little cry, “He . , . hi- ke -he 1” as, from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the fringes of the cloud of birds moviag before them. At this moment the engine, after a cough and a sputter, relapsed into silence. The Tamba hid a character of her own. The Tuttle boys had not fished in her, almost from babyhood, without knowing her moods. As she lost her little momentum she rode the wind- wrinkled swells with an air that said, as plainly as words: "No fault of mine.” Ru steered on as though trying to persuade himself that the launch still had way on her. A few seconds later Nat turned to glance forward with an expression of amazement and indignation upon his face. Fana did the same, then caught the lure swinging toward him, and attached the hook at the butt of the pole, which he slid in with the spare rods made fast along the side of the launch. For a moment no one spoke; Fana struck the low rail with his fist. "The bitch!” he exclaimed. "She meant to do it! That’s the second time this "week!” "And whose fault is it?” Nat asked. "Not Tiimba’s. One more gallon of gas would have filled her with fish. I advised it, didn’t I? Who talked me down? Who couldn’t go one afternoon without cigarettes?” 28 NO MORE GAS Fana was silent. "One more gallon,” Nat went on, accusingly. "Eight francs’ worth. It would have been enough and to spare. But no; you was bound to have the smokes!” Fana replied. "Where’s the good of talking of it now? And the gas would have cost ten francs, bought of Ah Sin.” "We could have done with half a gallon,” Nat went on, as he gazed sullenly after the receding birds. "Look to the feed pipe, Ru. Maybe it’s choked.” Ru went forward, unscrewed the deck plate, and thrust down his measuring stick. He drew it forth as dry as the blistered planking of the deck itself. “There’s one good thing,” said Fana, after a moment of silence. “Emily’s boat’s not out today.” Emily Taio was the owner of the rival fishing boat from the village of Tarahoi, and it was a matter of pride with the Tuttles to excel Emily’s sons in every form of activity from fishing to cockfighting. Nat shook his head. "We’ve not seen ’em, but they may be out.” He took a last pull at his cigarette before tossing the butt over the side. “Get sail on her. There’s breeze enough to take us home.” Forward of the deckhouse was a mast used in these common emergencies. Fana unfurled a sail that looked as ancient as the launch itself. Nat stretched out on the deckhouse with the sheet in his hand. Ru took the wheel once more, and the launch, gathering way impercep- tibly, crept toward the distant land. The Tuttle clan, insofar as their heritage of American blood was concerned, was not an ancient family, as NO MORE GAS 29 families go in Polynesia. The first of that name in Tahiti history was a New Englander, Nathaniel Tuttle, who in the year 1853 had arrived at Papeete in a ship’s boat with a dozen other survivors from the wreck of the Orazimba, a Yankee clipper bound from Boston to Canton, via Cape Horn and Valparaiso. The Orazimba had been lost amongst the Low Islands to the eastward, and during the long wait at Tahiti, Nathaniel Tuttle, second mate of the vessel, had decided to return home no more. He was then in his twenty-fifth year. He mar- ried two years later, his Tahitian wife bringing him, as her dowry, the valley of Vaipopo, on the west coast of the island. For the next twenty-five years Nathaniel followed his family calling, first as skipper, later as owner of various island schooners. When he retired he had two sons approaching manhood and a comfortable fortune which he resolved to invest in a home for the Tuttle descendants yet to come. This house, erected in 1878, was for years thereafter one of the show places of Tahiti. There had gone into it the rugged character, the solid enduring qualities, of old Nathaniel himself. Its massive beams were of the heartwood of Douglas fir, with ceilings and floors of the same material. The walls were of brick and the tiles for the roof had been brought from Valparaiso in one of his schooners. It was a two-story mansion with wide verandas on all sides, upstairs and down. The twelve spacious rooms were far too many for the Tuttles of the oncoming generation, but Nathaniel was providing for the grandchildren and great-grandchildren to come, all to be endowed with the energy, the thrift, the fore- sight of the founder of the family fortunes. When the 30 NO MORE GAS mansion was complete to tte last detail, Tuttle spent five of the happiest years of his life acquiring furniture that should be worthy of it: wardrobes, beds, sofas, tables and chairs, of mahogany and black walnut, mir- rors for the salon, and masterpieces of the pictorial art of the sixties and seventies which one could never tire of admiring, or of not admiring, as the case might be. His wife, born Manaura a Tipaihu Tuavara, the sharer in all this splendor, was neither awed nor bewildered by it. She had provided the land upon which the house was built, and the rich little valley enclosing it, with its coconut palms, breadfruit, orange, and mango trees. More deeply than her husband she understood the im- portance of land, the true source of wealth. Secretly, perhaps, she felt that her own contribution to the fam- ily fortunes exceeded Nathaniel’s; that it would remain for their descendants when the house and its contents had long since vanished. Nevertheless, she took great pride in the possessions provided for her, so far exceed- ing those of any of her kindred. Her husband had not long to enjoy his retirement. He died in his sixty-first year, owing no man a penny, at peace with the world and himself, leaving to his sons his knowledge and love of the sea and two schoon- ers, the source of his own prosperity and, as he hoped and believed, to be the continuing source of theirs. He was laid to rest in the family burying ground where two of his children who had died in infancy were already sleeping. It would be difficult to set a date, thereafter, when the Tuttle fortunes began to decline. Had there been NO MORE GAS 31 . another reenforcing tributary of New England blood in the second generation, these allied strains might have held their own for a considerable time against the encroachments of the Polynesian strain; but both of Nathaniel’s sons married island women as their father had done. For all that, there was an unmistakable Tuttle stamp upon the family, even in later years. After their mother’s death a division of property was made, the elder son, Ethan Tuttle, receiving the home place, and his brother the two schooners, with which he sailed to Rarotonga, in the Cook Islands, to establish himself there. From that time on the only connection between the two branches was an occasional exchange of letters which became increasingly rare as the years passed. The Tahiti family waxed in numbers as their material for- tunes waned. Carefree, improvident, they lived with gusto from day to day; tomorrow’s needs could be met when they came; nevertheless, they clung to their land. By the time that Jonas Tuttle, Ethan’s oldest son, had grown to manhood, the Tahiti clan, occupying the old house at Vaipopo, counting the near and remote con- nections who now lived there, had grown to large pro- portions. Ethan had died long since, though his wife, a gentle old lady now in her seventies, still lived at Vaipopo, greatly loved by her children, grandchildren, and_ great-grandchildren. Mama Ruau — - Grandma — they called her. As for the old house, little remained of its splendor of the eighteen-eighties. One upstairs chamber alone, Nathaniel’s bedroom, had been kept, thanks to Mama Ruau, as it was in those early days. However pressing 32 NO MORE GAS the family’s needs she would allow nothing in this room to be sold or loaned or mortgaged. Elsewhere, the house looked as though a series of hurricanes had passed over and through it, and so they had, in fact: hurricanes of gaiety and good cheer to provide which the mag- nificent furniture had gone, piece by piece, until the rooms, both upstairs and down, were all but empty. In the living room there remained one decayed horsehair sofa and a mirror in a tarnished oval frame which still had virtue enough to reflect the bare wall, with its scal- ing plaster, and a segment of the floor on the opposite side of the room. But the Tuttles were skilled at make- shifts, They made benches, tables, shelves, and the like, from old packing cases and odds and ends of lumber; and as these were built for use and not for show, they had the fitness use gave them. Jonas was now head of the family. He was a huge man of fifty-five, dark-eyed, dark-skinned, a thorough Tahitian and yet an unmistakable Tuttle. Certain fam- ily characteristics continued to emerge in each genera- tion. The high Tuttle nose appeared and reappeared, al- though there had been imposed upon it a fleshiness that had not been there originally. Jonas Tuttle had such a nose. He had his grandfather’s ample frame as well, but the great girth of belly had been built on, so to speak. Large as it was, it seemed to belong there, and this rotundity had nothing soft about it. It was a solid belly which Jonas carried with ease, and it was only when one saw removed the length of four-inch belt enclos- ing it that one realized the full extent of that middle circumference. His voice was in odd contrast to his size: NO MORE GAS 33 a soft tenor, clear, persuasive, and ingratiating. When he laughed, which was often indeed, it rose yet higher, in a steep incline, till it was lost to hearing; but the belly and shoulders continued to shake and the brown eyes all but vanished in rolls of fat. He was a widower, and, as chief of the clan, he ruled it with what might be called a rod of soft iron. He could be imposed upon easily enough; he could be flattered, persuaded, cajoled, but there were points beyond which his good nature could neither be led nor driven. His gen- erosity and kindness of heart were such that he had gath- ered under his roof various landless connections of the family whose relationship was so remote that no one could have defined it with certainty. The attitude toward him of his four sons was that of aflectionate fa- miliarity. Everyone, even his grandchildren, called him “Jonas,” but they knew who was head of the family. In times of stress, sons and grandsons, all the connections by blood or marriage, sheltered behind this ample guardian of their fortunes. The original Tuttle, although he had learned to speak the native language well, had allowed nothing but Eng- lish to be used in the family circle. But after his death the sons had followed the line of least resistance, and by the time the third generation appeared there had de- veloped a curious language for family use, based upon the native tongue, but with elements of both French and English mixed generously with it. But when occa- sion demanded it they could speak French or English almost as readily as their native Tahitian. The clan was known throughout the islands as 34 NO MORE GAS Jonas-ma, or Tuttle-ma, ^t ma being a most convenient suffix which might well be adopted for use in other tongues. It signifies "and associates,” “and retainers,” or, as one might say, "and all the others,” so that when people spoke of Tuttle-ma, they could thus briefly refer to Jonas and the entire army of Tuttles whom he held together at Vaipopo in a closely knit clanship, the pride and boast of every member of it. Jonas was anxiously awaiting the return of the launch. Thus far the bonito season had been a poor one, but it might well be that the boys had run into a fine school somewhere in the Moorea Channel and were now homer- ward bound, the Xhnba loaded to the gunwales. Sup- posing they had caught no more than seventy. Save fif- teen for family consumption — this would leave them fifty-five to be sold in the Papeete market, and they would bring six francs each at this time of year. They would have three hundred and thirty francs in cash. Not bad, not bad at all for six hours of fishing in such a poor season. Jonas leaned back m his deck chair on the rickety veranda as he closed his eyes and dreamed of this good fortune, coming at a time when it was ur- gently needed. He had the happy faculty of wish ful- fillment in his daydreams, so that whatever good he saw in his mind’s eye became in a moment solid, actual, there to be handled and partaken of. He now dreamed the launch inshore, with the engin e slowed down as Ru steered across the lagoon for the boat shed near Paki’s house. He heard Fana’s exultant shout, signifying an excellent catch, and a moment later NO MORE GAS 35 he saw the boys carefully transferring the fish to the landing. Out they came and out they came, not a round number, of course — they rarely were. There would be seventy- three, perhaps, or seventy-nine, or as many as eighty-one. It would be a great load for the surrey. A pity the truck wasn’t running. The fish would have to go to market in the surrey, but with three or four hun- dred francs in cash they could buy what was necessary to repair the truck. That’s what they would do with the money: not a five-centime piece for any other pur- chase until the truck was running again. No matter what the boys might say. He was roused from his reverie by one of the chil- dren, a pretty child of ten who came running up from the beach. “They’re coming, Jonas!” she called. “They’re in the pass now!” Jonas nodded as he rose ponderously from his chair. The foot-polished boards of the veranda gave under his weight, and one plank flew up as he trod upon it absent- mindedly. He shifted it back in place, muttering to himself as he did so. How many times had he reminded Andre and Pico and Mara, each of them in turn, to nail a piece of joist under that board? He’d have to speak about it again. He halted as he was about to descend the steps. The sun had vanished behind clouds that had appeared from nowhere and gathered around the shoulders of the mountains. There would be a heavy shower in a mo- ment or two. He turned to the little girl at his side. “Get the tins and basins, Nana,” he said. 36 NO MORE GAS He waited wliile the child hippety-hopped through the hallway which divided the lower floor. She returned with a dishpan filled with tins and bowls of nicked enamelware. These she distributed at various points over the wide veranda. A moment later the clouds released their burdens in solid sheets, and the old house streamed like Noah’s Ark at the beginning of the flood. Water spouted at a score of holes in the rusty eavestroughs. The two-story veranda, which extended beyond the body of the house, had originally been roofed with tiles, but many of these were now missing and others broken. In a heavy downpour, the water, leaking to the upper floor, dripped and trickled through to the lower one. Nana, with the skill of frequent experience, had placed the tins and basins where they should be, although one or two had to be shifted slightly to catch the dribbles from above. Jonas nodded approvingly as the child made these adjustments. “That’s right, Nana. Mustn’t let the floor get mucky. Stay here and watch your tins. I’ll go along to the beach.” "I want to go too,” the child replied. “I want to see the boys come in.” "No, you wait. Skip upstairs now with your other tins. It won’t last, this shower. You can be at the boat shed by the time the boys are.” The child pouted for a moment, but the mood quickly passed. Wrinkling up her nose, she thrust out her tongue at Jonas; then, with a merry laugh, she ran to do his bidding. Opposite the Tuttle house, on the farther side of the NO MORE GAS 37 road, was an area of land, half a dozen acres in extent, with coconut palms scattered over it, and purau and tamanu tx&es shading the long gentle slope of beach. Here Paki, Jonas’s brother-in-law, had his house. It was a three-room frame dwelling with a veranda on two sides, nicely painted and kept in excellent repair. It stood on the border of the lagoon, not far from where the Tuttle boat shed rested on its half-rotten piles. The rain slackened as Jonas reached the beach; he could see the launch, a quarter of a mile distant, moving slowly across the lagoon. The boys were rowing her in; they’d run out of gas again, that was sure. Jonas re- garded the boat more narrowly. She was high out of the water; there could have been no good take of fish. For all that, there might be fifty or so in the cockpit. But his hopes faded as the launch drew near. Fana stood in the bow, with a boat hook in his hand. ‘'How many?” his father called. Fana shrugged his shoulders. hoe^’ he re- plied. A throng of Tuttles, large and small, had gathered by this time. When the boat was tied up, Nat, Fana, and Ru waded glumly across the shallows to the beach. Paki came to the door of his house and stood looking on. "Where’s the fish?” he called. “There was flocks of birds offshore. I could see ’em from here.” “Oh, you could?” said Fana. “You saw more than we did, then.” “You hear him?” said Nat, turning to his father. “Fana wants you to think it was bad luck. We could have foundered Zimba ii we’d had another gallon 38 NO MORE GAS of gas. Never saw a bigger school. We was right at the edge when the engine quit.” “I gave you nine francs,” said Jonas. “Didn’t you . . .” “No, we didn’t,” Fana broke in. “I’ll take the blame; Nat’s aching to put it on me. We bought smokes with the money.” He drew forth his packet and offered it to his father. "Have one, Jonas?” The elder man shook his head. “You boys got no sense,” he said, in a voice of mild vexation. “You never will have.” Fana grinned. “What d’you expect, with the father we got?” he replied. “Oh, Paki! I’ll have supper with you and EfSe tonight if you want me to.” His Aunt Efiie laughed good-naturedly. “All right. Come the three of you. You can do with a meal, I guess, from the look of things.” Jonas’s sister was a feminine counterpart of himself. She was full of gaiety, though this mood could change to one of sudden, tempestuous anger. She had the Ta- hitian zest for good living, and the Tahitian woman’s indifference as to what love of food did to her figure. Paki, her husband, was a spidery-legged, gnomelike man of fifty, from the island of Anaa, in the Low Archi- pelago. Three men of his size would scarcely have equaled his wife in bulk. Like most of his countrymen from the Low Islands where life is hard, and food, other than coconuts and fish, scarce indeed, he was as close and thrifty as his wife’s people were open-handed in all their ways. He listened sourly to Effie’s offer of hospi- tality. NO MORE GAS 39 "The]/^!! have no supper with us,” he said. "There’s enough for ourselves and no more.” ^'Taafa paari!” Nat replied, contemptuously. "Keep your supper! I want none of it. You’d give us the third of a tin of beef to share amongst the lot!” EflSe turned fiercely upon her husband. "You lizard!” she cried. "You Low Island bonefish! It’s so you’d treat my nephews, is it? Whose land are you living on? Ours! Whose fish, when there are any, go into that wizened little belly? Ours! Where would you be if it wasn’t for the Tuttles — if it wasn’t for me? On Anaa, with the rest of your stingy people, eating clams and shark meat!” The others looked on in gleeful silence as Paki sidled away, crab-fashion, followed by his mountain of a wife. These clashes between High Island Aunt Eflfie and Low Island Paki were common enough. They all knew Paki’s worth, and none better than his wife. He more than paid his way in the family. He was a mechanical genius; he could make any piece of mechanism work, and his serv- ices were in constant demand throughout Vaipopo vil- lage. He repaired watches, sewing machines, phono- graphs, anything that ran by wheels or cogs. It was Paki who kept the 2,imha*s engine in order, and that of the Ford truck, bought years ago at second hand; and he had passed on to Ru, his favorite nephew, some- thing of his own skill. But while the Tuttles admired and respected him, it could hardly be said that they liked him, and they enjoyed seeing EfSe put him in his place. But Paki, small as he was, had a firmness of character that his wife stormed against in vain. He was, however. 40 NO MORE GAS willing to make small concessions wHch Effie accepted as complete victories, and in this case he agreed that Ru should come with them for the evening meal. He had meant, from the first, that Ru should come. The other boys were to take potluck with the rest of the family. Potluck it was on this particular evening. Tupa had been hard put to it to provide food for so many hun- gry mouths. But he was skilled at improvisation, and when the others thronged into the dining shed, two five- gallon tins filled with stew were steaming and burrum- bling over a fire of coconut husks. Adults, youths, maid- ens, and small children slid into place haphazardly on the benches ranged on either side of the long table; there was no order of precedence except that Jonas sat at the head, with his mother at the opposite end where the smaller children usually assembled. "When Maitu was ready to serve the food it was discovered that most of the bowls and basins were missing. Jonas remembered that they had been used as rain catchers during the shower, and some of the children were sent to fetch them. At last the stew was ladled out and distributedj the children waiting with impatience till all had been served. Grace before meat had been the invariable custom in the household of old Nathaniel Tuttle. This was carried on by his sons, although their father’s long invocation had been gradually abridged until it amounted to no more than "Make-us-truly-thankful-Amen.” In the third generation there had been a further curtailment. When the last bowl was filled and on the table, Jonas glanced down the board, half-hidden m clouds of lamp- NO MORE GAS 41 lit steam; then he closed his eyes, dropped his chin on his chest, and a second later raised it again. This was the signal for falling-to and was eagerly obeyed. The family ate in noisy silence for a moment or two; then Andre, an indeterminate Tuttle-ma connection, spoke. "What’s to do tomorrow, Jonas?” With his tin spoon, the head of the family was search- ing his basin without rehsh for whatever solid food it contained. When he had consumed the last morsel, he left the broth to cool. "Ask the boys,” he replied, with an air of injured dignity. "Ask Fana. He knew how to spend his father’s last nine francs: in tobacco smoke. He’ll tell you how we’re to go on now.” "Sure I will,” said Fana. "Go see Doc Blondin. What if I did buy the smokes? How much farther could the Ximba have run on a gallon of gas? We’ll need plenty if we’re going to follow the bonito this time of year.” "Another gallon would have loaded the Ximba to- day,” Nat said. "I’ll have that known. We was right at the edge of the school.” "You’ve had it known a dozen times,” said Fana. "Give it a rest. Will you see the Doc, Jonas?” Jonas’s mother looked appealingly down the table toward her son. "No, Jonas,” she said. "Let none of the boys persuade you to do that again. How are you ever to pay Dr. Blondin what we already owe?” "With fish, Grandma. How else?” said Nat. "We came near enough this afternoon to making the biggest haul 42 NO MORE GAS of the year. There was thousands in that school. We’d have had twelve hundred francs’ worth in another five minutes. I had that money good as spent when the engine died.” "And so it would have been by tomorrow morning, if you’d caught the fish,” his grandmother replied. "Dr. Blondin would have seen none of it.” "Now, Mama, give us time,” Jonas said. "Dr. Blon- din knows how it is with us, with so many mouths to feed. He’s in no hurry for his money.” "Has he told you that?” his mother asked. "Well, no, not exactly, but I can see he ain’t, t^aha neil He’s doctor for most of the people in Papeete and the villages on both sides. He can’t spend half the money he makes.” "So he may as well give it to us; that’s what you and the boys think.” "Don’t f-f-forget about the Mortgage Lifter, Grandma,” Chester said. "We’ll make enough out of him to p-p-pay the Doc three times over before the year’s out.” "Well, will you see him, Jonas?” Fana asked once more. "Eighty francs is what we need. That’ll buy us ten gallons.” Jonas sighed. "Yes, looks like I’ll have to. But this is the last time. Mama. I’ll almost promise you that.” Tupa, who was leaning against one of the ironwood posts, gave a dry chuckle. "What’s so funny, Tupa?” Nat asked. "I was thinking you might call on Paki,” he replied. CHAPTER III On the following morning, Jonas, ready for his journey to town, was waiting on the front veranda for Riki, one of his grandsons, who had gone to hitch Nellie to the surrey. Jonas wore a wide-brimmed pandanus hat, a white coat, frayed a little along the lapels and around the collar, but spotlessly clean, and a pair of blue dun- garees. His feet were bare, not only for comfort’s sake, but because he had never been able to find a pair of shoes large enough to enclose them. He rose and went slowly down the steps as Riki ap- peared from behind the house with the horse and surrey. "There’s a buckle come oflf the bridle,” the lad an- nounced, "but I got it fixed all right.” His grandfather regarded the repairs gravely. "Good a job as I could have done myself, Riki,” he said. The springs of the surrey flattened as he climbed aboard and took the reins. "You know that loose plank on the porch?” he added. "I want you to tell Andre or Pico or one of the boys to nail a piece of joist under it.” With a nod to his grandson, Jonas then drove down to the road and urged the little mare into a four-mile trot. For all the times he had made the journey to Papeete, Jonas never tired of it, and he liked best going in the surrey, and alone. The truck got him there too soon. In the surrey, he could count upon three hours before 44 NO MORE GAS he would round the hairpin turn at Hotuarea, just out- side the town. During this time his mind was at peace. Family cares and responsibilities were left behind, and the vexatious errands that awaited him in Papeete need not be thought about till the town was reached. There were stretches of road dappled with sun and shadow where no houses were. Jonas loved these, and the mare too, it seemed, for she would slow down to a walk, whereupon Jonas would fall into a deep reverie when time seemed to stand still for him, and the surface of consciousness would be faintly stirred by influences as gentle as the catspaws that spread fanwise over the surface of the lagoons. He roused himself presently; he was approaching the first houses of Tarahoi village. It was a pretty little place of two hundred inhabitants, the dwellings, like those of Vaipopo, scattered along a mile of road, some on the lagoon beach, others inland, on the mountain side of the road. A few moments later Jonas came to Emily Taio’s fine plantation where cattle grazed on the lush grass that made a shadow-dappled carpet beneath the rows of well-spaced coconut palms. He sighed as he glanced about him, at Emily’s neat fences, her nicely painted copra sheds, at the dwelling house where every- thing was in such meticulous order and such perfect repair. Well, well! Emily was a good manager; no doubt of that. She seemed always to get on; whatever she did turned to her advantage. But most of all Jonas envied her the Hina, the new fishing launch in which Emily’s boys contended with the Ximba. A pity the Tuttles cotildn’t have such a boat. His boys were worth a dozen NO MORE GAS 45 of Emily’s. Given plenty of gas and a launch as good as hers, they could earn more in a nipnth than the Taios could in a year. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, the reins held loosely in his hands, Jonas gazed complacently before him, as though he had not a care in the world. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen Emily coming down the pathway to the road, but he pretended not to have seen her. "Jonas!” she called. He turned his head slowly and drew up his horse. "Ah, Emily.” ^'^Haere oe Ma}” "To Papeete.” Neither spoke again for a moment. Emily gave him a shrewd glance. "I didn’t hear the boys going by to market last night. They caught nothing?” Jonas regarded her gravely. "Next to nothing,” he replied. "Four tuna and fifty-one bonito. But they got in late from sea. We sold the fish in the village, what we didn’t keep for ourselves. How did your boys make out?” "Well enough for such an off season,” Emily replied. "Our catch sold for five hundred and ninety-two francs.” "Ah,” Jonas remarked, drily. "Nat told me they didn’t see the H/wa yesterday. Where was your boys fishing?” Emily smiled with an air of mystery. "Tell Nat to ask Moa and see if he can find out.” 46 NO MORE GAS Rivalry between Jonas’s sons and Emily’s sons was keen, and it was a matter of principle, with the heads of the two families, to boast, with or without reason, of their catches and the money received from them. Each knew that the other could and would check state- ments made, but it was impossible for them to speak truth in these matters. "Why didn’t your boys take their fish to town in the Zimba?” Emily asked. Jonas sighed. "No gas. They didn’t have enough even to come home on.” "You’re a foolish man, Jonas,” said Emily. “You should keep a supply on hand. That’s what I do.” ''^tahahoial" ]oria.5 exclaimed. "It’s well enough for you to boast. If you had a family as big as mine . . . The boys have their cock in traitiing by now, perhaps?” he asked, innocently. Emily hesitated. "Our bird is in poor condition,” she said, with the air of making a forced admission. "At present he could hardly match the poorest of your cocks.” Jonas raised his eyelids slowly, as though all the strength in his great body had been gathered for the effort, gave Emily a hasty glance, and dropped them again. "I’m glad you spoke, Emily,” he said. "Our best cock’s been going light these two weeks past. Fana can’t find what’s wrong with him. We’d better call the match off.” "I wouldn’t say that,” Emily replied. "There’s nearly NO MORE GAS 47 a month to go as weVe arranged it. That’s time enough to get our birds in shape.” “Perhaps,” said Jonas. "Shall we let the date stand, then?” "My sons are willing. Of course, if yours wish to back out . . .” Jonas grunted. “You know better than to think it,” he said. "But we expect to take all the money you can put up. Fana won’t run the risk of losing for us with a poor-conditioned bird.” “I’ve heard your cock is from Tubuai?” "People seem to know more about our birds than we do ourselves,” Jonas replied. "I’d be pleased to see your new one, if he’s hereabout.” “Moa keeps him on the plateau, beyond the valley,” Emily replied. “He’s a Raiatea cock?” Emily laughed. "I would have kept that a secret, Jonas, but there’s no hiding anything on Tahiti. Maybe he is, and if he’s fit for the match we’ll back him gladly against your Tubuai wonder.” "So be it, then,” said Jonas, as he took up the reins. ^'Parahi, Emily. I want to get to town before the heat of the day.” As the horse jogged slowly on, Jonas’s meditations were pleasant ones. The rumor the boys had spread about as to the origin of the new cock to be pitted against the Taios’ had reached Emily’s ears as they had foreseen. Let them think the bird was from Tubuai; there would be a grand surprise on the day of the match. Jonas had 48 NO MORE GAS no doubt as to the result. No island-bred bird could stand up against the Mortgage Lifter. They would clean Emily out. This happy prospect gave Jonas matter for thought all the way into town. It was ten by the cathedral clock when he hitched his tired little mare in the market place. Business for the day was pretty well over, and the townspeople had set- tled down to quiet enjoyment of the long sunny hours to come. Jonas walked slowly along the waterfront and seated himself on a bench in a shady spot near Bureau du Paste. A score of copra schooners and Low Island cutters were moored along the sea wall, lying motion- less in the midmorning calm, their sails, hoisted for dry- ing, hanging limp from the gaffs. A fine schooner-yacht, with the name Yankee in gold lettering on her stern, was lying near by, looking self-conscious and superior in that humble workaday company. Her decks were im- maculate and her brasswork shone with a dazzling bril- liance in the morning sunlight. Jonas leaned forward as he read the name of her home port: MARBLEHEAD. Wasn’t it from Marblehead that his grandfather had come? Yes, so it was; he remembered, now. Like enough there were Tuttles still living there: relatives of his of whom he had never heard. His grandfather must have had brothers and sisters in America. A strange thing it would be if some of their descendants were on this very ship, moored within twenty paces of him. He had a mind to go on board and make inquiries, but instead of this he dreamed himself doing it. He felt the varnished gangplank giving under his weight as he stepped aboard; then, in the easy gracious manner that came as second NO MORE GAS 49 nature to him, he imagined himself speaking to the well- dressed popaa, the owner, no doubt, lounging in a deck chair under the awning. During the next hour Jonas lived through one of those delightful fairy tales he so loved to invent, and, having invented, for the moment believed. Jonas Tuttle of Ta- hiti met Jonas Tuttle of Marblehead. But the Nathaniel Tuttle who had come to Tahiti so long ago had never kept in touch with his New England relatives, with the result that the Marblehead branch were in complete ignorance of where he had gone, after the wreck of the Orazimba, and how he had fared in later life. The owner of the Yankee, as astonished as he was delighted at this chance meeting with his namesake and relative, had gone with him to Vaipopo where the Tuttles had combed land and sea for food for such a feast as only Tut- tle-ma knew how to prepare. But for all the abundance spread before him, Jonas Tuttle of Marblehead could see how matters stood with his island relatives. A bache- lor, possessed of a fortune so great that the income alone was far beyond his power to spend, he had, with increas- ing warmth and earnestness, pressed Jonas Tuttle of Vaipopo to grant him the privilege and pleasure of re- storing the family fortunes to what they had been in former days. Jonas, firm, at first, in refusing the gen- erous offer, had at last consented, and never would he forget the smile of pleasure that had greeted his an- nouncement. His distant cousin clasped his hand warmly. “Carte blanche, Jonas,” he said, laughingly. “I insist upon that. You’re to give me perfect freedom to go as far as I like. And fijrst of all, before we restore your 50 NO MORE GAS grandfather’s dwelling, I want to see a new fishing launch on the beach there, under a boat shed that shall be worthy of her. The family of whom you spoke, in that other village — what’s their name again?” “Taio,” Jonas of Tahiti had replied. “But . . “No, no! No 'buts,’ Jonas!” his relative exclaimed, gleefully. "Leave everything to me. As soon as it can be designed and built, your boys are to have a fishing laxmch that will make the Tabs’ boat look like an aban- doned dory. And another thing: I want to put a sub- stantial 500-gallon storage tank convenient to the boat- house. For gasoline, you know.” The cathedral clock struck the half-hotir. Jonas roused himself with an effort, surprised to find that it was the half after eleven. The deck chair under the Yankee’s awning was now empty. Its occupant must have gone to lunch, on shore, perhaps, at the Diademe or the Blue Lagoon Hotel. And Dr. Blondin would be at lunch now, and then it would be the siesta hour. He could not, with decency, call to see him before two. What of his own midday meal? Not a franc did he have; not a fifty-centime piece. He would be obHged to strain his credit once more, at one of the poorer Chinese res- taurants. With a discouraged sigh he considered the pos- sibilities; then, rising ponderously, he set out in quest of the most promising one. Dr. Blondin, his face slightly flushed from his midday nap, went to his bathroom for the refreshment of a shower. His afternoon oflSce hours were from two- thirty to four-thirty; then he would have his calls to NO MORE GAS 51 make. He knew the patients he would find in his wait- ing room; a native with yaws, a Chinese mother with a child or two to be dosed for worms, a filaria case — all the usual complaints. And, more than certain, some young fool of a tourist who had entered to his hurt into the larger island freedom along the Papeete water- front. Getting into fresh garments. Dr. Blondin slipped on his white apron and was just coming from his dressing room when the house bell tinkled. Coming through the hallway, he found Jonas Tuttle standing at the entrance to the veranda. "Well, Jonas?” he said. "Good afternoon. Doctor. I just happened to be in town today, so I thought Fd call in for a few minutes.” There was a ghost of a smile in Dr. Blondin’s eyes. “What’s the trouble? Someone ill in the family?” "We’re never sick; you know that. Doctor,” Jonas replied, gently. "It’s not time for your office hour?” Blondin glanced at his watch. "In twenty minutes,” he replied. He motioned to a chair. Jonas lowered him- self into it carefully and placed his hat on the floor beside him. "Didn’t see the boys at the market this morning,” the doctor remarked. "No luck yesterday?” Jonas shook his head. "They came as near as anything to the biggest bonito catch in years,” he said. “Nat tells me they had three thousand francs’ worth as good as in the boat. They was right at the edge of the school and had just put out the rods.” He broke off with a deep sigh. n NO MORE GAS "And then, what?” “The engine died on ’em. No more gas.” "Whose fault was that?” “Nobody’s. It was just hard luck.” "Hmmmm . . . Well, better luck next time.” "That’s what I say,” Jonas replied. "I don’t mind tell- ing you this, Doctor, as long as you don’t pass it on to Emily Taio’s boys: for all it’s an off season for bonito, my boys has seen big schools running down the far side of the Moorea Channel. And when you see ’em there at this time of year, you can count on ’em being there for a good two weeks afterward. I don’t know why it’s so, but it is so.” "Good. I’ll say nothing, of course. I wish the boys all the luck in the world.” Jonas raised his eyelids in a characteristic manner, glanced mournfully at the doctor, and then gazed at the floor between his bare feet. "Little good it’ll do to know where they are,” he said. "It’s all of fifteen miles from our place ... And gas eight francs a gallon,” he added, after a long pause. Dr. Blondin made no reply for some time; then he leaned forward in his chair. "See here, Jonas! I’m going to give you a straight- from-the-shoulder talk. You Tuttles need it. Your boys are the best fishermen on the island. Everyone knows that. There’s no reason on earth why you shouldn’t be one of the most prosperous families on all Tahiti. There’s not a richer little valley opening on the Broom Road than yours, and yet . . NO MORE GAS 53 "You forget the mouths Fve got to feed, Doctor,” Jonas put in. "And you forget that you are the most wasteful, lackadaisical, improvident lot on the whole of Tahiti, bar none!” the doctor replied. "What the devil do you do with all the money you earn, from fishing alone? Where does it go?” "Many’s the time I ask myself the same question,” Jonas replied, in a puzzled voice. "It goes — that’s all I know about it.” "Well, it’s not all that 1 know about it, Jonas! It goes for good cheer at Tuttle-ma’s. It goes to enter- tain every Tom, Dick, and Harry who takes a fancy for stopping at Vaipopo for a week, or a month — as long as the food and wine hold out.” "You wouldn’t have us be mean. Doctor?” Jonas re- plied, reproachfully. "Yes. Until you can be hospitable at your own ex- pense, not mine. Tm the one who pays for the entertain- ment at the Tuttle homestead — did you ever stop to consider that? Tm the one ...” "No, Doctor,” Jonas broke in, earnestly. "I’ve never spent one franc of the money you’ve loaned me for any- thing but gasoline and repairs for the Tirnba and . . .” "Yes, yes, yes! Granted. And your own money goes for the entertainment; for the demijohns of wine; for the bets on Vaipopo cocks that seldom win. . . .” "We’ve won four out of five matches this year,” said Jonas. "Then all the bets must have been on the one you 54 NO MORE GAS didn’t win,” the doctor replied. "Jonas, do you know how much money you owe me?” "I couldn’t say, oflFhand, but I’ve got it all down, at home.” “I’ll tell you, then.” Drawing a notebook from his pocket. Dr. Blondin glanced through the pages. "Seven- teen thousand, nine hundred and sixty francs,” he an- nounced. “There’d have been four thousand francs knocked off that as sure as anything if the boys hadn’t run out of gas yesterday,” Jonas replied, sadly. “Maybe five.” "No there wouldn’t, Jonas. I know you Tuttles. There would have been another celebration at Vaipopo, with all your hangers-on for miles around taking part at your expense — at my expense. And a day or two later I’d have seen you just where I see you now, explaining very plausibly how it all happened, in spite of your earnest efforts to prevent it.” Jonas was silent. He sat gazing mournfully at his sturdy bare toes, as though every one of the ten were a son, or a cousin, or a fifth cousin, who should have been here in his place, listening to these just reproaches. "Isn’t it true?” the doctor insisted. *'We ain’t had a party at our house in I don’t know when,” Jonas said, lamely. "If you’d seen our supper last night. Doctor, you wouldn’t think we was living so high. Stew made of leftovers, and barely enough to go round.” Blondin smiled. "You’ll get no sympathy from me on that account,” he said. 'T’ve yet to see a Tuttle that looked undernourished.” NO MORE GAS 55 “My boys are a handful, that’s the plain truth,” said Jonas. "They won’t listen to me. If they wasn’t such wonderful musicians ... I guess it’s that as much as anything brings so many outsiders to our place.” "You’re no novice, yourself, when it comes to play- ing the concertina,” the doctor replied. "But music and good times should be the ornament, not the business of life.” “We only play evenings, mostly.” "Nonsense! Tell that to someone who doesn’t know you as I do. See here, Jonas! What do you mean to do?” Jonas ran his fingers through his thick black hair. "Well, tomorrow we was aiming to fish again while the bonito’s running like they are in the Moorea Chan- nel. But ...” "I’m not speaking of that,” said the doctor. "I want to know when you mean to begin payments on your debt of seventeen thousand, nine hundred and sixty francs.” He paused. "That debt has been piling up, little by little, for the past five years. What you have paid has been more than offset by what you have con- tinued to borrow. I’ve not charged you one penny of interest, Jonas, and I don’t mean to now. But, by the Lord! For your own sake I’m going to insist that you begin to whittle down this debt!” Jonas’s face brightened. "That’s what I came in to speak about. Doctor. I was figuring that, if we paid you two hundred francs a week, we could soon clear the whole thing off. Like enough, some weeks we could pay more. If we was to make a good haul like the one the boys just missed yesterday when the gas give out. 56 NO MORE GAS there’d be six or seven thousand francs off all at once. And with bonito running the way they are now, we might get twisted round so’s we could pay every penny by the end of this month. Shouldn’t wonder if that’s just what’ll happen,” he went on, eagerly. "The boys told me they never saw a bigger school than the one they lost on account of no gas. A good half-mile across, Nat said, and thousands of birds over it. All we need is to have luck like that for a week and - . .” “Wait a minute, Jonas. I’m not asking you to cancel it in a week, or a month, or six months, or even in a year. I’ll be entirely satisfied with what you suggest: two hundred francs to be paid every Sunday-morning market. I do want you to pay that sum. You can, easily. But will you?” "That’s what I was saying. Doctor. That’s why I come to see you. Just as soon as we get twisted round ...” "You’re twisted round enough, already. I want you to get ««twisted. Very well, then; it’s settled. And mind you! No excuses, barring hurricanes, pestilences, and other acts of God.” "You won’t hear any. Doctor. You could count on having the first payment this coming Sunday if , . He hesitated, was about to resume, but remained silent. Dr. Blondin knew that he was suffering, but he regarded his visitor copUy, waiting for him to proceed. Jonas raised his eyes for a hasty glance; then he sighed, and groped for the hat on the floor beside him. “Well, I guess I better be going,” he said. The doctor relented. NO MORE GAS 57 "I want you to have a fair start, Jonas, now that we have this matter arranged. But remember! It’s the last loan you’ll get from me. How much gas does the Ximba need for a week’s fishing?” Jonas’s face lighted up. “That depends. Doctor. When there’s a good breeze and no birds up, the boys sail the launch. It’s when they see the birds they start the engine. Of course, if there’s no wind ... But ten gallons a day is a fair average.” “Good. That’s sixty gallons for the six days.” The doctor went to his desk. Jonas waited until he returned with the bank notes. “There’s four hundred and eighty francs to be added to the debt.” Jonas beamed. “It won’t be added long,” he said. "More’n likely I’ll be in here day after tomorrow with . . .” "All right, all right. Hope so. It’s time for my office hour. Good luck to you.” Half an hour later, with six ten-gallon cases of gaso- line in the back of the surrey, Jonas started on the home- ward journey. CHAPTER IV The afternoon was dead calm, with a long glassy swell rolling in from the southeast. The sun was slanting toward the neighboring island of Moorea as the Ximha moved out through the Vaipopo Passage at her cruising speed of five knots. At each explosion of her slow-turn- ing, heavy-duty engine, the launch gave a slight bound, like a tked horse touched with a whip, seemed to hesi- tate, and then repeated the motion. Ru stood at the wheel, shading his eyes from time to time as he stared ahead, eager to be first to sight the birds. They would look no larger than a swarm of gnats, low on the horizon. He had a lively imagination, and at times was almost convinced that the flecks swim- ming across his eyeballs were the birds themselves; then he would rub his eyes and gaze ahead once more at the vacant heaving glitter that met the skyline. His three brothers lounged in the cockpit behind him. "That’s what he told me,” Chester was saying — "beef with a little red p-p-pepper chopped up in it, and every night stale bread soaked in milk.” "Don’t worry, he’s getting it,” Fana replied. "For grain I give him a mixtiu-e of corn and unhulled rice, and he has his oysters every other day. You saw him work out last night.” NO MORE GAS 59 "You’ve du-du-du-done wonders with him, Fana,” Chester admitted. "That long voyage, cooped up the way he was, was awful hard on him.” "What’d he weigh, last time?” Nat asked. "I got him down to two kilos, eight hundred. There ain’t fat enough on him to grease a watch. If we have some luck out here — get some money to bet with . . . We got to!” "If we du-du-don’t, we must save him, Fana. We could put that cock of Ru’s into this next match. When the old Mortgage Lifter comes on we want to be sure there’s some real money for him to lift.” Nat rose for a glance around the horizon. "Don’t look too good,” he said. "What we need is a little northeast breeze to ripple the swell.” "We’ll find ’em yet,” Fana replied, hopefully. "It’s too early for the birds to work.” Nat turned to the helmsman. "Keep her right on the west end of Moorea, Ru. I’m going to take a snooze.” He lay down on the soft bed of fronds spread over the floor of the cockpit to prevent the bruising of fish as they struck the deck, and a moment later was snoring loudly. "What do you reckon Emiiyil bet on this match?” Chester asked. "Plenty,” Fana replied. "The whole family’s crazy about their Raiatea cock. But if we can make four or five good hauls, with fish dear like they are now, we can cover as much as they’ll put up. And then!” Me grinned, exultantly. "I’m waiting for that day, Chester.” They fell silent as the Ximba chugged steadily west- 60 NO MORE GAS ward over the calm, empty, gently heaving sea. They were now far ofFshore and the subtle change made itself felt that marks the lapsing of early into mid-afternoon. Fana sang softly to himself. Nat slept on, but an hour later he turned on his back, rubbed his eyes, stretched, and stood up. He glanced carelessly around the skyline. “There’s the Taio boys,” he announced. The keenness of Nat’s sight was proverbial in the Tuttle family, but Ru felt vexed that he had not been able to make the announcement for once. When the two launches, miles apart, rose simultaneously to the swell, all could make out the Hina headed toward her rival boat. “No fish up to the north,” Nat said. “They got noth- ing, that’s sure.” He glanced around once more, then touched Ru’s shoulder. “Head off, southwest.” “What do you see?” Chester asked, getting to his feet again. Nat gave a nod to the south. “They’re working on fish.” The others now perceived, about a mile distant, a pair of white terns, barely discernible as they dipped and circled in a maimer that was unmistakable. Nat took the wheel. Ru crouched under the hatch, performing the difficult feat of getting a few extra revolutions out of the engine. He touched the ancient make-and-break ignition system, twiddled something on the carburetor. The sound of the exhaust grew sharper and Nat nodded with satisfaction as the Ximba increased her speed by half a knot. He was staring fixedly at the birds and at the sea beneath them. He turned his head quickly. NO MORE GAS 61 "Take the wheel, Ru! Tuna, boys! They’re on mul- let. There’s a million of ’em!” No further speech was needed. Automatically, the Tuttles cleared for action. The dozen or more boruto rods were stacked on the forward deck and made fast where they could come to no harm. Fana brought aft a pair of stout bamboos, equipped with lines ending in lures of heavy pearl shell with thick barbless hooks of bronze. Chester seized two gaflfs, handed back by Ru, and hooked one on either side of the stern. Nat was mak- ing a bundle of coconut fronds, lashing the butts to- gether. All was in readiness well before they reached the fish. "Look! The Taios have spotted ’em now!” said Fana. "Go on, Ximbal Let us down this time and we’ll scuttle you!” "Don’t worry,” Nat said, quietly. "We’ll beat ’em to it, easy.” Close ahead, half an acre of calm sea was churned and lashed white by the feeding tuna. They had herded into a compact mass a great school of young mullet, and were gobbling down the little fish with insatiable ferocity. The tuna were in hundreds; their prey, frantic with fear and excitement, and without so much as a floating coconut husk beneath which to take refuge, in tens of thousands. Only the two small white birds circled above them. Chester seized Fana’s arm. His lips were moving fast, but no word would come. "You don’t need to say it, Chester. I know: there’s the money for the Mortgage Lifter.” His brother nodded. "He nu-nu-knew we needed it 62 NO MORE GAS for him. That b-h-bird brings us luck even out here.” "All ready!” Nat warned. Ru steered the launch straight into the midst of the welter, where the clear blue sea was stained with blood and bits of flesh. ^^Tapea!” Nat yelled. His brother closed the throttle and pulled out the clutch. Nat flung his bundle of palm fronds over the stern, making it fast to a cleat at the end of a couple of fathoms of line. As the Zimba lost way, the small fry on all sides made a frenzied rush for the boat and the shelter of the float- ing fronds. Tuna snapped at them, leaping clear of the water and flinging spray over the Tuttle boys. "All right,” Nat ordered, over his shoulder. "Slow, now, and make the wheel fast.” Ru pushed in the clutch without opening the throttle, and the boat moved slowly forward. He sprang aft to his station where he stood stooped, one hand braced on his knee and the other holding one of the gaffs in readi- ness. Chester, at his side, was in the same position, where their shoulders would act as fulcrums for the heavy rods held by their brothers close behind. The lures were flung out. Chester yelled as a fifty-pound tuna nearly jerked the rod from Fana’s hands. The thick bamboo bent as Fana bore down on it. After a brief struggle the fish’s head was levered to the surface; Chester’s gaff shot out and the tuna slid over the transom to land on deck with a muffled thump and drumming of his tail. Nat was fast to a fish that required all his strength to bring alongside, where Ru gaffed and drew him on board with a single swift movement. NO MORE GAS 63 i)//” he shouted, “Forty francs!” "And another forty,” Chester yelled, forgetting to stammer as he gaffed a second fish. The boat moved over the glassy sea at a bare three knots, followed, almost surrounded, by the tuna, dart- ing at the mullet which had taken shelter along the keel, or beneath the fronds towing a few yards astern. The Tuttle boys labored mightily; sweat streamed into their eyes, and they were spattered with showers of blood flung aloft by the drumming tails. "Thump! Thump! Thump!” the fish came in, and the lures were flung back to be seized without an instant’s pause. The work was so furious that none of them observed the Hina until she turned and slowed down, to steer a parallel course, fifty yards distant. To have come closer to share in the fishing, tmder the present circumstances, would have been a gross breach of etiquette, but their yells as each big fish came on board were as exultant as those of their lucky rivals. The Taios were good sports- men, like all Polynesians, and their pleasure in the scene was scarcely less keen because they were compelled to be spectators. Half an hour passed; then, in the mys- terious manner of their kind and as if at a preconcerted signal, the tuna sounded and were gone. Nat wiped his face with the bloodstained sleeve of his shirt. Fana dropped on a locker and sat leaning forward, breath- ing heavily. The Taio boys, observing that the fish- ing was over, steered the Hina alongside. The Zimba was now deeply laden. The Taios regarded her envi- ously. “That’s once you beat us to it,” Moa Taio called. 64 NO MORE GAS "Once?” Fana replied, derisively. "You got a bad memory, Moa.” "How many?” "We ain’t got room to count ’em,” Nat said, rope bucket in hand. Chester and Ru were giving the coup de grace with short clubs of ironwood to the fish which still slapped and drummed with their tails. Nat threw bucket after bucket of sea water over the catch, then drenched his brothers, who gave him a bath in turn. Balancing him- self on the rail, Nat leaped into the Taios’ launch, almost capsizing the Zimba as he leaped across. He shook hands ceremoniously with all on board — Emily’s three sons and two neighbors who fished with them. "We need a bit of help, Moa,” Nat said. "You mind taking our fish to market and selling ’em for us? I see you got plenty of room.” There were only four small bonito lying in the Hind’s cockpit. Moa smiled shamefacedly, observing Nat’s glance at their catch. "You had all the luck there was going today,” he said. "Sure, Nat, if it’ll oblige you. What is it? Small bill owing?” The request was not an unusual one. For all the rivalry among the crews of the different fishing boats, in mat- ters that concerned their relations with the world ashore, all stood together as members of a guild. The hawk-eyed creditor, a constant menace at the Sunday-morning market, must be avoided, if possible. "Yes, in a way,” said Nat. "We don’t want Jonas to know about this catch. He’s got a debt he thinks he NO MORE GAS 65 ought to pay. We want the money for the cockfight.” "We won’t say no to that,” Moa said, with a grin. "You ought to get around three thousand francs for what you got there. It’s as good as ours, already.” "Keep on thinking so till Sunday week,” said Nat. “That’s all we ask. Well, shall we load?” The Taios dropped a couple of old tires as fenders, and the launches were made fast, side by side. The tuna were then transferred to the larger boat, handled care- fully to prevent bruising. They tallied seventy-six, most of them between forty and fifty pounds. "Which of you’s going in with us?” Moa asked, when the transfer was completed. *T am,” said Chester, as he leaped across. Nat returned to the Tjimba, the lines were cast off, and the two boats drifted apart. "Remember, Moa,” Nat called back. "The Tuttles had no luck today.” Moa nodded and waved his hand. His brother, Tihoti, at the helm, pushed in the Hina's clutch and spun the wheel, opening the throttle as he did so. Her bow rose as she gathered speed, sweeping round in a half circle to head for Papeete, twenty miles distant. The throttle was then pulled to the end of its ratchet, and the Hina' responded with a full twelve knots. Chester knew that this showing-off was done for his benefit. The Taios had bought the Hina during his absence from Tahiti, and this was his first time aboard. He was bound to make his acknowledgments. "Not b-b-b-bad, Moa,” he said. "She’s got twice the speed. With a bu-bu-bu-boat like this you ought 66 NO MORE GAS to get all the fish. But twelve knots didn’t seem to do much good t-t-today, did it?” "Grow while you got a chance,” Moa replied. "You don’t often have it. Slow down, Tihoti,” he called to his brother. "All I say, Chester, is take good care of what you get for these tuna. Don’t go spending it for some- thing foolish before the fight. We need that money.” "Call it three thousand francs — will you cover it?” All of the Hina’s men had gathered to listen to this conversation and to be near Chester, whom they had known from boyhood. Tihoti glanced back. “Cover it? Is that what you said?” “That’s ju-ju-just what I said.” “All that and as much more as Tuttle-ma can scrape together.” “That’s okay with us,” Chester replied. "But we don’t want to break you Taios. I’d kind of hate to see Emily get excited and bet money you might need. I’m telling you: your cock ain’t got a chance.” The Taio contingent laughed louder and longer than before. They exchanged knowing glances, and Moa re- joined: "We been hoping you’d think so. Keep right on. We ain’t worried.” "Tell me that when you’ve seen our bird,” said Chester. "Emily don’t want to see him. None of us don’t. We’re willing to put up before they’re shown.” "That’ll suit us,” said Chester. Throttled well down, Hina ploughed her way smoothly through the calm sea. The sun had disappeared NO MORE GAS 67 behind the mountains of Moorea, sending up streamers of light that pierced the thin yapors clustered about the peaks. To the eastward, shadows were deepening in the gorges of Tahiti and flowing down over the coastal lands. Chester lolled back against the rail, enjoying this golden half-hour before the coming of dusk. His glance traveled slowly up the valleys and across the high plateaus. “Pretty, ain’t it?” he observed, with a nod toward the land. “No place like Tahiti, and Tve seen ’em all.” The scene struck Moa as commonplace enough, but he nodded agreement. He drew a large clasp knife from his pocket and whetted it pensively on the sole of his bare foot. “Well, Chester, time we was cleaning them fish.” The launch was slowed down once more, so that they could finish their task at sea. Dusk faded to night, and the lights of the little town ahead twinkled along the waterfront. It was past eight when the guiding lights fell into line and the Hina turned to enter the passage. A little crowd of Saturday-night strollers gath- ered as she approached the sea wall where half a dozen fishing launches were already moored. The Taio boat was the last in that night. “What luck, Moa?” "A few tuna.” “Where’d you get ’em?” "Off Tiarei,” said Moa, alluding to a region thirty miles from where the catch was made. There was a laugh from several fishermen lounging on the sea wall. 68 NO MORE GAS "Sure you did,” one replied. "We’re just back from Tiarei ourselves. You was right there with us, wasn’t you?” They looked down at the launch as she was made fast for the night. "A few, did you say!” "And all tuna! Moa, you been shot with luck today! We all came home empty.” "You got all there is. Don’t let ’em jew you down at market. They’ll fetch fifty francs apiece if you hold out.” "We ain’t going to give ’em away,” Moa replied. "Chester, what you doing in the Hina?” a third man asked. "You ain’t fishing for Emily?” "Thought I’d go out with ’em for one day and bu- bu-bu-bring ’em a little luck. The Taios need it.” Tihoti, who was helping tie the fish in pairs, gave him a jab with his elbow for this tmgrateful thrust. "We’d have caught twice as many if we hadn’t had a Tuttle along,” he said. The first lot were now slung on a stout oar, a load of well over four hundred pounds. Moving at a quick shuffling gait, Moa and Farani Taio carried the fish to the market place, where they would hang, guarded by a policeman, until half-past five in the morning. Chi- nese shopkeepers, standing in their doorways, glanced at the fish keenly, estimating the price in advance. Citi- zens with their wives and children, out for after-dinner strolls, stood by to let the fishermen pass, but although Moa’s face wore the expression of a man to whom the carriage of his fish to market was no more than the con- NO MORE GAS 69 elusion of a long day’s work, he missed no murmured comment, no glance of interest. Chester and the others, on board the launch, were enjoying the same agreeable publicity. When most of the launches had come home empty, the fishermen of a lucky one by no means regretted that the towns- people should know of their catch in advance. Men strolled down from the brightly lighted veranda of the Bougainville Club in the hope of a bargain on the waterfront. One of them turned a flashlight on the Hina’s deck and surprised exclamations went up from the crowd. "Selling any tonight, boys?” "No, not till market time.” "Thirty-five francs for your smallest one.” "Sold!” said Tihoti Taio, with a grin. He picked up a three-inch mullet cut out of the belly of one of the tuna and offered it to the customer, a fonctionnaire who im- mediately drew back and disappeared in the darkness, followed by the laughter of the crowd. When the last load had been carried to the market and the launch cleaned, Moa turned to Chester. "You’ll stop the night with us?” he asked. "Raita’s still in town?” "Sure. Where else would she be? Come along. She’ll be glad to see you, Chester. The rest of the boys will eat at Marcellin’s.” They went up a narrow side street, dimly lighted, and Moa pulled open a whitewashed gate, leading Chester into his town establishment. Like many of the fisher- men, he had a wife at home, in the country, and an- 70 NO MORE GAS other in Papeete. The fact that his married wife, who lived with Emily at Tarahoi, had borne him no children justified, in his mother’s eyes, the large family he had reared with Raita. Though well aware of one another’s lineage, age, appearance, and possessions in the way of clothing, jewelry, and the like, Moa’s two spouses took good care not to meet. It was otherwise with the chil- dren, who often visited their grandmother at Tarahoi, where they were looked upon as members of the Taio clan in the best of standing. The handsome young woman whom they met on the veranda welcomed Chester warmly. "Chester tanel” she exclaimed. “Utf hoi mat oe}” "Here I am,” he replied. *'Raita, you look younger than ever.” "And you’re as big a liar as ever,” she replied, laugh- ing. "Vhere’s your popaa wife? We thought sure you’d bring one back with you.” "One! That was the trouble, Raita: there wasn’t room on the bu-bu-bu-boat, so I thought I’d better leave ’em all behind. How many children now?” "Three more since you left.” '^'jEahahoia! You and Nat don’t lose no time.” "We’re trying to keep up with the Tuttles. What do you boys want for supper?” "Anything you got, Raita,” said Moa. "Whatever it is, it will be a feast to Chester, after what he’s used to at home. I brought some tuna livers. Send one of the kids out for a couple of bottles of wine.” Hearing their father’s voice, the children swarmed out from the back of the house, pulling their father NO MORE GAS 71 down on the steps, where they climbed all over him. “You know the way to the bathroom, Chester,” he said. “There’s clean clothes in the armoire. Help your- self. And remember, Fm waiting. Don’t stay all night under that shower.” It was still dark when the bell announced the open- ing of the market, but the Sunday-morning crowd was already awaiting the signal to stream in, under the electric lights. Moving slowly around the fish depart- ment, with the air of a casual spectator, Chester made a hasty appraisal of the display of fish. Scarce and dear, he thought. A few bonito hung on the racks, and a scattering of small fish netted inside the reefs. The tuna made the only showing of the lot. The crowd passed slowly before them, an occasional voice asking Moa the price. “Sixty francs,” he annoimced, each time. “Robber!” shouted a fat old lady. "I’ll starve before I pay that!” The thought of Madame Le Grange starving brought a laugh from the crowd. No one thought of buying, for another half hour, at least. The citizens of Papeete were shrewd buyers, and on each Sunday mornmg they played the same waiting game. They knew that the fishermen hated the business of selling and longed to dispose of their catches and enjoy their well-earned rest in the carefree atmosphere of Cornelius’s bar, or at some other waterfront establishment. The fishermen knew that they knew it, and tried to appear as casual and un- hurried as possible. Housewives, later on, returning 72 NO MORE GAS home with the day’s marketing, wt»uld exchange shouted inquiries with their neighbors, and she who had bought a ttma, a bonito, or a string of small fish for half a franc less than her neighbors had paid would bask in a warm glow of satisfaction for the rest of the day. Forcing his way gently through the crowd, greeting an old friend here and there, Chester reached the tables where strings of pahua, or Tridacna clams, were laid out for sale. The odor of these molluscs is the rich- est, fishiest, of all marine smells. Chester inhaled it deep into his lungs. Even more than the perfume of the Tahitian gardenias in a wreath about the neck of a girl near by, it brought him the full, soul-satisfying realiza- tion that he was at home. The people were beginning to buy at last, and when certain that the tuna would fetch an average of forty- five francs he left the market and returned to Raita’s house for morning coffee. He found Emily Taio there, having early breakfast with her extralegal daughter-in- law. "Well, Chester, the Ximba didn’t do so bad yesterday,” she remarked. He nodded and took his place at the table while Raita poured him a bowl of hot coffee and set before him sausage, bread and butter, and a pitcher of coconut cream. "The boys told you?” he asked, as he ladled table- spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee. "We don’t want Jonas to know. This money’s for the cockfight.” "Suits me,” said Emily; "but I won’t promise not to tell your father.” NO MORE GAS 73 "You’ll spoil everything if you do,” Chester said, earnestly. "Bosh! He’s as sure of winning as the rest of you. The money’s ours whether I tell him or not.” "You ain’t got a chance with our cock. I’m warning you. But if you think you have, you better not tell Jonas about this money. He says we got to pay Doc Blondin whatever we make this week. We won’t have nothing to bet if he does.” Moa now came in and dumped on the table the con- tents of a cloth bag he carried. “All sold,” he announced. They smoothed out the crumpled five- and twenty- franc notes and made little piles of the coins. Moa counted it over twice. "Three thousand, four hundred and twenty francs. Not bad, Chester.” ^'^Manuia roa!” Chester said, warmly. "We’re sure obliged to you, Moa. Take five hundred for helping us out. It’s only fair.” "No he won’t,” said Emily. "We’ll have it all a week from Sunday anyway.” Moa swept the bills and coins back into the bag and tied it up with a bit of twine. "Take care of that, now! You’re going home with us. Mother’s right: can’t have you spending any of our money around town.” “Tell you what, Chester,” Emily said. "Leave the money with me. Then you’ll be sure not to spend it.” “Good idea, Emily,” Chester replied, handing her the bag. "And you wu-wu-wu-won’t tell Jonas?” Emily smiled. “I won’t say that, but one thing I’ll 74 NO MORE GAS promise: every franc of this money will be lost on your Tubuai wonder.” "That’s good enough for me,” Chester said. "All I say is what I told Moa: keep on thinking it till the fight comes oif.” The Taio truck with the other boys in it drew up at the door. Emily rose briskly. “AU ready?” Having em- braced Raita and all of her grandchildren, she led the way to the street. "I’ll be in again on Wednesday, Raita,” she called back. "Have the children ready. I want them to come out and spend a week.” *'A11 right, Mother. Thanks for the taro.” Raita stood waving her hand till the car turned the corner. CHAPTER V Gn a Friday morning, ten days before the date set for the cockfight, Paki was hastily preparing to leave on his semiannual, 300-mile voyage to Anaa, in the Low Archipelago. He was the owner of valuable lands on that coral island where his copra was cut twice a year, by a relative who worked on half -shares. On these oc- casions, Paki, who knew almost to a kilo the amount to expect if there had been no thieving, took passage by schooner or cutter to be present when the copra was sacked and weighed. Word had come that morning that the Yaite, one of A. B. Donald’s schooners, would be sailing at noon, direct to Anaa, and Paki was bound to seize this opportunity for so economical a voyage. Often he was compelled to sail on vessels that called at a dozen other islands before touching at Anaa, and as passage money was paid by the day, these roundabout voyages were expensive. Jonas was to take him to town in the truck, and EflSe was now getting his things to- gether. She had assembled the clothing he would need and was making a neat stack of it which she tied up in a pareti cloth. "There. Your otaa is ready,” she said. “FU be gone two weeks, maybe three,” said Paki, after a moment of reflection. "You got eleven tins of beef and nine salmon, four kilos of sugar, two tins of butter. 76 NO MORE GAS and plenty of tea and coffee. I told Ah Sin to leave a loaf of bread morning and evening. Take care of the sugar. Don’t you give none to Jonas-ma.” Effie’s face flushed. “Fll do what I please. Here’s Jonas giving you a ride to town and you talk like that!” "I paid for the gasoline.” "Was there ever such a miser!” his wife said, wither- ingly. "And where’s the money for me? Do you ex- pect me to live three weeks without a franc?” "What you want it for? You got everything you need.” Eflfie stood with her hands on her hips, looking at him in so contemptuous a manner that Paki was unable to meet her glance. "Well,” he said, grudgingly. He reached in his pocket and drew forth a twenty-franc note which he handed to his wife. She threw it on the floor, taking care, however, to cover it with her bare foot. "Twenty francs! That’s all, is it? And I wash your clothes, cook your food, slave for you from morning to night! Why did I ever marry such a penny-squeezer? I had a htmdred chances and I picked you and stiU live with you! But one of these days, you undersized our a, you’ll find yourself without a wife! There’s no- body else would have you and don’t you forget it!” Effie was working herself into one of her real tan- trxims. She endured Paki well enough except on such occasions as this when she saw his more thrifty nature at its worst. For all her anger, she did not forget to stoop, pick up the twenty-franc note, and thrust it into the bosom of her dress. Paki took this opportunity to glide into the house. On the lagoon-side veranda. NO MORE GAS 77 close to his workbench, stood a small safe, salvaged from the wreck of a sailing vessel, which he had bought years ago. Glancing warily over his shoulder, he twirled the combination, hastily pulled open the door, and stripped from a large roll of bills on the shelf inside a sum sufficient for the most economical of voyages to Anaa and back. He had just pocketed the money when Effie appeared. She came on with a rush; Paki had barely time to close the heavy door of the safe and give the combination a swift whirl, his expression of alarm changing to a triumphant grin. In a fury of disappoint- ment, Effie made an open-handed swing at his head, but Paki ducked it, seized his bundle, and made a run for the road, where Jonas was awaiting him in the truck. His wife waddled desperately after him but was forced to halt when halfway to the road. "Don’t take him, Jonas!” she screamed. "Don’t you dare take him! He’s left me no money! . . . Jonas . . . !” Rage and shortness of breath deprived her of further speech. Jonas was used to these outbursts. "All right, Effie, all right,” he called as he thrust in the clutch. Paki was already in the seat beside him. He waved his hand with another malicious grin, and a moment later the car was far down the road. It was midafternoon when Jonas, on his homeward journey, brought the truck to a halt before Emily Taio’s gate, at Tarahoi. Several of her grandchildren, small sons and daughters of Tihoti and Farani, were playing near the house. 78 NO MORE GAS "Grandma here?” Jonas asked. A little girl shook her head. "She’s up the valley.” "Go fetch her, one of you.” He mounted the steps slowly and sank down with a comfortable sigh in one of Emily’s wickerwork chairs, glancing around the broad veranda with a kind of sad enviousness. Everything was in its place here, neat and well-kept. The floor had been newly painted, there were fresh chintz curtains at the doorways, and ferns and flowering plants hung from the eaves in moss-Hned baskets. Jonas puffed out his cheeks and let the air escape from them slowly. A vestigial instinct, inherited from old Nathaniel Tuttle, stirred him faintly, im- parting to his thought a momentary somberness. Emily’s earnings were, certainly, no greater than his own, nor was Tarahoi Valley bigger or richer than Vaipopo. How was the difference in family fortunes to be explained? Luck — that must be it, for the most part. The Tuttles were born tmlucky. They never seemed to get ahead, no matter how hard they tried. His reflections were broken in upon by Emily’s brisk voice. "Well, Jonas: Jonas rose to take her hand. "All fine with us,” he replied. He lowered himself into his chair once more, every withe of the wickerwork seeming to cry out as it felt his weight. "You got a neat place here, Emily.” “There’s work enough to keep it so.” "How do you manage? You ain’t got the houseful we have, but you’ve a tidy lot of grandchildren.” "I keep them outside. There’s all the valley for them NO MORE GAS 79 to play in. They know better than to mess things up in the house.” Jonas nodded. "That’ll be lt, I guess. "We can’t seem to manage it at our place. They’re everywhere, inside and out.” Emily smiled. "And why shouldn’t they be, with a grandfather like yourself? You’re too easy-going, Jonas. It’s the children that do the managing with you.” "Shouldn’t wonder. Well, they’re happy; that’s the main thing.” "So are mine, but they know they can’t boss their grandmother. . . . Didn’t I see you going by with Eaki early this morning?” "Aye. He’s oflF to Anaa to get his copra.” "What do his lands there bring him?” "Around sixteen tons.” "EfEe don’t have much good of that, does she?” Jonas chuckled. "Paki’s awful close. Can’t help it, I guess, being a Tuamotu man. He left her twenty francs to get on with while he’s away. . . . That was a good haul of tuna your boys made Saturday.” Emily nodded. “Better than three thousand francs’ worth.” "We been unlucky the last couple of weeks. The way things are, looks to me like we’ll have to call o£E the cockfight for Sunday.” “Oh, Jonas S Getting scared, are you?” "Scared! You know better’n that. Your cock’s licked already. But we got nothing to bet.” Emily waited for him to proceed. 80 NO MORE GAS "There’s one thing we might do, Emily, if you’re so set on having the match Sunday ...” “We should, Jonas. We announced it, didn’t we? Everybody from Papeete to Taravao is planning to come.” “I know. We oughtn’t to disappoint ’em. ... What I was thinking was this: our vanilla crop’s coming on fine; it’ll be the biggest we ever had from the look of things. The auctions come in March; that ain’t far oflf. Now if you’d loan me a thousand francs to back our cock, you could come to the vanilla auction and collect right there.” "O Jonas rahiV* Emily’s smile broadened and she laughed aloud. “You got a cheek! Asking me to lend you money to win more from me with!” "To win? Thought you fancied your Raiatea cock?” "So we do. . . . Well, you can have it. I’ll make it two thousand if you like. It’ll all come back on Sun- day, and you’ll still owe it to me.” "I ought to warn you,” Jonas said. "We got a wonder- ful cock, and he’s in A-1 condition now.” Emily shrugged her shoulders. "Much obliged. I’m still willing to lend you the money. You’ll take two thousand?” He nodded. Emily went into the house, returned with writing materials, and seated herself at a table to compose a document in which J. Tuttle, Agricul- turist, acknowledged receipt of two thousand francs from Madame E. Taio, agreeing to repay this sum, with interest, after the public sale of his vanilla. She handed the paper to Jonas. He read it slowly, affixed his signa- NO MORE GAS 81 ture, and returned it to Emily, who folded and placed the note in her purse. When the little business ceremony was completed, a girl appeared from the back of the house with two tall rum punches on a tray. The glasses were frosted with cold and a generous amount of cracked ice tinkled within them. “You live well here, Emily.” “You’re speaking of the ice? Why shouldn’t I have it? It’s not dear. I have forty kilos sent out twice a week. Well, Jonas! Manuia taual To the winning cock!” “You’re drinking to ours,” Jonas replied, gravely. “That reminds me,” he added, as he set down his glass. “The boys was saying you’d rather not have us show the birds till the bets are made.” “I did suggest it,” Emily replied, in an offhand man- ner. “We’re both so sure of winning, I thought it might add to the fun if the bets were placed first.” Jonas’s heart leaped with pleasure, but he gave no out- ward sign. As a usual thing the birds were shown first, and what he feared was that the mere sight of the Mortgage Lifter would frighten away all possible takers of Tuttle money. “That’ll suit us,” he replied, in a manner as casual as Emily’s had been. “Since you suggest it, we might do it this way for once.” Emily studied her guest as he sipped his drink. She knew Jonas better than he knew himself, and her lik- ing for him equaled her imderstanding of his nature. She felt a little guilty, thinking how she had abetted his sons in concealing the facts about the tuna catch. But 82 NO MORE GAS she had made them no promises, and she now decided that it was her duty to tell their father the truth. She had little doubt as to what Jonas would decide to do with the money, but it was only right that the decision should be his. He would then have no cause to reproach her at some later time. “There’s something I must tell you, Jonas. It was your boys who caught the tuna on Saturday. They didn’t want you to know.” Jonas straightened up in his chair, ^'^t.ahahoial And why not?” “They wanted to keep the money to bet on your cock, and they were afraid you would use it for some- thing else.” “Who’s got it?” “The tuna sold for three thousand, four hundred and twenty francs. They gave me the money to keep for them till Sunday.” Jonas shook his head. "My boys are a handful,” he remarked, sadly. “A fine trick to play on their father!” Emily left the room and returned with the money, which she placed in his hands. "There it is,” she said. “You can tell them I’ve told you or not, as you please. I made them no promises.” Jonas stowed the cloth bag in a side pocket. He then drained his glass and took up his hat. “Glad you did, Emily. But I won’t say nothing to them. Not now, anyway.” “Don’t blame them too much. Their intentions were good, Jonas. They’re as sure as you are about winning. As I said, there’s three thousand, four hundred and NO MORE GAS S3 twenty francs in that bag. They wanted to give you a big surprise. They all expected to hand over to you just twice that amount, after the match.” And with this parting word for Jonas to ponder over on his way home, Emily bade farewell to her visitor. Jonas felt that no time was needed in coming to a decision. He was shocked, put out, by what the boys had done. It was the first time anything like this had happened. There was nothing dishonest about it; he had to admit that. On Sunday they meant to give him just twice what they’d got for the tuna. But it couldn’t be that way. No. Tomorrow morning, the first thing, he’d go into town again. He had Emily’s two thousand francs to bet with. He would add a thousand of the txma money to that. The rest was going to Dr. Blondin. He saw himself walking into the doctor’s oflSce and laying two thousand, four hundred and twenty francs on his desk. “Ve’ve had some luck. Doctor,” he heard himself saying. "And Monday morning, around this time. I’ll be in here with six thousand more. You can count on it.” But by the time Jonas turned into the drive at Vaipopo, he had decided that the odd four hundred and twenty francs might as well be added to the cock- fight money. Two thousand was a good round ntnnber. That’s what he would take to the doctor. He ran the truck into the shed. Ru came out to meet him, tmscrewed the cap from the gas tank, and thrust in the measuring stick. He held it up; the end was barely wet. 84 NO MORE GAS “You’d have been stuck if you’d had another hundred yards to go,” he said. “It’s all right, long’s I didn’t have. Where’s the rest of the boys?” “I uta” said Ru, with a nod up the valley. “Who’s got Nellie?” Nellie was the Tuttle horse. “Grandma went to Paca this afternoon, to see the minister’s wife. Andre drove her up in the surrey.” “Tell Andre, when he comes back, not to turn Nellie loose. I got to go to Papeete again, first thing tomor- row, and I want to go in the surrey. I don’t get a morsel of pleasure driving the truck. I’m never sure I’m going to get all the way. Had to stop three times coming home.” “What’s wrong?” Ru asked. “I guess it’s the carburetor. Have a look at it, Ru.” “I will, in the morning. Fana’s working out the cocks this afternoon. I want to see ’em.” "You’re not going to see ’em,” Jonas replied, firmly. “You’ll stay right here and fix that engine. Why didn’t you boys go fishing? The Taios are out.” “Nat said it was no use. He had a look offshore. No birds up.” “He fancies himself, Nat does,” Jonas remarked, with a touch of heat. “I saw any amount of birds as I was coming home. And not a mile past the reef.” “Jonas, can’t I go up to see the workout? I know what’s wrong with the engine. Won’t take me half an hour to fix it.” “Then you get right busy at it,” his father replied, and left him. NO MORE GAS 8S Ten minutes’ walk up the valley was a glade near the vanilla plantation, bordered on one side by Vaipopo River, flowing quietly beneath mape and burau trees, after its swift descent from the higher lands beyond. Coops for the various cocks were scattered about this secluded spot. The training table, well padded and about five feet long, stood under an open shed by the river- bank. Jonas found Nat, Chester, and Fana at this place. The two older brothers were watching critically while Fana walked the Mortgage Lifter back and forth, one hand under his breast, the other pressing lightly down on his back. This exercise, designed to strengthen the muscles of the legs, was continued for some little time. Fana then took the cock by the legs and tilted him backward over the edge of the table, forcing him to flap his wings. Presently he let the bird rest, stroking him gently. “How’s he look to you, Jonas?” he asked. His father reached across to feel the bird’s hard breast muscles, observing with satisfaction how close the plum- age lay, the fierce brightness of his eye, the redness of trimmed comb and wattles. ■ “You got him in fine shape,” he replied. "There’s no man on Tahiti can beat you training, Fana. I’m bound to say that. Let him buckle a time or two when he’s rested. Try him with that cock of Ru’s.” Chester fetched a fine silver-spangled cock, the best of the Tuttles’ native birds. Padded-leather muffs, like tiny boxing gloves, were made fast over the spurs of both cocks. After a moment of billing the antagonists were released. 86 NO MORE GAS They crouched, heads lowered, hackles raised; then like a flash the Mortgage Lifter attacked. Once, twice, three times, they met in mid-air, breast to breast. Fana sprang for his bird, but before he could seize his legs, the imported cock had leaped at the other once more and pecked out one of his eyes as they were disengaged. Chester gave a cry of dismay and snatched up the wounded bird. "I never saw his beat,” Jonas said, solemnly. "Too bad about Ru’s cock.” "It don’t matter so much,” Chester replied. "We won’t need him, now we gu-gu-got the Mortgage Lifter. What you feeding him tonight, Fana?” "A little corn and a couple of oysters. And this is his day for cheese. Wish we had a million francs to bet on him.” Their father was thinking the same thing. His in- dignation toward the boys, for hiding the tima money, gradually vanished. After all, their purpose had been to give him a double pleasure when the time came to confess. Nevertheless, Blondin was to receive a thousand francs just as soon as he could get to town in the morn? ing. For the doctor’s own sake it would be wrong to pay him more at this time. There was no doubt of it. Not a cock on all Tahiti could stay five minutes with the Mortgage Lifter. "Put him away, Fana, and come along down soon’s you’ve fed him. Supper’s about ready.” The following morning, after his early coffee, Jonas seated himself in his deck chair on the back veranda. NO MORE GAS 87 He Had his mail-order catalogue on his lap and had just settled himself for half an hour’s enjoyment when Andre came round from the front of the house. "All ready, Jonas, any time you are,” he said. "What’s that?” "Ru said you was going to town this morning. The surrey’s out in front.” "Oh. ... I meant to tell you, Andre. Guess I won’t be going after all. Not this morning, anyway. Maybe tomorrow. I’ll let you know.” CHAPTER VI It was half-past eleven when Jonas and his family came home from church. He walked first, with Mama Ruau, followed by Ropati in his wheelchair, then the others in indiscriminate fashion, the babies in arms, the small children kicking up the dust with their bare feet, aU of them seemingly determined, despite their elders, to soil their Sabbath clothes thoroughly before they reached home. The church was little more than a quarter of a mile beyond the Tuttle house, so that the family, Ropati excepted, always walked to service urdess some special occasion demanded the service of the truck or the surrey. Ropati had been crippled for life in a fall from a coconut palm when he was ten years old; never- theless, he was among the gayest and most useful mem- bers of the household. To their lighter hours he con- tributed his splendid bass voice, for singing, and his skill with the nose flute. In addition to these accomplish- ments, he was an expert net maker and repairer. He was as useful to the family as any of the boys. His wheel- chair was one of Paki’s mechanical masterpieces, sup- ported on a pair of motorcycle wheels, and propelled by a lever which turned the axle through a connecting rod. Two small front wheels steered the vehicle. Jonas was a sincerely devout man, in the Tuttle NO MORE GAS 89 fashion. As an indication of the position he occupied in the affairs of his village and district, it may be said that, while he had never been made an elder of his church, he was, nevertheless, looked upon as such: an elder without portfolio. And although he had never been elected chief of the district, there was no man in it who was listened to in local matters with greater at- tention and interest. This position suited him; he had the rewards and none of the responsibilities of office. Had he been an elder of the church, chief, or even sub- chief of the district, he would have been compelled to assume an irksome dignity unsuited to him. Occupying no public position, he had greater influence with his friends and neighbors than those who did, with the added advantage that he was free to be himself. None of those who saw him trudging home from church at the head of his clan thought it at all unseemly that, later in the day, they would see him again at the cockpit in Vaipopo Valley. He was at home in either place, and belonged to both. Sunday dinner, usually a long-drawn-out affair with the Tuttles, was quickly dispatched on this occasion. No man loved his food more than Jonas, but even he ate hastily and absent-mindedly. All of the family, his mother excepted, were in the same state of subdued, deeply stirred expectancy. Mama Ruau was no lover of cocks in their capacity as fighters. Egg-fertilizing cocks were among the most valuable possessions a family could have, but these others, treasured so highly by the men of her family, were worse than useless. They knew her feeling about them, but she had long since said all 90 NO MORE GAS that cotild be said against Sunday matches or any other matches. Their infatuation with the sport was in- curable. She could do nothing more except to insist that cocks and cockfighting should not be discussed in her presence. Eflfie was as bad as the men, which was Mama Ruau’s one grievance against her only daughter. It was generally known that the match to be held on this Sunday afternoon would be something out of the ordinary. Spectators began arriving, on foot and in vehicles, while the Tuttles were still at their noonday meal. Several chartered trucks, converted into coaches for the occasion, had already arrived from Papeete. They were crowded to capacity, their passengers, in holiday mood, singing as they came. Chinamen, appear- ing mysteriously from nowhere, set up their booths where watermelon, ice cream, cakes, and other refresh- ments could be had. Ah Sin, the Valpopo bread baker, was there with a wagon of his own. While he entirely disapproved of the Tuttle love for cockfighting which kept the family continually in his debt for bread, he felt it all the more a reason why he should turn such occa- sions to account; and often he made more at these Sun- day matches than a full week of breadmaking and distributing would produce. Emily and her oldest son, Moa, were the first of the Taios to appear. They had come before the rest of their family to settle the preliminaries. Chairs and benches were brought to a shady spot, where Jonas re- freshed his rivals with the cool liquor of freshly plucked green coconuts. It was an unwritten law on the island that there should be no drinking at a cockfight, and NO MORE GAS 91 Jonas was as particular as Emily herself in observing the law, even to a point beyond what the spirit of it required. When they had discussed other matters for some little time, Emily turned to her host. “We agreed, Jonas,” she said, “that the bets for this fight should be placed before we show the birds.” Jonas nodded. “It was your own suggestion, Emily. I agreed, as you say, and I’ll stick to it.” “Very well. How much money do you wish to place on your cock?” Jonas leaned back, gazing into the checkered shade of the mango tree above them. "We got a pretty good cock,” he said, presently. “I warned you about that, Emily.” ^^Maururu. Well?” "We got five thousand four hundred francs says he’s a better cock than the Taios have or ever will have.” "Good. I’ll cover it,” Emily replied, quietly. “Corne- lius, will you hold the stakes?” Cornelius, the proprietor of the Bon Ton Bar, in Papeete, and a great follower of the sport, readily agreed to act. Emily took out a purse of finely woven pandanus leaf, and counted out the larger part of the sum in crisp five-hundred-franc notes. The Tuttle stake, of various denominations from five- to one-hundred- franc bills, took longer to covmt, but at last all was checked and placed in the barman’s custody. "You seem pleased with your bird, Jonas,” said Emily. "So we are,” said Jonas. 92 NO MORE GAS "Pleased enough to bet something more on him? I’ll cover anything you want to put up.” A murmur of astonishment went through the crowd that had gathered around the principals in this affair. Five thousand francs on a side was an extraordinary wager for island folk, even for such wealthy ones as Emily Taio. That she was willing to risk more, to the farthest limit of Tuttle-ma’s capacity to bet, caused a stir. But all knew the somewhat tarnished quality of the Tuttle fortunes, and a moment of reflection con- vinced the spectators that Emily was, probably, safe enough in making this proposal. It was a mere gesture on her part, a way of showing off before her less wealthy neighbors. Jonas ga2ed at his bare toes. “What a pity, he thought. Here was the chance of a lifetime and he couldn’t take it. Moa Taio spoke up. "How about your accordion, Chester? Willing to risk it?” Chester was so eager to accept that not a word would come. He looked appealingly at his father, who turned at once to Moa. "What’ll you put up against the accordion?” Emily spoke for her son as Jonas had for his. "It’s secondhand, of course,” she said. "However, as Moa wants it. I’ll stake three thousand francs against it.” Chester now found his voice. "Th-th-th-three thousand?” he exclaimed. "I pu- pu-pu-paid two hundred and s-s-s-sixty-eight dollars for it in Frisco. That’s better than eight th-th- thousand francs.” NO MORE GAS 93 After a prolonged discussion, Emily agreed to raise the bet to four thousand, which was accepted. Then EflSe took a sudden resolution, surprised that she had not thought of it before. “You’ve still got money to bet, Emily?” she asked. “As long as there’s something worth having to put up against it.” maitail You know my furniture. There’s my brass bed, my wardrobe, my new bicycle, my Wilcox sewing machine. I’ll bet the lot if you’ll cover them for what they’re worth,” A gasp went up from the spectators. This was to be a historic match and no mistake. Nat gave his aunt an enthusiastic slap in the middle of her broad back, and Jonas beamed approval. Efiie’s possessions were care- fully appraised, and Emily pushed across the table to Cornelius a stack of bills from a seemingly inexhaustible supply. No sooner had this latest wager been covered than a distant rhythmic booming was heard, far down the road, growing more and more distinct. It was the other Taios announcing their approach from Tarahoi with bass drums and bamboo drums. EflSe, immediately stirred by the sound, sprang to her feet, facing Emily with her hands on her hips, her eyes challenging and scornful. She began to dance in time to the far-oflf drum- ming. Emily leaped from the bench to accept the chal- lenge. She was no longer the dignified woman of busi- ness. With her head thrown back and her eyes shining, she danced her defiance in a way that brought cheers from the delighted audience. This was what they liked: 94 NO MORE GAS good friends and good sportsmen on both sides, and their women dancing confusion to their opponents. The Taio truck turned into the drive and came to a halt, discharging a noisy band of men, women, and children, almost as numerous as the Tuttles. Tihoti Taio remained on guard beside a mysterious coop which was covered with a red cloth. Jonas stepped forward to greet the folk from Tarahoi. The Vaipopo cockpit, where most of the important matches on the west coast of Tahiti were held, was on the Tuttle land, across the river and about two hun- dred yards from the house. A dense thicket concealed it from the road. Tuttles and Taios, in a mingled noisy throng, now took the short cut across the stream. An unusual number of devotees were already gathered in the hidden clearing. Some held cocks for the preliminaries which the crowd was inspecting while they waited. The cockpit itself was a circular space about twenty feet in diameter, floored with sand well packed, and enclosed by a low fence. The railing surmounting it offered good elbow rests for the spectators. There were a number of benches for participants and the more notable visitors. Jonas and Emily strolled about, shaking hands and exchanging greetings with their friends. Announcement was made that the Tuttle and Taio cocks would not be shown until after the other matches were over. Ropati drove his wheelchair along the path at a smart clip, and a place was made for him next to the barrier. Jonas and Emily took their customary ringside seats, and the spectators, a crowd of between two and three hundred, NO MORE GAS 9S gathered closely around, A preliminary match was be- ing made, cautiously, and with true Tahitian disregard for time. The trainers, two young stevedores from town, subjected one another’s birds to a scrutiny as deliberate as it was minute. The fight agreed upon, the betting began, each bettor privileged to examine the birds as long and thoroughly as he desired. At last the owners stepped over the barrier, billed the birds for a moment, and released them on the sand. Match after match was fought to a decision while the shadows of the coconut pahns lengthened farther and farther to the east. There came a pause in the proceed- ings. The last of the preliminaries was over. All eyes turned to the heads of the Tuttle and Taio clans. Emily smiled brightly as she regarded her rival. “Time we were showing them, Jonas.” “Suits me,” said Jonas. He sat, relaxed and easy, his hands clasped around his belly. He signaled Fana with a slight lifting and lower- ing of the eyebrows. Moa and Fana moved off briskly to fetch the two champions. Craning their necks and whispering amongst themselves, the spectators waited impatiently. Fana was the first to return. The crowd gathered around Jonas till they formed a ring three- deep. Emily waited complaisantly, with an air of in- difference, At a sign from his father, Fana removed the covering of the Httle coop and permitted the Mortgage Lifter to step out. The cock shook himself, glanced about with fierce bright eyes as if in search of an antagonist, and crowed. A collective exclamation of wonder and delight rose from the spectators. 96 NO MORE GAS aha ral” Emily’s smile faded as she stared at the bird. She turned to face the man at her side. **Tubuai?” she exclaimed, accusingly. "That cock’s from none of our islands! I know better! He’s from Sydney!” Jonas shook his head. "Frisco,” he corrected, gently. A louder murmur of interest rippled through the crowd. "Frisco! From California! No fe fenua popaa maiV* Fana took the Mortgage Lifter under his arm as Moa approached with the Taio warrior. Jonas moved slightly for a better view. His broad face wore an expression of interest more courteous and perfunctory than real. Squatting in the center of the ring, Moa opened the tiny coop he carried, and the Taio cock stepped into view. A second long-drawn "J5 aha ral” went up from the spectators. The bird was of about the same weight as the Tuttle cock, but of a different type: standing more upright, heavier in the leg, and with a look of cruelty about eyes and beak. He crowed. The Mortgage Lifter replied, struggling in Fana’s grasp. Jonas’s hands left his belly and gripped the bench; his eyes seemed to protrude slightly as he stared at Emily’s bird. His jaw fell, but for a moment the evidence of such duplicity left him speechless. "You can’t fool me, Emily,” he said, indignantly. "That ain’t no Raiatea cock! Where’d you get him?” "From Australia, Jonas,” Emily replied. "I’ve had him these three months past.” NO MORE GAS ^7 The eyes of the two owners met. Jonas’s great body shook with a soundless chuckle. "Well, Emily, you thought of it first. Guess neither one of us is as smart as we thought we was.” “You’d like to back out now,” Emily replied. "But it’s too late.” “Me? Back out?” Jonas gave a snort. "That bird ain’t got a chance with ours!” The two trainers were circulating among the pros- pective bettors, permitting the birds to be examined and appraised. Emily looked thoughtful. The expres- sion of Jonas’s face did not betray the inner qualms and doubts stirred by the sight of the Taio cock. No match for the Mortgage Lifter, of course, but still . . . the fight wouldn’t be quite the sure thing the Tuttles had counted on. There was a look of cold ferocity about the Australian cock that Jonas didn’t like. Listening without appearing to listen, he was a little depressed to learn that the betting slightly favored the Taio bird, but the Tuttle morale received a great boost when Cornelius, an excellent judge of cocks, after much study, backed the Mortgage Lifter to the sum of three thousand francs. It stiffened yet more when Fana bet his guitar against Farani Taio’s. Stirred into last-minute action, old Tupa bet all three of his mouth organs. Then voices were hushed and the trainers stepped over the barrier to bill the cocks. Jonas leaned forward, every faculty con- centrated upon the birds. Emily, a tight-lipped smile on her face, sat motionless, chin in hand. The people pressed shoulder to shoulder around the barrier, and the trees above their heads were filled with boys, perched 98 NO MORE GAS on every limb that would bear them. A long "Ah-h-h” went up as the champions were released. Fitted for battle by generations of skilled selective breeding, the two cocks eyed each other warily, crouch- ing beak to beak with hackles raised. The Taio bird attacked. They buckled in mid-air. They crouched, bloody and panting, only to leap together once more, to contend with a skill and pertinacity that brought low- voiced exclamations from the crowd. The battle was prolonged and evenly matched. Jonas seemed scarcely to breathe as he watched, clasping and unclasping his hands. Emily’s small bare foot tapped the ground noise- lessly. A shout went up as the Australian bird, half- blinded, retreated totteringly from his foe. They squat- ted, regaming their strength, pecking at the sand beside them. As the Australian bird rose, the Mortgage Lifter made for him at a trot, but in a last weak buckle, Emily’s cock drove his spur into a vital part. ^'Aue tatou e/” Jonas exclaimed, in a voice of an- guish. The Mortgage Lifter fell on his side, struggled gamely to regain his feet, and went down for good. Fana and Moa sprang over the barrier, and Emily leaped to her feet with a shout of triumph. Scarcely able to realize the full extent of his mis- fortune, Jonas sat staring at his feet, drawing in and expelling his breath in long inaudible sighs. The Mort- gage Lifter, declared by experts to be invincible, was dead, and the Tuttle fortunes, so bright in prospect, had fallen with dizzy speed to an all-time low. Jonas rose heavily. "Come over to the house, Emily.” NO MORE GAS 99 The sun was near to setting and the spectators were straggling homeward in small gesticulating groups. As he walked across the brook, Jonas had a glimpse of his sister EflEe on the way to her house on the beach. Her carriage, her gait, her whole general appearance of collapse, brought home yet more clearly to Jonas the nature of the disaster that had overtaken Tuttle-ma. Tuttles and Taios assembled in the outdoor dining room. A stranger, seeing the two families at that mo- ment, and for the first time, could have separated the members of one from the other without chance of a mistake. Jonas sank upon a bench. Virtue seemed to be oozing out of him, but not to be lost in the wide air. It was being sucked into Emily^s substantial frame as fast as it escaped from that of Jonas. “Well, Emily,” he admitted. “You’ve cleaned las out this time.” Cornelius smiled wryly as he handed the winner her gains. "It ain’t often I’m wrong in judging cocks,” he said. "There’s my three thousand to go along with Jonas’s lot. I ain’t complaining. It was worth it, to see such a fight as that.” Emily opened her capacious handbag and stowed her winnings neatly inside. “Live and learn, Cornelius,” she replied, briskly. “I’ll be on hand, Jonas, when your vanilla’s sold.” She turned to her sons. “Get your instruments, boys; then we’ll go down and pick up Efl&e’s things.” Chester handed over his piano accordion. “You got to give me lessons, Chester,” said Moa, as he took the instrument. 100 NO MORE GAS “Lessons?” said Chester. "Nu-nu-not me! You can learn to p-p-play it yourself.” The Taios climbed aboard their truck. Jonas fol- lowed them down the drive and stood watching while the vehicle was backed up to EflSe’s veranda. The brass bed, polished to a dazzling splendor by Paki’s hands, was taken apart and placed on the truck, followed by the wardrobe with its mirror of plate glass and the sew- ing machine. Farani Taio’s wife took the bicycle to ride it home. Eflfie came down the steps of her sacked house and joined her brother by the mango tree. In silence they watched the Taio truck return to the Broom Road and head toward Tarahoi. Moa was finger- ing the piano accordion with the hands of a novice, drawing from it sounds no more discordant than Ches- ter’s thoughts. The Taio drums struck up. Emily, who stood near the tailboard, gave a shrill whoop of triumph, grinned at Jonas and his sister, placed her arms akimbo, and began to dance. This was more than EflSe could bear. She did a smart about-turn to present her back to the Taios; then, leaning over, she flipped her skirts in a gesture of contempt and defiance that brought a shout of delight from the triumphant Taios. Jonas turned his head slowly. Tupa was approach- ing from the other side of the road. "Tea’s ready,” he announced, glumly. « , . “But they ain’t no sugar for it.” CHAPTER Vir Dr. Blondin, returning home from an evening call, found the attorney, Maitre Dorme, awaiting him on the veranda. Dorme, an old friend of the doctor, glanced up as he heard his step and laid aside the magazine he had been looking through while he waited. "Finished for the evening?” he asked. The doctor smiled wearily. “Expectant mothers grant- ing it,” he said. "111 be with you in a moment.” He returned presently in his faded smoking jacket and the beret he wore of an evening to protect his bald head from the coolness of the night breeze that came down the Mission Valley after set of sun. The doctor was a thick-set man of fifty-six whose clear grey eyes gave evidence of the brightly burning flame of life within. The son of a doctor who had come to Tahiti as a young man, Blondin had gone to France for his educa- tion and had returned to take over his father’s practice. He had never had time to marry and lived alone in his shabby little house on a side street leading away from the waterfront. The house was kept by an old native woman, Maria, both cook and housemaid, his servant for nearly thirty years. Dorme and the doctor had met when the two were studying in Paris, and it was the latter who had per- suaded his friend, a dozen years later, to come to Tahiti 102 NO MORE GAS and establish a law practice there. The attorney was a tall, stoop-shouldered, cadaverous man. Poor health and long experience in his profession had given him a some- what jaundiced attitude toward mankind. The one close friendship of his life was that with Dr. Blondin, whom he loved and respected, although his attitude toward him was designed to conceal his deeper feelings. Maria entered with a tray which she set on a small table at the doctor’s side. "You’ll have a whiskey?” Blondin asked. "If you insist. Half an inch — no more! And plain water, if you please. ... What kind of a day have you had?” "The usual kind. Delivered a fine child half an hour ago, the third since morning.” "Native, I suppose?” "Yes. The race is increasing, Dorme. They’re doing much better than hold their own in these days; on Tahiti, at least.” The attorney grunted. "You say that as though you approved of it.” "Approve? To be sure I do. My father believed that this branch of the Polynesian race was doomed to go the way of the Marquesans, but some mysterious law of Nature seems to have been at work here. They’re on the up track again.” "The up track to what?” Dorme asked. "The over- population that Wallis and Cook and Bougainville found here a century and a half ago? To the infanticide prac- ticed then to keep their nxrmbers within bounds?” "They’ve a long way to go before danger of that is NO MORE GAS 103 again reached,” the doctor replied. *'My hope is that the Government at home means to reserve the Marquesas for the overflow, when the time comes, from other groups in French Polynesia. No more enlightened policy could be adopted.” "Hmmmm!” Blondin set down his glass. "Just what is the sig- nificance of that comment?” he asked. "I was looking into the future,” the attorney replied. "I was thinking of such islands as Hiva Oa, Nuku Hiva, Fatu Hiva, peopled with increasing tribes of . . . of . . . well, your Tuttles, let us say, for one clan. Strikes me there are enough and to spare here without scattering them through all Oceania.” "Enough? You’re wrong there,” the doctor replied, heartily. “There will never be enough Tuttles in the world.” The attorney gave an exasperated snort. "You tell me that!” he exclaimed. "Of all the worthless fam- ilies . . . !” He broke off, as though at a loss to esti- mate, properly, the vast extent of Tuttle worthlessness. "And yet, you sit at table, three times a week. I’ll venture to say, with baked fish, broiled fish, curried fish, most of it of the Tuttle boys’ providing,” the doctor replied. "It’s a kind of worthlessness, if you must call it that, which we Europeans could not well dispense with.” "Of your providing, if the truth were known,” said Dorme. "Nonsense!” "Blondin, tell me this. It’s none of my business, of 104 NO MORE GAS course. I merely ask as a matter of curiosity; I shoxild like to know the full extent of your imbecility. How much do they owe you now?” The doctor laughed. "A tidy sum, I admit.” "I know, but how tidy? Twenty thousand francs?” "No, no,” the doctor replied, with a deprecatory wave of the hand. "Seventeen thousand and some odd.” "Not one franc of which you will ever see again,” Dorme said, warmly. "Oh yes I will. As a matter of fact, Jonas and I have an agreement now. He’s to repay me at the rate of two hundred francs a week.” "And when was this agreement made?” *'Three weeks ago, or thereabout.” "Since which time, no doubt, he has been right on the mark with the promised payments?” Maitre Dorme leaned forward in his chair, enjoying his friend’s dis- comfiture. "None of the money was squandered, I sup- pose, on the cockfight which took place last Sunday? Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of it; the whole island’s been talking of little else all week.” Blondin nodded. "Yes, I knew of it. But there’s this to be said: if the Tuttles had won, Jonas would have been in to see me before the day was over, the win- nings in his pocket. I know him well enough to believe that.” "To believe it? To hope it, you mean, and with small ground even for hope. And now they’re cleaned out, worse than they’ve ever been. You’ve not seen Jonas, of course?” The doctor shook his head. NO MORE GAS 105 "AjQ