WTWHTAS

Chap 14, part 3.b & just don't even ask

The island behaved very well that night, but the cot wo which I was assigned seemed to have contracted St. Vitus' dance, or something. It dumped me onto the floor three times before daylight.

The next day, Nov. 14, was my 41st birthday. It was auspicious in many ways. To begin with, I felt 100 per cent better. Before long, delegations of native women began arriving, bearing gifts of mats, fans, shells, and grass hula skirts. We held court like native chieftains, DeAngelis and I. Jimmy still was bedfast.

There was much bowing and giggling. The translating was done by the father of Toma, the tall native youth whose outrigger had picked me up and had brought the three of us to the village. The father, a sub chief of the tribe, once had been a cook on a trading vessel, making several visits to San Francisco. Through him we told the ladies we never could repay the kindness and hospitality of their tribe. We assured them the great county of America soon would hear about them. They seemed duly impressed and thrilled for a moment. Then they started giggling again.