Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 81: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Crowing Hens of Totulu at secondary hues, but the result was aca- demic to Atupa and he said so. “That fool fahine papalangi,” he said presently, as Jimmy shared with him beer from his private stock,” plenty soon she make heap pirikia.”’ “What kind of trouble?”’ “Oh too much pirikia. She speak men no good, women too much plenty good. She speak she think pretty soon men do all. work. Women no work. Fahines they just sit along all time. Dam fool.” ‘“‘Startin’ the bloomin’ cuckoo racket,” said Jimmy. But it was not his rdle to condemn the skipper’s lady. “Hit’s just ’er talk,” he commented. Atupa’s anticipation of trouble was shortly confirmed. First came Kokua that evening, complaining bitterly. “That kapitani fahine,” said the concert- master and handyman of Totulu, ‘‘she all same crazy. She speak fahines no cook um, no work in taro patch, no fix um copra, no pick um pearl, no work um turtle-shell.” Jimmy turned to the lustrus-eyed Fua- tina, never far away. ‘Sure Kimo (Jimmy),”’ she corroborated. “Tonight plenty fakine no cook. Tomorrow they no work in copra shed. That fahine papalangi tongue plenty too much walk about.” ‘Well Hi’m not goin’ to butt hin,” an- nounced Jimmy. “Hit’s hup to the skipper hand Hold Tomato.” Next morning the men of the village gathered in groups instead of going fishing or working at their nets, volubly discussing the matter. They had had to cook their own breakfasts, Atupa said, and the women had refused to pound poz. Jimmy was putting the finishing touches to the sketch of Atupa’s house when Mrs. Boyle, tagged by a bodyguard of Amazons, obviously excited, appeared with a request that was a demand. “T want you to paint a sign,” she said. “Whore Me? Hi’m no ’and hat let- terin’,” lied Jimmy. “Then let me have some paint and a brush and [ll do it myself,” said the lady, picking up a big tube of ebony black and taking the largest brush from Fuatina’s helpless hands. ‘?Ere, Hi s’y, Hi need that,’’ demurred Jimmy. “You can settle with the captain,’’ re- 79 turned the triumphant Mrs. Boyle, con- scious of scoring, amid the giggles of the women. ‘“Do you know where there’s a hammer and nails?”’ ‘Fi do not,” he replied sulkily. “Plenty hamma, plenty naili in store- house,” announced one of the older women, whose sleeveless garment of black and orange stripes projected in front like an awning, by reason of high living. Jimmy went on painting, but his heart was not in it and he mussed viciously at the shadows. ht A HOH opinion of Mrs. Boyle, was only harmful when applied to the needs of the other sex, for in the next two days of ample evidences of hard labor on the part Totuluan femininity were plainly to be seen. A scrambling fence of barbed wire— bought by Tamatau to keep the pigs out of his plantations—was stapled from tree to tree, zigzag across the widest point of the atoll. Bruised thumbs and scratched hands were much in evidence amongst the women, and glowering astonishment showed on the faces of the men who had been firmly ad- vised to keep on one side of the crude, but effective trocha. Jimmy, intent upon keeping out of trouble, stayed close to his own strip of beach, watching things develop. He watched with amusement the attempts of the island fakines, under the superinten- dence of the Woman’s Champion—late of Sydney—to stretch a banner of white cloth between the two flagpoles in front of the storehouse. Presently it was fixed and the group of militants stepped back to admire. Jimmy and Fuatina got into their canoe and paddled into the neutral waters of the lagoon for a closer inspection. VOTES FOR WOMEN WORK for women, in the apparent So read the challenge, somewhat marred in effect by the crowding of the last letter against the edge of the cloth. ‘‘And what have you got to say about it?” asked Mrs. Boyle aggressively, advancing to the edge of the lagoon. Jimmy grinned. “it’s a fine job,” he said—adding, “Hi don’t fink,” under his breath— ‘‘Honly wots the huse? They hain’t no votin’ hon Totulu. Tamatau’s the boss.” CoOMmichoooks CO