-blacks. One
had set up an ornate stand on the rue de Rivoli. He was an American,
Tom Wilkins, and the first ever known to practise his profession in
the South Seas. He had come like a non-periodic comet, and suddenly
flashed his brass-tagged platform and arm-chair upon the gaping
natives. Most of them being barefooted, one would have thought his
customers not many; but the novelty of a white man doing anything
for them was irresistible to all who had shoes. He did not lower
himself in their estimation. It is noteworthy that the Tahitian does
not distinguish between what we call menial labor and other work. Nor
did we until recently. The kings and nobles of Europe were actually
served by the lords of the bedchamber and the maids in waiting. The
American boot-black was really a boot-white, as all wore white canvas
shoes except preachers and sailors.

The boot-white called out, "Shine!" and the word, unpronounceable
by the native, entered a himene as tina. Within a week he had his
Tahitian consort doing the shining most of the time while he loafed in
the Paris saloon. He lived at the Annexe, and told me that he was not
really a boot-cleaner, but was going around the world on a wager of
twenty thousand dollars, "without a cent." He, too, had a credulous
circle, who paid him often five francs for a shine to help him win
his bet by arriving at the New York City Hall on a fixed date with
a certain sum of money earned by his hands. He raised the American
flag over his stand, and referred to Uncle Sam as if he were a blood
relation to whom he could appeal for anything at any time.

All the foregoing was brought out in our conversation at the British
consul's. Willi, temporarily conducting American affairs in French
Oceanie, gave a denouement.

"The shine isn't a bad fellow," he said, "but he's serious about
the twenty thousand dollars. His statement was doubted to-day by an
English sailor, who called him 'a blarsted Hamerican liar,' and the
shine took off his own rubber leg, and knocked the sailor down. He
could move faster on his one leg than the other on two, and Monsieur
Lontane had to summon two assistants to take him to the calaboose. He
wouldn't resume his rubber leg. I saw him being led and pulled by my
office, calling out, 'Tell the 'Merican consul a good American is in
the grip of the frogs.'"

Within a month of the rubber-legged shiner's debut, there were two
other boot-blacks on the streets. A madness possessed