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"The First Royal Bank of Fitu-Iva will pay to bearer on demand one pound sterling," he read. In the centre was the smudged likeness of a native face. At the bottom was the signature of Tui Tulifau, and the signature of Fulualea, with the printed information appended, "Chancellor of the Exchequer." "Who the deuce is Fulualea?" Grief demanded.
"Have a drink," was his invariable reply, though once he unbosomed himself enough to say that Feathers of the Sun was a wonderful man. Never had palace affairs been so prosperous. Never had there been so much money in the treasury, nor so much gin in circulation. "Well pleased am I with Fulualea," he concluded. "Have a drink."
"Since when has Fitu-Iva come to be run by a Levuka beachcomber? He says my schooner has been seized. Is it true?" "It is true," Uiliami boomed from his deep chest. "Have you any more silk shirts like Willie Smee's? Tui Tulifau would like such a shirt. He has heard of it." "'Tis all the same," Fulualea interrupted. "Shirts or schooners, the king shall have them."
'Tis all fair, an' no injustice done Justice, the bright, particular star at whose shining altar Cornelius Deasy or Fulualea, 'tis the same thing ever worships. Get thee gone, Mr. Trader, or I'll set the palace guards on you. Uiliami, 'tis a desperate character, this trader man. Call the guards." Uiliami blew the whistle suspended on his broad bare chest by a cord of cocoanut sennit.
The vessel's seized." Grief turned back on him in the half-belief still that he was joking. Fulualea again retreated in alarm. The form of a large man loomed beside him in the darkness. "Is it you, Uiliami?" Fulualea crooned. "Here is another sea pirate. Stand by me with the strength of thy arm, O Herculean brother." "Greeting, Uiliami," Grief said.
Also, and by the leave of his gracious Majesty King Tulifau, 'tis Chancellor of the Exchequer I am, an' Chief Justice I am, save in moments of royal sport when the king himself chooses to toy with the wheels of justice." Grief whistled his amazement. "So you're Feathers of the Sun!" "I prefer the native idiom," was the correction. "Fulualea, an' it please you. Not forgettin' old times, Mr.
And that all was due to the strange money of Fulualea was the firm conviction of the elders in the village councils assembled. Uiliami spoke for the army. His men were discontented and mutinous. Though by royal decree the traders were bidden accept the money, yet did they refuse it. He would not say, but it looked as if the strange money of Fulualea had something to do with it.
These rapscallion traders have been puttin' it all over poor Tui Tulif, the best-hearted old monarch that ever sat a South Sea throne an' mopped grog-root from the imperial calabash. 'Tis I, Cornelius Fulualea, rather that am here to see justice done. Much as I dislike the doin' of it, as harbour master 'tis my duty to find you guilty of breach of quarantine." "Quarantine?"
"A small one is worth ten shillings." "Then enter it in your ledger under operating expenses." Grief paused a moment. "If you want it particularly dead, it would be well to kill it at once." "You have spoken well, Davida," said Queen Sepeli. "This Fulualea has brought a madness with him, and Tui Tulifau is drowned in gin. If he does not grant the big council, I shall give him a beating.
"Of all men, Cornelius Deasy!" he cried. "If it ain't Grief himself, the old devil," was the return greeting, as they shook hands. "If you'll come on board I've some choice smoky Irish," Grief invited. Cornelius threw back his shoulders and stiffened. "Nothing doin', Mr. Grief. 'Tis Fulualea I am now. No blarneyin' of old times for me.
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