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Updated: May 9, 2025
Willie Smee, the supercargo, emerged from the cabin, conspicuous in his shore clothes. The mate glanced at his shirt, of the finest and whitest silk, and giggled significantly. "Dance, to-night, I suppose?" Grief observed. "No," said the mate. "It's Taitua. Willie's stuck on her." "Catch me," the supercargo disclaimed. "Then she's stuck on you, and it's all the same," the mate went on.
"You won't be ashore half an hour before you'll have a flower behind your ear, a wreath on your head, and your arm around Taitua." "Simple jealousy," Willie Smee sniffed. "You'd like to have her yourself, only you can't." "I can't find shirts like that, that's why. I'll bet you half a crown you won't sail from Fitu-Iva with that shirt."
"And if Taitua doesn't get it, it's an even break Tui Tulifau does," Grief warned. "Better not let him spot that shirt, or it's all day with it." "That's right," Captain Boig agreed, turning his head from watching the house lights on the shore. "Last voyage he fined one of my Kanakas out of a fancy belt and sheath-knife." He turned to the mate. "You can let go any time, Mr. Marsh.
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