"They want Mataafa for king, just because he has a majority of two thousand votes," said Leicester.
"There sounds to be something in that," said Jack faintly.
"Nothing at all!" exclaimed Leicester. "Just speciousness, that's what I call it. The other fellow, Tanumafili, is a nice-appearing boy from the missionary college, and being above wire-pulling and promising everything to everybody, he hasn't any following to speak of. But he's a good, decent Protestant boy, and will make a fine king."
"Oh, ho!" said Jack, beginning to see how the wind lay, "and so the other dodger's a Catholic?"
"A rank, bigoted Catholic," said Leicester hotly. "That's what makes the missionaries so wild against him, and likewise the British and American officials."
"They won't let him be king, then?" asked Jack.
"He's a rebel," said Leicester, "and they've posted proclamations against him on every cocoanut tree around the beach."
"And the natives, they won't let Tanumafili be king neither?" said Jack.
"That's him they're chasing into the sea this minute," explained Leicester.
Jack looked perplexed. "I don't see why the Kanakas shouldn't have the king they fancy," he remarked.
"To hear you talk, one would think you was a bloody Dutchman yourself," said Leicester.
"But the majority--" said Jack, "them two thousand----"
"The Chief Justice ruled them out on a technicality," said Leicester, "and if the Supreme Court ain't right, who is? Do you think he's going to give over this country to a papist? No, the only king here is Tanumafili, and the men-of-war will reinstate him at the muzzle of their guns. Then we'll see who's who in Samoar!"
Jack made his way across the street to the store where he usually sold his copra. Bullets were pattering on the roof, and the trader himself, a portly German in gold spectacles, was palpitating in a bomb-proof.
"I hope Mrs. Meyerfeld is well," said Jack, who in Samoa had grown punctilious.
"And the children?--" inquired Jack, "Miss Hilda and Miss Theresa?"
"I have brought you forty bags of copra," said Jack.
"Don't you want it, then?" inquired Jack.
"I've no man, no noding," groaned the trader.
"Gome again negst week. Gome again after de war."
"I'll put it in the shed myself," said Jack.